And... Here Comes That Kindness Thing Again

After spending some really delightful time in Minneapolis recently and encountering so many nice people I was reminded of the importance of taking just an extra minute to be kind. Sometimes it shocks people ~ they don't quite know what to think. (That's when it is the most fun.) But more often than not, the kindness is returned. Maybe not in that exact moment but it will come back to you. I like to call that karma. 

Yesterday I visited my new dentist - a sweetheart of a girl. Isn't it strange how overnight my doctors, my PAs, my acupuncturists, my dentists, my hair dresser ~ are all delightful young women. Wow. I'm officially old because they could quite literally be my daughters...  

In their chosen professions each one of them is intelligent and confident and professional. I am in awe of their accomplishments at such young ages. How happy it makes me that young women are entering these occupations and excelling! I came of age in the era of Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan and admire them still. So to see these young women doing what they do with such zeal and vigor makes me very happy.

And every single one of them is kinder and more compassionate than the next. It's reassuring to see that still exists in what sometimes seems like a terribly selfish and self-centered world.

So yesterday I was happy that maybe I was able to add a bit to the kindness factor in a small way.

I was in Bed, Bath and Beyond just bidding my time, perusing all the fun stuff, you know ~ as you do.  

I have a pillow obsession.

So la, la, la ~ and suddenly over the store's speaker system I hear, "Will the owner of a silver Jeep Grand Cherokee please come to Customer Service."

Heart sinks. The Mister and I have odd attachments to our vehicles and the Jeep has been mine for the last 7 years...

The manager explained to me that a little elderly woman had scratched the side of my Jeep with her side mirror on her gigantic black car. She was waiting by the Jeep.

I walked out and saw that she could have been my Mom about 5 years ago. Bless her heart. She was standing there with her USAA insurance portfolio in her arms. 

I said, "Hi. What happened?"

"I was backing out and when I did I noticed I scratched your beautiful car." She ran her finger across the "scratch." And I noticed when she did that the "scratch" seemed to disappear.  I ran my finger over the "scratch" and it totally disappeared. I still don't know what it was - dust? Whatever, it was gone.

I looked at her and said, "No problem - it's not scratched."  

She audibly sighed, put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Oh are you sure?"  

"Yes - see? No scratch! Thank you for being so honest, though!"

She smiled. I hugged her and said again, "Thank you for being honest. You have a good day now!"

I joke with my friends that I'm Pollyanna. Don't get me wrong ~ I'm not all kumba-ya all the time. But I find I do feel better when I throw some of that into the mix more often than not.

That karma thing? Trust me; it's real.

The Day We Went 'Round the Bend

Last week something pretty special happened. In fact, something rather extraordinary... My Mom celebrated her 95 years on the planet.

Think about that. 95 years. That's almost a century. Can you imagine the joy, the heartache, the love, the loss, the changes she has seen in her lifetime? The wisdom we can glean from her?

We asked her what she wanted to do to celebrate. She lives in a nice retirement community (still living independently in her own apartment and cooking and baking and sewing for the world - literally.) She wanted to host a party for her friends and family. And so we did.

And there was cake. A big cake.

Which was good because almost 100 people turned out. How 'bout that? A person for just about every year Mom has been on Earth. 

Four of her five children were there; my sister wasn't feeling well and couldn't make the trip.  We missed her...  But the four that were there each gave a little tribute to Mom and I think my brother said it best when he said, "We know why Mom's still here at 95. Because God's not done with her yet! She has more people to take care of!"  

So many people asked Mom what the secret to her longevity was... her response was always the same.  "Stay busy." I touched on that in my tribute to her - saying I hope I inherited her longevity gene because I have always taken Mom's advice about "staying busy" to heart. I need a couple of lifetimes to pursue all my interests!

Two days later on her actual birthday (September 24th) part of the family joined her for a scenic train ride.

Mom waiting for the train with her favorite son-in-law.

Ok. Her only son-in-law.

We went 'round the bend.

And we saw birds.

And canyons 120 feet straight down. Gulp.

I had time to chat with my sister. Who is uber cool.

And my brother who likes to photo bomb.

We were dubbed "The Rowdy Bunch."  

(You will notice who can't quite unplug. Ever. 

Yup, that's the Mister and me with our phones in our hands.)

I don't have a clue why.

It was a goofy, fun, wonderful way to make new memories 

on the day she turned 95...

Be Kind to One Another

When I left Iowa at 19 I spent a short stint in Canada then moved to Colorado. Since September of 1974 I have called it my home. So I have officially celebrated my 39th year in my adopted home state. And over those 39 years I have made a LOT of road trips across the vast state of Nebraska to visit my family in central Iowa. In the early years it was just cheaper than flying with little kids. In the later years it was because we couldn't bear to be without our Boo for a week, so she always traveled with us.

After our trip in 2012 we knew that she didn't enjoy traveling that far anymore. So even before we knew she wouldn't be with us for the 2013 trip we had decided to leave her home in the loving care of our pet-sitter. Sadly she didn't make it that long.

I told The Mister that if I had to travel by car across Nebraska one more time my head would explode. (No offense, Nebraska peeps - it's just a very long, straight road to drive with the same scenery for 39 years.  Yikes.)

So we decided to fly ~ but also mix it up a little and see some country we haven't seen that much of.  We decided to fly into Minneapolis, spend some time there and rent a car to make the three hour drive to Mom in central Iowa.

We left our home at 5:45 am last Saturday (taking time to make breakfast and weigh our bags.) We parked in the outlying airport parking, snagging a parking spot 40 feet from the bus stop. Oh and as luck would have it, the shuttle bus pulled up right behind us. And we arrived at Denver International Airport as the sun rose.

Someone had booked our seats in the emergency exit row where there is no place to stash your bag under the seat in front of you. I'm a girl. I have to have my stuff.

 

So we joked with the ticket agent and bingo bango - we have better seats. The Mister thanked him for saving our marriage. 

We were fortunate to be among the first to board and our flight attendant instructed everyone as to their designated spot for carry-ons. She requested we put ours under the seats in front of us. (She and I got along fine.) I watched her as the remainder of the plane boarded. She was friendly and smiled but every inch of her 5' 100 lb. frame was all business. If she told you that was your overhead bin space, you listened. She joked and called herself "Judy the Baggage Nazi."

Get this - the pilot came out and talked to everyone. First thought, of course, omg the flight is delayed. Quite the contrary ~ he was welcoming us all and said if it was alright, we would be departing a bit early.  We arrived in Minneapolis 20 minutes ahead of schedule. As we left the plane I paused to thank Judy the Baggage Nazi and told her I had never been on such an organized flight!

Next step was to pick up our rental car. Someone had requested the wrong size car so the Hyundai Sonata we had hoped for wasn't available. Again, humour and patience paid off. The girl at Avis went above and beyond to find one for us. We waited. She came back and said, "You've got your Sonata!  I stole it from Budget."  

The Mister to our Avis agent, "Don't you own Budget?"

Me to our Avis agent, "You do now!"

Again The Mister thanked her for saving our marriage and we left fast friends.

So we check in to the Marriott (10 minutes from the airport) and have an afternoon to kill. Mall of America (MOA) is across the street, so what the hell ~ let's go see what all the fuss is about. We're walking, we're walking, we're walking. We stop in a few shops. A new carry-on bag with a padded shoulder strap was in order; my shoulders were killing me.  (Hey my carry-on was heavy but both checked in bags were 36 lbs and well under the weigh limit!)

I love handbags but I've never been into name brand bags. I'm more of a Marshall's/Kohl's whatever bag is on sale gal. But over the years my Mom-in-law and BFF/SIL have sent a few Vera Bradley's my way and I think they are kind of works of art. So when walking into the Hallmark store in MOA looking for something else, I stopped by the colorful Vera Bradley section in the front of the store. The bags aren't within my normal budget but I did fall in love with an extremely colorful one. (As Emile Zola said, "If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist will answer you: I am here to live out loud!") When I saw it had a padded shoulder strap, the deal was done. However... I kind of wanted to see the rest of collection in that pattern and theirs was limited. 

I asked the friendly clerk about that and she said if I really wanted to see all of them the Vera Bradley store was one floor down. And she said it genuinely and with a smile. So I finally found the store, took a quick look around and promptly took myself back to the Hallmark store and the nice lady and bought the bag from her.  Because she had been generous and honest and kind.

Considering every loop around MOA is a mile, we did our 5 miles. We found the delightful Napa Grille and plopped our sorry tired behinds down in seats on their patio. Our friendly server brought us our kale, chicken, roasted butternut squash and goat cheese salads. They were quite yum.

And so began our salad tour of the Midwest. And the oh so healthy side of fries almost every time.

As we were leaving I found our server to thank her and I found myself saying something Charlie's Gannie always said - what his Mother always says - "Have a happy life, sweetheart."

 

The Mister and I remarked as we were saying good night that wasn't it interesting how smoothly the day had gone. Even with a couple of bumps kindness begat kindness; laughter begat laughter and patience paid off.

 

There's a lesson there, grasshopper.

 

The Tears Rolled into My Ears, Darlin'

Its been a hauntingly quiet day here in the studio. The Mister has been gone helping his parents with some minor flooding in their basement. I'm missing Boo snoring on her bed... I've made such a comfortable, cozy nook for A-choo downstairs she no longer keeps me company here.  I took a break from work and put together a little photo-history of my Mom and her life for her 95th birthday next week.  

Mom's natural environment is the kitchen.

She's had quite a life that Mom of mine... She has done everything from pumping gas at the Conoco station she and my Dad ran when they were first married to butchering her own chickens and planting huge gardens to rocking babies to sleep in the hospital nursery where she was a night nurse. And somewhere in all that, raised five kids.

She makes THE best cinnamon rolls - omg - hot out of the oven with some butter - to die for. Her homemade noodles are thick and soft and delicious. I grew up in a Norwegian community (although I am 1/4 Dane and for some reason the Norwegians rank higher...). So I grew up with kumla (a sort of potato dumpling best when smothered in butter) and kringla (a kind of Norwegian shortbread - again best hot out of the oven smothered in butter). Gez, I never realized how much butter we used... explains why I'm allergic to dairy now.

She sews every day of her life - even now. She has an active social life with friends in her retirement complex and her church. I joke that I have a really nice relationship with her answering machine; she's never home!

She lost her husband of 62 years back in 2002 and I know she misses him to this day. But her response to what The Universe threw her back then was to stay busy.  Just stay busy.

I think that is where I learned to block sad things from my mind. Its why I may sometimes appear stoic or reserved. It's just how I deal. Until the other day when I had an acupuncture treatment and for some inexplicable reason two minutes after the acupuncturist left the room - tears began to flow. I started thinking about Simba and more tears. I thought about some other things that have transpired in this sucky year of 2013 - it has been a year of much loss - and more tears flowed. Lying there with needles in my arms and hands I couldn't move. So the tears ran into my ears. (Sounds like a country song, doesn't it?  The tears rolled into my ears, darlin'.) So at least then I could think about something else. Like how it was driving me crazy to have tears just pooling up there in my ears and I couldn't move to wipe them out.

Finally she re-enters the room and I ask, "Is this treatment supposed to make you cry?"

"It can."

"Well, it did."

We talked for a bit and she said, "I don't know you that well, but it seems like maybe you hold your emotions captive. That's not good. You need to let things out or the stress and the sadness and the anger will literally affect your health."  (Hmmm... high blood pressure.)

So rather than actually express my emotions I booked another treatment. Yup, that's me. I'd rather lie on a bed with needles in me than confront my emotions.

Re-entry.

Yesterday I took my first walk in the park since Simba has passed. In the past few months she wasn't up to the mile long walks ~ wasn't really up to walking much past the mailbox a couple of blocks away. So I although I missed her on those walks, I always knew she was waiting at home for me. 

So walking yesterday - knowing that she wasn't waiting at home for me - weighed heavily on me.  I had my Canon and shot the sun as it was coming up

and caught the Canada geese and other migrating birds as they flew overhead

I gave creativity and a rubber duckie photo shoot a shot

but ultimately I just didn't have it in me. I wasn't feeling it.

I was missing my buddy.

It will be awhile before we are ready to bring another dog into our family. Simba is still here at every turn. But a friend made a really good suggestion ~ volunteer at a local shelter/rescue for awhile. It will give me the connection I need with dogs and brighten the days of a few lonely pups. Of course, my problem right now is time; but it is something I intend to do. I never thought I could ~ knowing that the dog I walked yesterday may not be there tomorrow; but another wonderful friend once told me, "I know it would be hard, but think of the joy you gave that dog for even one day."

Today started out as my favorite kind of day

cloudy and cool.

Time for tea (especially the Chinese kind that is supposed to lower blood pressure)

And the day stayed cloudy and cool. I don't like summer heat and I love Autumn and I love days like this. As much as I'm still mourning, it was time to get back to work. So I filled Etsy orders

and worked on shop orders.

In between I did a few loads of laundry. And in doing so, came across the shirt The Mister was wearing the day we said goodbye to Simba. It was covered in her fur. I held it close, I cried, I inhaled her scent, I cried some more ~

and then I let it go.  

I thought I heard her raspy breathing this afternoon ~ the breathing I used to hear from the bed behind my desk.

A-choo the Cat has been acting weird all day. It's almost like she sees Simba and Simba is taunting her like she loved to do.

We are receiving cards full of sympathy and love from friends - actual snail mail cards. Family members are donating to shelters in Simba's name. It's overwhelming. And lovely. And makes me cry.

Who knew one little 35 lb. ball of fur could touch so many lives? She was one of a kind, our girl. And her legacy will live on.  I love you, Boo.

Baby Steps...

As I was editing images this morning I thought, "Life goes on" and felt like maybe I was making some progress. The Mister and I have, despite our deep sadness over losing Simba, had some smiles in the past few days.

We [almost] had to force ourselves to celebrate our 20th Anniversary two days after Simba passed. Having made one of the hardest decisions of our lives on Tuesday, by Thursday neither of us felt like making decisions. So the Jeep just automatically steered us to Hillstone for sushi

and comfort fries.

And because we already had tickets and reservations, Friday found us at Lucy for dinner and Comedy Works for Kevin Nealon.

As we do, we did some retail therapy at IKEA on Saturday and the rest of the day was spent assembling our new entertainment center. (Or rather I watched; The Mister assembled.)

While he did that, I experimented making a pizza we could eat with our new food restrictions. We discovered our restrictions aren't as restricting as we thought.

I had forgotten about my little garden, so did some harvesting this morning.

With which I made chunky guacamole

and peach, mango, tomato, cucumber, cilantro, onion, jalapeno, garlic salsa.

And as I was cleaning up the kitchen I heard the familiar jingle, jangle, jingle of our girl's tags on her collar. Startled, I spun around fully expecting to see her. Of course she wasn't there. But it sent me into a funk. Life goes on, but not for her.

We have felt so many arms around us this week. A multitude of kind and comforting and loving words have come our way. 

My son and his wife sent this beautiful plant with a lovely note. 

Our Vet Clinic sent a card telling us a tree was being donated in Simba's name in Superior National Forest in Duluth, Minnesota.

Family and friends are making donations to animal shelters and rescues in Simba's name and we will do the same.

It's all so loving and warm and wonderful.

But when I wake at 2 am and feel her presence right next to me on the bed where she slept... I lose it all over again.

Baby steps...

They Never Really Leave You

I've always said that about our pets when they pass on ~ they never really leave you. I didn't mean it literally. Until now.

Every bit of what I'm about to tell you is true. And, if, after reading it, you think I've really gone 'round the bend, you can call me crazy.  (You crazy, Cindi!)  But I believe it. And we have found a surprising comfort and solace in it.

About a month ago we interviewed a woman to help us around the house a couple of times a month. I didn't know her and The Mister had only met her once when she was a guest at his BNI (Business Networking International) meeting one morning. She came highly recommended by a couple of people in the group so we set up an interview.

About five minutes into our interview with her Simba peeked out from behind my chair, looking right at the woman (we'll just call her S) and peed on the carpet.  The Mister and I were used to her having an accident now and then (at 16 it happens) but this seemed deliberate ~ and surprising that she would just squat and pee in front of us; she usually snuck off to another room.

Yesterday as we pieced things together we think we know why.  

S only saw Simba one time after that initial meeting. At this point in her life Simba had grown silent, not barking, not yodeling, not making a sound.  But when S leaned down to speak to her, she growled.

Fast forward to yesterday... S was here to clean (only her second time here) and she knew that we had said goodbye to our girl just 2 days prior. As we do, we would chat now and then and she remarked that it is so interesting being in people's homes and picking up their energy. (She had told me earlier that she was empathic - and yes, I had to Google it, too.  Here's a quick explanation. Think John Edward. No, not John Edwards. John Edward the medium - the guy on TV who knows your dead Uncle.) I asked what she felt in our house.

"Simba. She's here." 

I thought ~ well, ok. Of course we feel her presence and see her at every turn. But not literally.

S says, "She's been following me for about an hour. Is there something about snacks? Her treats? She's looking for them."

Ok - this is where I got chills. I said, "I just put them away this morning. They were on the counter but I put them in the pantry."

"Well, she isn't happy about that."

So I put them back on the counter. I'm not kidding.

I said, "We haven't been able to put her beds away either."

S- "Don't. She won't like that."

Before S left we were chatting a bit more and she said, "I see an older man ~ someone in Charlie's family who has passed. A real dog lover..."

I racked my brain and couldn't really come up with anyone. 

"He's tall and he's wearing jeans and a - not flannel - more of a denim shirt. And he's waiting for Simba."

The dim light in my brain began to brighten ~ "Maybe it's his Grandpa Russell. He was a farmer. And I think he had a fondness for his dogs."

Now S got chills. She asked if Simba had been kind of gazing off in the distance a few days before she passed. Yes, she had. "She was looking at Grandpa Russell. He was there for her."

Enter The Mister ~ and S told him everything. He's convinced she was describing his Grandpa Russell, who as it turns out really did love dogs. And he quite often wore jeans and denim shirts.

Saying our goodbyes at the door, S says "I'm leaving now, Simba!" And turning to us said, "She's been trying to shush me out the door for an hour."

We later thought ~ well, Simba always did hate the vacuum and that's what S had been doing for the last hour.

So as we reflect on all this we wonder if maybe Grandpa Russell came in the house when S did. If he sat by her in that interview and Simba saw him, she was either scared or defiant so she peed. And if the next time S was here and leaned down to speak to Simba, Grandpa Russell was right next to her so Simba growled.

The Mister shared with me that the other night when I was yakking away about something he swore he heard the light jingle, jangle, jingle of Simba's tags on her collar - as if she were coming down the stairs. But he thought he was just imagining it.

Was he?