July 28, 2016 would have been my dad’s 87th birthday. He has been gone for five years. He was my mentor and friend and of course I miss him like crazy.

Grief is a weird emotion. I don’t think it ever completely goes away, but we do learn to accommodate it and create a different version of life without that person in our world anymore. Grief isn’t something we finish and just move past and be done with. I believe it creates a new element in who we are. The loss of someone we love changes us forever.

Eventually, the intense pain of fresh grief — the kind that causes inertia, forgetfulness, exhaustion and that deep ache in your chest — subsides and settles way below the surface, and we resume living, laughing, striving forward the way life is meant to be. Our human resiliancy leads us to a new level where we can carry on without the deep, debilitating sorrow every day, or every week or even every month. But, when we are not expecting it, that pain can rise up from inside just by hearing a song, or smelling a scent or driving past a hospital.

There are still times when I say out loud, “Dad, I wish you were here.” How much easier it would be just to pick up the phone and hear his voice saying something like, “You did a great job, proud of you,” or “So-and-so is just trying to get under your skin, you are way above that…ignore them.” Instead I have to try and imagine what words of wisdom he would say to me during troubled times, and it’s then that I realize he is, in fact, still with me, in my heart and in the lessons he taught me.

A visit by a hawk or two

The day we buried my father in the Ketchum Idaho Cemetery it was a bright October morning, 2011. During his graveside service, one by one, the people in attendance began to notice a lone Red-tailed hawk circling, circling, circling above us. I remember looking up at the huge wingspan of this soaring bird and immediately feeling something surreal and profound.

Following the service, we all moved over to the historic Trail Creek Cabin by the river, an area where my dad used to walk his dogs every day for nearly 20 years. We gathered on the outside deck overlooking the forests and mountains, and anyone who wanted to speak could honor my father by telling their stories and memories about him. The stories came, one after another; funny, emotional, surprising. We laughed out loud and felt the complete love of my dad’s friends who surrounded us. My sister and I stood up together and read the many kind emails and memories that people from around the world sent to tell us how my dad had touched their life as a journalist, as a mentor, as a boss, as a friend.

It wasn’t very long until all of us noticed, again, a Red-tailed hawk circling above us. The big bird soon settled on a branch in a nearby tree and watched the goings-on for a long, long while. In fact, I don’t remember that he ever left his perch as long as we were there.

Two hawks watching over us as we bid farewell to my father. For me, there was something spiritual going on.

The hawk’s symbolic meaning to me

I am aware of the significance of hawks as a strong symbol of visionaries and spiritual messengers. Because the hawk is able to soar high above the earth — into the heavens if you will — it has a perspective of the “bigger picture,” which we cannot experience from our earthly anchor. Some of the symbolism associated with the hawk are courage, wisdom, seeing the “bigger picture.” The bird brings a message to free yourself of thoughts and beliefs that are limiting your ability to soar and gain greater perspective that will allow you to survive and flourish.

Sounds just like what my father taught me when he was alive.

From that day forward, I have been blessed to see a Red-tail almost every day, and gradually this beautiful bird became the symbol to me that my father is still with me, in spirit, in memory, in the lessons he taught me. When I see hawks hovering and circling above me as I walk my dogs, I stop and watch, and think of what message my father would say to me on that day. What struggles am I having, or what advice do I need that brings a hawk to me today?

The visits by hawks remind me to be bold, have faith, try to see things from a higher and wider perspective and remember that my father’s love and wisdom are always with me. Because that is what dad would wish for me.

Hawk tattoo

A couple months ago, after nearly five years of thinking about it, I had a Red-tailed hawk tattooed onto my forearm. His wings are spread, not so much as if he is in full flight but more like an enveloping, protective posture. He flies towards my heart, rather than flying away. His face is bold and focused. His tail feathers are spread and red, symbolizing the heart and a connection to loved ones. Underneath the hawk is my father’s actual signature, “Dad,” lifted from a card he sent to me many years ago. This tattoo serves as a visual reminder every day that my father’s love and spirit lives on and that, indeed, he is just a thought away.

The post The hawk, my dad and me appeared first on Murphy Writes.

Ketchum / Sun Valley Idaho (Image Source)

It was Christmas 2009 and as in years previous, I traveled to the mountains to spend the holidays with my parents at their home in Ketchum, Idaho,  a small town of a couple thousand residents that could serve as the poster child for the holiday song, Winter Wonderland.

Christmas Eve night was just a typical Murphy family evening. Outside it was snowing like crazy. Dad was on his computer, I was on my laptop, the television was on in the family room and the dogs were fighting over a bone.

Darkness hits

Then suddenly, the lights went out and there was total silence and darkness.  As we soon found out,  it wasn’t just our house that was hit. The entire Wood River Valley had lost electrical power. In the midst of sub-freezing temperatures, heaters went off, restaurant ovens shut down, the twinkle of Christmas lights disappeared, and hotels switched to generators…if they had one. I could just imagine the little kids asking their parents, “But how will Santa find us if we don’t have our lights on?”

3 snow covered SUVs in the driveway

At first, this little hiccup felt a bit cozy, as we lit candles and stoked the wood stove. Surely, on Christmas, there eventually will be light, right? I made my first call of many to Idaho Power’s information line for an update.

But, the recorded message, over and over and over again was “We have no information when power will be back on.”

The winter weather had literally created “The Perfect Storm,” as the combination of snow, ice, fog and a deep freeze descended on the entire area, whipping up conditions so bad that even the power crews had to use GPS to find their own substations

So, while holiday revelers throughout the rest of Idaho were toasting in toasty homes with twinkly lights dripping from their trees, we were wandering the house by candlelight, encouraging our dogs to please crawl into bed with us to keep us warm.

The bright side of darkness

Ketchum and nearby Sun Valley were filled with visitors who had flown in on lear jets to enjoy one of the best skiing areas in the country, and I’m sure total darkness and dead ski lifts were not their idea of a Merry Christmas. But for me, it was one of the best Christmases I remember. Why? Because with no electricity for 24 hours, my email/internet/cable television-dependent family simply got an uninterrupted chance to talk to each other.

My dad and his 2 dogs

We found ourselves in long conversations that weren’t clipped short because someone had to go check email or get on the internet. We talked about family memories, work, pets, ideas and more. We had some laughs over silly family stories and I asked my parents questions about their memories and family history. We huddled around the wood stove until we went to bed. I learned later that my father had stayed up most of the night, stoking the fire to keep the house warm.

Cooking breakfast in the snow

On Christmas morning, with the power still out we bundled ourselves up in parkas and scarves, lit the propane barbeque out on the frigid, snow-covered back deck and my mom cooked bacon and eggs. As breakfast sizzled in the below zero air, my dad took a coffee pot over to the Sun Valley Lodge and they graciously filled it with enough brewed coffee for our family. By the time he got back home, the propane on the barbeque had run out, so he drove into town to have it refilled at a nearby gas station.

The author with her dog Buddy

We opened presents under an unlit Christmas tree, and afterwards dad and I took the dogs for a walk in the snow. As the minutes and hours ticked by on that snowy day, we wondered if the power would be restored in time to cook Christmas dinner.

Feeling blessed

It was late Christmas day – nearly 24 hours since the blackout began – that the power finally came back on, thanks to the unceasing efforts of Idaho Power crews who worked outside in brutal conditions.  We were able to cook Christmas dinner and, as my family sat down for that special meal, we held hands and said a prayer of gratitude for all our blessings.

I didn’t know then that we would only have my father with us for one more Christmas before he would pass away in the fall of 2011.  And so, the specialnesss of the time we spent together on that dark, quiet peaceful Christmas of 2009 remains one of my brightest and most cherished memories.

The post Why the darkest Christmas was my brightest appeared first on Murphy Writes.

“Saving one dog will not change the world, but surely for that one dog the world will change forever.” ~ author unknown

November 3 – 9 is National Animal Shelter and Rescue Appreciation Week

I recently read a story about a 6-month old puppy, Snowflake, who was surrendered to the Memphis Animal Services by her owner, who then

Snowflake, photo by Free Air Photography

proceeded to wander through the kennels looking for a younger dog to adopt. As a volunteer led her down the hallway to the puppy area the former dog owner pointed to a confused, scared Snowflake behind bars and said, “Oh no, that’s the one I just dropped off, I don’t want her to see me.”

The photo of Snowflake said it all – “Why are you walking away? What did I do wrong? I’m afraid. Please don’t leave me.” A volunteer photographer captured the moment.

The story brought me to tears because I know this happens thousands of times each year all over the country.

In fact, before I met my own dog Buddy, he was “a Snowflake,” not once but twice.

Discarded 2 times

By the time Buddy was 8 months old, two separate families adopted him, but then surrendered him for reasons such as “he barked too much, he wasn’t trained, he was too high energy, we can’t afford him.” He had already spent most of his life in a cage, how was he supposed to act?

There are some legitimate reasons to relinquish a pet. Each person has to make their own decisions. Giving up an animal can be complex and create feelings of guilt and stigma and sorrow, and the decision is not easy. But, I do take issue with dogs being surrendered because they are inconvenient or they are the wrong age, model or haven’t arrived fully trained and obedient.

A study by the National Council on Pet Population Study and Policy reveals these characteristics: 

• The majority of the surrendered dogs and cats were between 5 months and 3 years of age.
• The majority of dogs and cats had been owned from 7 months to 1 year.
• Approximately half of the pets surrendered were not neutered. Many of the pets relinquished  had not been to a veterinarian.
• Animals acquired from friends were relinquished in higher numbers than from any other source.
• Most dogs (96%) had not received any obedience training.

I didn’t need another dog…really

I met Buddy at a Humane Society event where he sat quietly inside a fenced-in area with other adoptable dogs. I hadn’t come to adopt a dog. I already had a dog and two cats. But, suddenly I was standing in the middle of the fenced area asking if I could walk him around on a leash.

On that short romp, he leaped and barked like an exuberant child. He was nutty and, holy shattered eardrums, what a bark! But I chalked that up to his ancestral background of Blue Heeler, Aussie, maybe Corgi and who knows what else.

As I mumbled, “what am I thinking?”  I signed the adoption papers and took this big eared, loud-mouthed, brown-eyed herding dog home. His paperwork said his name used to be Flash, then Rudy, but I changed it to Buddy because that is what I hoped he would become to me and my other pets.

(I didn’t know until I brought him home that he had been chosen as the cover dog for that day’s newspaper special section on pet adoption. A serendipitous meeting to be sure).

He had already spent most of his life in a cage, how was he supposed to act?

The first night home he freaked out and destroyed the window blinds in the bedroom. I got him a kennel and started obedience training. He was smart as a whip but carried quirks from his past, which unfolded the longer we lived together. He hated hoses and nipped at me when I bathed him. He attacked the trees in my back yard and chewed several Aspens in half. I don’t know if these and other odd traits had anything to do with previous abuse, but I just kept working with him. With patience and respect on both our parts we ironed out some of the glitches and learned to live with others.

Happy endings

Snowflake eventually got adopted by a family with a farm.

As for Buddy, it’s been 10 years since I brought him home. He is slowing down with some arthritis in his left leg, and we may only have a few more years together. As he  quietly lays his head on my lap, breathing peacefully, sometimes snoring and dreaming, sometimes passing gas, I wonder how anyone could discard this big furry ball of love.

The post Adopting a pet for life appeared first on Murphy Writes.

As Mother’s Day approaches I am reminded how blessed I am to still have my vibrant, wise and beautiful mom with me.

There are enough things in life that I may, or may not, regret one day – not making enough money or fulfilling a goal or taking more risks –  but one thing I will never regret is my relationship with my mom and the time we spend together.

As I get older, I’m realizing that time is quite fleeting, and it is way more precious than money or things. Time that has passed can never be regained.

As author Samuel Smiles said, “Lost wealth may be replaced by industry, lost knowledge by study, lost health by temperance or medicine, but lost time is gone forever.”

The truth is, we occasionally get so busy with work and family and daily diversions and obligations that sometimes it is easier to put off the people we know and love because, well, they will understand. They won’t mind. They will still love us. We’ll make it up.

For those of you who have lost a parent,  a friend or another loved one, you know what I mean. Once they are gone we sigh and wish we had just one more day, one more conversation, a little more time  to spend together. We petition the universe to go back in time and create a different outcome.  But, time has no backspace or undo button.

In a blink of any eye, they can be gone.

We simply must make time

Three and a half years ago, my mom moved temporarily into Boise (where I live) because my father had been placed in a Boise hospital following a complicated surgery that left him near death. Over a two or three month period, as we sweated through my dad’s roller coaster of medical crises and then his ultimate passing away, mom and I used this time to create a lovely tradition that we still continue today.

Every morning would begin at precisely 9:30 when I would call her to say good morning, see what she was doing, how she slept, and talk about the day’s schedule. Then,  at exactly 11 a.m., we would meet for a leisurely walk with our dogs near the beautiful Boise Foothills. “We used this time to share stories, grow closer and set the foundation to one day move on to our next phase of life, without my father.”

This time together was sacred to me because we used it to share our feelings and fears over my dad’s unknown future, do a bit of crying and nurture each other as we faced my dad’s slow, unstoppable demise. We walked near the hills, with views of mountains and green covered spaces, under tree canopies and with dogs exploring and swimming in the creek, and we simply ‘were’. This time together gave me a chance to become more acquainted with my history and unknown family details; we talked about who was connected to who over the generations, and how certain things happened over the past 50 years or so. I learned stories of my mother’s childhood in Canada, details about her Scottish parents, who I vaguely knew, her whirlwind courtship with my father, and colorful tales of my father’s early journalism career when he investigated the Miami Mafia, flew on Navy planes through hurricanes and actually yelled “Stop the presses!” as a young editor at the Miami Herald, which allowed the newspaper to scoop the story, but almost got him fired.

“Why are you stingy with yourselves? Why are you holding back? What are you saving for? Another time? There are no other times. There is only now.  Right now. – George Balanchine

Time together helps us heal

We used this time to share stories, grow closer and set the foundation to one day move on to our next phase of life, without my father.

I thanked God every day for having the good fortune to have my own small business, which gave me the opportunity and flexibility to be able to spend this time with my mom. Yes, time away from work meant not earning a lot of money, but our time together was my treasure.

Now, more than three years after we began this daily tradition, I still call my mom every morning at 9:30 a.m., whether she is in Boise or back at her home in Ketchum, Idaho. If for some reason I am late, she calls me, wondering where I’ve been and why I didn’t call. When she comes back into Boise to visit, we pick up our 11 a.m. daily dog walks like clockwork, and spend that leisurely time solving the world’s problems.

My mom is still with me, but that will not be forever. And so, for Mother’s Day we will celebrate like other mothers and daughters around the country, with a Hallmark card, perhaps some flowers, and brunch. But most of all, we will share time. Because, as journalist Sydney Harris wrote, “Time is love, above all else. It is the most precious commodity in the world and should be lavished upon those we care most about.”

The post Time, the most precious gift of all appeared first on Murphy Writes.

It’s a nice idea, one that perhaps every generation has hoped for, but being the flawed humans that we are, we haven’t yet found the magic formula to make it happen since the beginning of time.

Add The Words Idaho

This Facebook post coincided with a final vote on Idaho’s “Add the Words” bill, which asked the state legislature to approve adding four words — “sexual orientation” and “gender identity” — to the existing Idaho Human Rights Act. The bill basically would protect citizens against being fired, evicted or refused services because they are gay or transgender or perceived to be as such.

Source: lgbtnation

Because everyone has a sexual orientation of one type or another (including heterosexual) the bill would in fact protect anyone who was discriminated against due to their sexual orientation or perceived orientation. (e.g., you are straight, but your boss thinks you’re gay and wants to get rid of you. He can fire you).

Add the Words supporters had tried for nine years just to get a hearing in front of the legislative committee. All they wanted was to be heard, to provide information and testimony about what it is like to live in Idaho and be gay or transgender.

It may be true that the law cannot change the heart but it can restrain the heartless. ~ MLK, Jr.

During this almost decade of petitioning,  Add the Words supporters protested silently in the State Capitol halls and got arrested again and again. They stuck post-it notes to legislators office doors pleading with them to call a hearing. All they wanted was for the state legislators to listen to the stories of Idahoans who have lost jobs and housing, been beat up, and refused public services because of who they are.

Some people believe we don’t need laws to legislate how we treat others. But, as the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., noted in an address at Western Michigan University, December 18, 1963:

“It may be true that the law cannot change the heart but it can restrain the heartless. It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me but it can keep him from lynching me and I think that is pretty important, also. So there is a need for executive orders. There is a need for judicial decrees. There is a need for civil rights legislation on the local scale within states and on the national scale from the federal government.” (read the full quote here).

Source: Boise Weekly

Finally a hearing after almost a decade

In January 2015,  a hearing was finally called and several hundred people turned out to testify and tell their stories. Heart wrenching accounts of discrimination blended with supportive testimonies by the Chief of Police, religious and business leaders, pleas by parents, teenagers, and gay and transgender people from all walks of life. Some people risked their livelihoods to publicly testify in front of the committee.

The religious objectors quoted scripture and said how their daughters and wives would be in danger of sexually confused predators who would now be able to use the girl’s bathroom and perhaps molest them. They expressed fear that the law would allow necrophilia, beastiality, pedophilia and more. They felt that being gay was a ‘choice’ and extending protections to that group would infringe on their their own religious rights (ironically, a person’s religion is already one of the most sacred rights protected by the U.S. Constitution, and the Civil Rights Act of 1964).

9 years of waiting, 21 hours of testimony, 13 votes to kill it

After 21 hours of gut-punching testimony, legislators voted to keep the bill in committee which effectively killed it for the rest of this session. Its demise came straight down party lines – four Democrats voted to move it forward for a vote, 13 Republicans voted to kill it. Supporters will regroup and go back again next year for the 10th year.

So, now, back to my friend’s Facebook post. Raising a non-discriminating generation is a nice thought, but as long as there are people who think it’s okay to restrict the rights of people who are different, we’re going to see those beliefs and ideas continue to be passed along through time.

And that is why laws are needed.

How many generations are we willing to wait?

I was born and raised in the South, and I remember an early life that included segregation and the undertone that people of the black community were not quite the same or equal to the white majority. A sentiment like, “Let’s just raise a generation that doesn’t discriminate,” definitely would not have led to a change in the bigotry in the country at that time, but the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 sure made an impact.

…laws make it clear that discrimination against other human beings will not be tolerated..[/pullquote]

No, the law didn’t make everyone suddenly love each other, but it helped to “restrain the heartless.”

Like MLK, Jr. noted, no law, including Add the Words, is going to make anyone accept others in their heart, but laws make it clear that discrimination will not be tolerated, legally or otherwise. And  sometimes, that is the first step to changing the way a person operates.

The post Do we need laws to fight discrimination? Yes we do appeared first on Murphy Writes.

Sure, he is just a dog, but that’s what makes him so authentic. His deeds come purely from his heart. They are not shrouded in fear or insecurities or biases. He doesn’t approach things with an agenda and he doesn’t care what people think of him. He just gratefully lives the life he has been given, something that we humans occasionally forget to do.

So, here are some “woofs of wisdom” practiced by my dog every day, which I hope will continue to rub off on me.

1. Greet each day with gratitude – Buddy jumps out of his bed every morning wagging his little stump tail and wiggling his butt. He gives me a happy kiss on my nose and then runs to the back door to go outside, where sniffs his way through the garden like it is all brand new today, just for him. This daily exuberance is fresh and genuine and infectious. He has no expectations for the day ahead, yet he welcomes it with gusto and glee, not fear, not regret, not worry. He is just grateful and ecstatic to be alive so he can do it all over again, whatever “it” is.
2. Stay active and play – He wants to exercise every single day. Even if his bad front left elbow is a bit stiff from running the previous day, he is still game for some sort of activity. A walk, a swim in the river, anything to get his heart pumping, lungs breathing, and muscles moving. Buddy doesn’t seem to worry about possible post-exercise aches or tiredness. He doesn’t care about how his performance stacks up against the dog down the street, or how he looks when he runs. He just wants to feel alive.
3. No judging others – At the dog park, he associates with all types of dogs. Black ones, white ones, red ones and yellow ones; fat and skinny dogs; three-legged and blind dogs; dimwitted dogs and dogs with bad teeth; loud dogs, shy dogs and boy dogs that want to hump him. The only time he tends to keep his distance is when he feels he’s in danger of being hurt by an aggressive dog. Otherwise, he pretty much accepts them all, no matter their color, their weight, their sexual proclivities or whether or not they are the most popular breed in the U.S., according to the American Kennel Club.
4. Eat in moderation – When he eats, he enjoys every mouthful, but when he is done, he’s done. He doesn’t steal food off the kitchen counter, he doesn’t look for snacks, he doesn’t whine and beg for treats. And, paired with his enthusiasm for exercise, he is able to stay at a consistent healthy weight.
5. Have solid work ethics – One of his primary jobs is to play fetch with me, and when he takes on that responsibility he immerses himself in it with enthusiasm and commitment. There is no half-ass effort, no clock watching, no slacking off or whining that he is bored. He finds joy and stimulation in the task and goes at it full tilt boogie, with wholehearted dedication for as long as it takes him to reach his goal of returning the ball to me, over, and over, and over again.
6. Rest and rejuvenate – Sometimes during the middle of the day he will crawl into his crate, blissfully lay on his back, all four feet in the air, and take a long, restful nap.
7. Love your family and friends – Well, this is a given with just about every dog in the world. They are loyal, dedicated, protective, and they love us in spite of our weight, moods, income, hairdo, and the bad outfits that we wear to the grocery store. I think they have built-in sensitivity radars. When I cry, Buddy nuzzles me. When I sing, he howls loudly and sings along. He sleeps peacefully next to the cat in front of the fireplace, and follows the old dog around when she goes outside to do her business, walking about a foot or two behind her, almost in a protective mode.
8. Continue to learn as we get older – Even as Buddy ages he continues to improve his mind by learning new things. He is a herding dog, a very intelligent breed. Dogs of his ilk control entire herds of sheep and work alongside their masters to accomplish great feats. When I teach him a new command he works at it until he gets it right. Now, when I say, “Go back,” he runs to the back door to go outside. When I say “Go front,” he follows those instructions as well. I recently taught him to “Go get your clothes,” and he runs into the laundry room and grabs his collar off the hook so we can go for a walk.

Now, if I could just teach him to open a bottle of wine.

The post 8 woofs of wisdom for the New Year appeared first on Murphy Writes.

Life with any pet means a lot of love and companionship, but also means you will watch as they seemingly age twice as fast as you, and suddenly, they are the senior citizens in the household.

And then, one day they are gone.

I am facing this now with my little dog Tortilla, a Chihuahua terrier mix who serendipitously came into my life 15 years ago when I wasn’t even looking for her.

Tortilla, the lost dog

She had been a stray puppy wandering the streets for weeks before the animal shelter took her in. Once in the shelter, the little blonde dog  huddled at the back of her kennel, thin, scared and invisible, waiting for someone to come rescue her. Visitors to the shelter walked past her. The shelter volunteer told me that often people don’t want an insecure dog. They are looking for bundles of joy and playfulness.

The day I met her I was struggling with sadness over my older cat, TK, who was sick with cancer. TK , which stood for “The Kitty,” had been in and out of the vet for tests and surgery, and was not well at all. So, I found myself in the pet store, shopping for cat food, something bland and easier for TK to keep down, which in my mind would make everything better.

As I walked into the store I passed the area where the animal shelter was adopting out dogs. It was about 5 p.m. and they were starting to pack the animals up to leave. That’s when she caught my eye, this skinny little puppy with one ear sticking up at attention toward the heavens, and the other one flopping down over the side of her face. The shelter volunteer was having a hard time getting her back into her kennel. She was  resisting, as if to say, “I don’t want to be caged any longer.”

I asked the volunteer if I might take a look at this bony little dog. I held her and scratched her skinny belly and on the spur of the moment, perhaps out of my weakness of emotion over TK, decided to adopt her. They told me that I could pick her up in a week after she had been spayed.

One leaves me, one arrives

A week went by and during that time my cat lost more ground in his fight for life. In what can only be described as an unplanned and terrible timing, the vet advised me to put TK down on the same day I was supposed to pick the puppy up from the shelter.

I cradled TK in the vet’s office, stroking him, talking to him in the baby voice that we all seem to have for our pets, and assured him how much I loved him and what a beautiful, wonderful kitty he had been for the past 15 years. My chest literally ached with sorrow, and my tears dripped onto his soft fur as I held him in his last moments. Then, as the vet administered the medication, he relaxed in my arms and fell into his perpetual slumber. This pet that had been part of my family for so many years was gone and I wept inconsolably.

In those heartbreaking moments after the death of TK, all I wanted was to hit the undo button and everything would go back to normal. I surely didn’t want a new, unknown animal in my house who was going to try and take TK’s place.

But, as we know, there is no backspace command when it comes to death.

With red eyes and a bad disposition, I left the vet and went to pick up the new puppy. That first night, in my mourning over TK, everything the puppy did annoyed me. She whined, she piddled, she was too timid. The topper came at 2 a.m. when she crawled under my bed and threw up all over the floor.

We were off to a rocky start, for sure.

For everything there is a season…

In what feels like a blink of an eye, 15 years have passed since then, and now Tortilla is old and frail with her own myriad of health problems – congestive heart failure, Cushing’s, Canine Vestibular Disease, advancing age.

This little dog, who christened her life with me by throwing up under my bed, became a beloved part of the family and has since filled my life with joy, giggles, and love.

Tortilla, the found dog

The timid, skinny waif blossomed into a brave, happy, playful dog with a Queen of the Universe complex. Her life has been full. She’s traveled to the beach nearly every summer, climbed mountains, trudged through snow and tiptoed through fields of flowers. She’s been camping and fishing, sleeps quietly on my lap and in my bed, and loves to visit my mom’s house, where she bosses the two 100 pound Labrador retrievers around, after she first steals their chew bones.

When jobs were lost, friends moved on and family members died, Tortilla was a sure source of nuzzles when needed. Her trademark ear, the one that points straight to heaven, has remained at attention all these years. People at the dog park may not know my name, but they all know who Tortilla is.

I suspect Tortilla has a few good months left –maybe more, maybe less. And I know one day soon I will bid farewell to her, just like  I did with TK, and the other loved pets whom I have outlived.

And still, after she is gone, I will gladly do it all over again. And again..and again.

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Back then, I don’t think we called it bullying. In fact, I think most people in the 1960s and 70s tended to look at it as “Kids will be kids.” The underlying message to the victim was to either ignore it, suck it up, or grow a thicker skin. There were no anti-bullying programs in place, so to report being ‘picked on’ to a teacher would likely get you labeled as a tattler and create even further misery.

“It was HIS voice, the mean ring- leader, and I knew he was talking to me because this humiliation was what he did to me when I least expected it.”

Every generation seems to have a new crop of “mean kids”.  I remember them mostly as popular and loud with a ‘look at me’ attitude. They were always surrounded by a group of mini-mean kids who took their cue from their leader. When you saw them coming down the hall or into the cafeteria, you could just feel the air change.

Sticks and stones….

There was this one day when I was standing in the cafeteria line waiting to get my lunch.  Unbeknownst to me, a group of boys entered the cafeteria from the other side of the room. They were the popular boys; the football players, the blonde headed gods who made the girls giddy. But they were also the bully boys. As I made my way slowly along the food line, I suddenly heard a loud voice yell out, “Hey, fatso!” It was HIS voice, the mean ring-leader, and I knew he was yelling at me because this humiliation was what he did to me when I least expected it. My face began to burn red, and I silently wished I could simply disappear from the cafeteria , and the  entire earth as well. But I couldn’t disappear. I stood frozen with my head hanging low, looking down, hoping that the world would simply continue on as usual and allow me, the humiliated 8^th grader, to become invisible.

“The fact that I remember these events so vividly more than four decades later tells me that bullying can leave quite an impact on its target.”

Everything felt like it was suddenly in slow motion. After what seemed to be forever, I turned around to face him and his gang. I think I turned around because I didn’t know what else to do. In my young, insecure 12 year old mind, it felt like every eye was on me, so I had to do something. And, the moment I turned he yelled again, “Yeah, I’m talking to you, fatso.” The weird thing is that I don’t remember being fat in school, so it was pure name-calling and meanness.

No where to hide

This same boy would also sneak up behind me in the hallway during passing period, pinch the skin on my waistline, and scream his favorite line, “Hey fatso!” while his gaggle of hanger-onners laughed and the entire student body looked at me as they passed in the crowded hall, or so it seemed. What made it all the worse was that he and his buddies were older, in a grade ahead of me, and in my mind that made his opinion of me that much more authoritative and powerful.

The mean boys were loud and scary, but the mean girls often were worse. Their tactics were more psychological. They would ignore, belittle and cut you totally out of the group. One girl in particular would use her popularity power to boss me and other girls around and, if we tried to stand up for ourselves, we would be completely ostracized and made fun of. So, we swallowed our pride and got pushed around, simply because we  wanted to be accepted.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” is perhaps the biggest lie perpetuated by a childhood nursery rhyme.

The fact that I remember these events so vividly more than four decades later tells me that bullying can leave quite an impact on its target. There were days that I dreaded going to school. I was afraid of being humiliated and rejected, and although I had a few close friends and a family who loved me deeply and supported me, there was still that sense of aloneness every day as I walked onto that school yard. I knew at some point during that day, or maybe the next, or the next, I would have to face mean people who wanted to hurt me for no other reason except they could. And I wouldn’t have my mom or my dad or my teacher there when it happened.

It’s hard for any child to make sense of why they are so hated for no reason.

“Some of those stronger, meaner kids grow up to be adult bullies who we end up working with.”

October is National Bullying Prevention Month. The bullies of yesteryear, as bad as they were, had only limited means of spreading their poison. It was either in person, over the telephone or by passing notes in class. Today with the addition of the internet, social media sites, texting, and other instantaneous forms of communication, a bully can rip a hole in their target in a nanosecond. There are many local and national programs trying to get a grip on this epidemic. The fallout from bullying is disgusting:

• Suicide is the third leading cause of death among young people, resulting in about 4,400 deaths per year.
• For every suicide, there are at least 100 attempts. (Centers for Disease Control)
• Bully victims are between 2 to 9 times more likely to consider suicide than non-victims. (Yale University)
• A British study found that at least half of the suicides among young people are related to bullying.
• Girls who are 10 to 14 years of age may be at higher risk for suicide.
• Nearly 30 percent of students are either bullies or victims of bullying, and 160,000 kids stay home from school every day because of fear.  (ABC News)

Bullies in the Boardroom

Kids are not the only victims of bullying. Some of those stronger, meaner kids grow up to be adult bullies who we end up working with. While adult bullies usually don’t attack you physically, they do become quite adept at psychological and emotional manipulation and punishment.  I have worked with a few of them, and the fear they create in the workplace is real. After being bullied out of a job several years ago, I wrote a feature story on workplace bullies, which was my way of having the last word. Much of my research was gleaned from a very good anti-bullying website, Bullyonline.org. I don’t know what creates bullies, but I do know that its up to parents to make sure their children are raised to treat others with kindness. One last thought: Kids need to know that, as hard as it might be, it does get better and the bullies in their life will one day disappear. Here is a great video of an anti-bullying program. If you know anyone who is being bullied, its worth a look. photo credit: seaternity via photopin cc

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“Inspiration is a guest that does not willingly visit the lazy.” ~ Pyotr Tchaikovsky

I think most writers looking for inspiration have thought, at one time or another, that there is a mysterious power, a sixth sense, a ‘Muse’, that is out there to help us find our creative soul. The concept of inspiration coming from an external force has been with writers, actors, philosophers and other creatives throughout history, and it brings with it the hope and belief that the Muse will eventually arrive and guide us if we are patient.

Where the $#*+! is my inspiration?

The elusive Muse has been on my mind lately. I just came out of a long stretch of waiting for inspiration — waiting for the rainbow or puppy dog or beautiful scenery to move me and unearth the creativity buried inside me. I wanted the”Aha!” moment to tell me what to write about. And as I waited for this flash of brilliance, I buried myself in busyness and work, which made me feel productive, but pushed my personal writing even further to the back of the bus.

“Don’t wait for moods. You accomplish nothing if you do that. Your mind must know it has got to get down to work.” ~Pearl S. Buck

The thing about creativity is you gotta do the work. Creativity is not created by standing still and waiting to be magically metamorphosed. Like high jumping, or painting or carpentry or weight lifting, being better is about doing, about trying, about experiencing.  Just as horseback riders have to hoist their butts into the

“The one ironclad rule is that I have to try. I have to walk into my writing room and pick up my pen every weekday morning.” ~Anne Tyler

I knew all of this, really. But life happens, and work pressures take over and things can go astray and awry, and sometimes that’s exactly what needs to happen so we can get back to the basics.The creative dry spell of the past few months reminded me that I can’t just wait  for inspiration to arrive as though its a personal pizza being delivered to me. I need to do my part. And that means showing up daily to pursue my art, and committing to that time and space.

“Amateurs sit and wait for inspiration, the rest of us just get up and go to work.” ~ Stephen King

Elizabeth Gilbert, author of “Eat Pray Love,” covers this and more in this great 19 minute look at the creative process, insecurities and all. Enjoy.

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Well, yes. Yes, it is pretty awesome.

But, like everything in life, freelancing has its ups and downs.

Sure, we can wear whatever makes us feel comfortable.

And we keep our own schedules.

But we still work really hard. Sometimes we get into the creative zone and the words just flow.

But sometimes they don’t. And a writer without words, well that’s a problem.

The pressure to produce grammatically correct stories can sometimes be overwhelming. Like for example, we’re expected to remember the difference between there, their and they’re; your and you’re; its and it’s.

Sometimes the pressure causes us to totally blank out.

And sometimes other influences cause us to totally blank out.

Working alone, in solitude every day, searching our souls for the right words, putting our hearts out there for people to critique…it’s not always as easy as we make it look.

Tough editors make us cut out words and slice and dice our copy to meet a word count, which is really hard to do, especially since every single word we’ve written is absolutely perfect, and important, and essential for world peace.

And then, after all our heartfelt work, there are the negative reviews of our writing.

The critiques can cut to the heart and make us feel like losers.

Sometimes, we start feeling like we just can’t do it anymore, and we should go get a ‘real’ job again.

But, then we remember what THAT was like.

And

And

So every day, it is good for us freelancers to remind ourselves…

And to also remember the good times, the awards, the sleeping in late in the morning.

When it all comes together, it’s simply magic.

And to top it off, people actually pay us money for our words. How cool is that?

Even though it is sometimes exhausting to try and always be creative.

I wouldn’t change it for the world.

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