A week of milestones...

This week marks two significant events...

 

Eight years ago, on March 22 we brought Rumbeau home.  It happened all so innocently really and that Sunday morning neither Sam nor I had any notion that we'd end the day with a puppy in our home. 

After losing our beloved Benson (aka Bennie the Mooch, photo right) we decided he would be the last.   Benson's finalweeks with us were heart wretching; his back legs were paralyzed, making him unable to walk or even stand without assistance.  The decision to end his suffering was difficult and it was made just days after I lost my father to cancer; that week in late November/early December 1997 was literally the week from hell.   In the months that followed, Sam and I both felt the void--Dad and Benson were a huge part of our lives and trips to the cabin without them just seemed empty.  We carried on, knowing that everything must change, but neither of us could deny the overwhelming sadness in our hearts.

 

While skimming through the Sunday newspaper on a quiet March morning, I saw an ad for black lab pups; I'd seen the same ad a fews days before, but had told myself No, I'm not going through that again.  But, seeing it that morning, well, something just came over me and so I mentioned the ad to Sam.  A phone call followed and soon we were driving down the highway headed for another town thirty some odd miles away to see the pups.

"What if we get there, and the pups are ugly?" Sam asked from his place behind the wheel.

"Then we leave and just enjoy a nice Sunday morning drive," I replied.

The pups were farfrom ugly and we must have spent over forty-five minutes on our knees watching the pups behaviors and personalities, trying to choose between three males.  All three looked the same and we tried but neither could keep track of one or the other.  This one, no...wait...that one....I think.  The pups were running all over the yard with the owner's two children packing them here and there, leaving Sam and I siting on the lawn, confused and undecided.  Rum made the decision for us.  Apparently he'd had enough and decided he wanted to come home with us, so Rum walked right up to Sam, placed his paw on Sam's knee, looked him right in the eyes and the rest, as they say, is history.
(PHOTO: Sam and Rumbeau on the day we brought Rumbeau home.  All puppies are adorable, but there's just something  about the face of  a black lab pup...)

During the next year Rumbeau became very well known at the local vet clinic.  I made at least ten visits to the clinic with Rumbeau in tow and that's not counting puppy check-ups; he just had this knack for doing things that required medical attention.

  

On every visit he'd swagger into the clinic on his leash, approach the receptionist counter and then stand on his hind legs with his front paws propped on the counter as if to say "I'm here for my appointment."  Dondie, the receptionist would lean back in her chair and holler "Rumbeau's here" so everyone in the clinic would know he had arrived, and soon the reception area would be full of clinic staffer's fawning over Rumbeau's latest escapade.  Personally, I think he just had a puppy crush on his vet, Dr. W, you know.

Life with Rumbeau is never boring.

The other milestone this week happens tomorrow; ten years ago I went to work for my current employer.  That's a first on two levels: I've never stayed with an employer this long--heck, three and a half years was the maximum length I ever stayed anywhere; and, no other employee in the 38 year history of the organization ever made it ten years.  So, it's a double dose of celebration for me this weekend.

Well, that's it, for now.  Tomorrow we are off for a weekend at the cabin.  It's been a long winter...I've got some doors and windows to open.  ;)

Hope yours in a nice and relaxing weekend.

Lawlessness in Idaho

It's safe to make love while parked in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. Police officers aren't allowed to walk up and knock on the window. Any suspicious officer who thinks that sex is taking place must drive up from behind, honk his horn three times and wait approximately two minutes before getting out of his car to investigate.

Idaho state law makes it illegal for a man to give his sweetheart a box of candy weighing less than fifty pounds.

 

In Pocatello, Idaho, a law passed in 1912 provided that "The carrying of concealed weapons is forbidden, unless same are exhibited to public view."

Yep, sounds about right. 

Methodical matters

I keep a lot of things to myself.

The reasons I do are as numbered as the stars in the sky and these days I find myself hesitant to say this or do that.  I get so preoccupied, wrapped around my internal dialogue, questioning the purpose and trying to anticipate the outcome...time ticks away on the clock and soon I realize the moment has passed--whatever point I wanted to make is no longer relevant.  Through my own resistance I have squelched my own opportunity.  It's an ability...a talent...at which I excel.

I've been struck lately by change.  A shift in my own character.  For the better or the worse is undecided.  Perhaps time will tell.

But there was a time when I did not feel so compelled to measure every word, if I had something to say, I said it.  I burned with a desire for knowledge and discovery.  Continuous improvement was my personal mantra and interaction was the key.  Always respectful of differences and mindful of opinions, I found it easy to flow into almost any dialogue, overjoyed with content and instantaneously touched by the fresh air of gentle breezes that rushed as doors and windows opened in my mind.  Fueled by an instinctive need to grow and reach new heights of understanding I said what I felt, had my peace and was content with just the expression of the words; I was free to interact. It was enough for me and I moved on.

Now, I feel stuck.

Sunk knee deep in mire oozing with discontent so thick I don't want to move for fear I will lose my balance. It's a precarious hold I have on myself.  How did I get here?  What happened?  Something is wrong.

That's just it.  It's that word.  Wrong.

I know I wasn't always right all those years ago, and if someone said I was wrong, the words often bounced right off me.  I was learning, expanding, growing and reaching.  I knew being wrong could teach me what is right.  But now, being wrong, or being told I'm wrong, petrifies me..............................................................................................................................................into silence.

For someone who thrives on communication it feels like a death sentence.

Sometimes I think too much emphasis has been placed on two words, politically correct.  Where did that come from anyway?  Was it really necessary to label common decency and courtesy and sense with, of all things, the word political?  Political?  What in the world does political have to do with these nuances anyway?  From it's very inception, in every suggestion of what is politically correct I have read or heard, some part of me always wanted to scream out  It's called social conscience, moral compass, empathy, and cultural awareness.  Minding your manners.  In my mind, putting together the words politically correct created one more oxymoron and, yet another joke.

I believe the values, morals and beliefs instilled in my character from my life experiences are more meaningful and socially relevant now, than ever before.  I don't believe being politically correct has accomplished anything positive; on the contrary I get the sense it has pulled society apart, rather than drawing us together.  Years ago I felt free to speak my mind; guided by an innate understanding of what is right and wrong, I knew certain words or expressions were offensive to others.  For those words I had no use.  I knew to avoid them.  Period.

Sometimes I wonder if being politically correct places too much emphasis on preserving the individual at the expense of the community.

My mother always warned me to use my words with care, for the meaning of words can easily be misconstrued by another, and good intentions can be twisted into something else.  Even now writing these words I sense my intent may be lost, hastily misconstrued into some unbalanced diatribe for the amusement of another; the essence of my feelings filtered into something else--something they are not.

I've been told I am very articulate and yet I feel dumb.  I am an open-minded person and yet I feel so closed.  The quest for growth that ignited improvement seems burned out, the flame sputtering, as if from a lack of oxygen.

Twenty years ago I heard Dixie Carter's character on a television show say something that struck adeep chord in me, so much so that I felt the words were actually Dixie Carter's own, written into the script.  She said "The purpose of etiquette is to put people at ease, not make them feel uncomfortable or socially lower than others."  Proper etiquette puts us all on the same level and allows civility to flourish.  And to breathe.

I need to breathe.  I want to breathe.  Maybe I should throw caution to the wind.

Fresh air cannot circulate where obstructions block the flow.  There are doors and windows to be opened, again.

 

Be who you are and say what you feel,
for those who matter do not mind,
and those who mind do not matter.
--Dr. Suess

Wishes for the day...

  Hello my journal friends! 






 Hope you all have a great day and don't drink too much green beer!





 

I, Create

 

I've been playing again...snaggable, if you like.  :)

In a river of gold...

Allie and Rumbeau awash in the Clearwater River, doing their version of syncronized swimming in honor of the Summer Olympics, July 2004.  The dynamic duo are about to swim under a bridge, the vantage point from which I was able to capture this moment. 

On a historical note, gold was found in this river in the 1880s and thus another gold rush of the west took place.  A handful of modern day gold miners frequent this river during the summer months; it is truly a river of gold.

This was my first choice for John's Monday Photo Shoot, but after going back through our pics from the new year trip to the cabin, I changed my mind.  This morning, I changed it back.  What can I say?  It's one of my favorite photos.

 

**We have not inherited the earth from our fathers, we are borrowing it from our children. --Native American saying **

Your Monday Photo Shoot - Pets at Play

Your Monday Photo Shoot: Get a shot of your pets at play. A new shot is good, or if you have an older shot (that you haven't already used for an earlier photo shoot), that's good too. Humans can be in the picture, but it can also be of your pet (or pets) by themselves. The important thing is to catch them at play.

A moment from one of our morning walks at the cabin.


Moments later Rumbeau is caught in mid-air trying to catch a snowball.

Got a photo of your pet at play and want to join in?  Click >here< and John will tell you how.