For me, it is the calm that causes the storm that I try to chase away. A swirling numbness that haunts and hurts. When it swings through my mind and heart, all I can do is ride out the storm and busy my mind as chaos is my ticket out of my ride that causes nothing but misery. This is not daily. Nope. But when it hits, it hits. I am not alone.
All of us have issues. No one gets through life without a few scars, and the hurt we survive comes in many forms. Some chosen crutches are to numb, cry, run, meditate, and seek help, but we all have issues that are only mounting for the generations that will keep our social security churning. As a teacher, I see students shut down over minor issues and have no understanding of how to get out of their own minds and into life with a sense of purpose and a bit of their own chaos or whatever calms their own storms.
I have not felt this sort of initial love in decades. It is as we were made for each other, as this is my answer, to all things cooking. Imagine a scan and go technology with the ability to churn out meals that have ingredients only tasted by my household in restaurants. I can’t cook, but marvel at those that can and actually love the process. I applaud you. I am more of the shop, five minute prep and scan girl. Oh, I can do chicken nuggets and lunchables but charcuterie still comes in plastic with my shop, open and go mentality, and I am ok with this.
The hubs heard of this Christmas gift to myself and he balked. You can cook, it will be costly, yadda yadda. I ignored. So far, he likes it. It is not a love match as he has his own eating peculiarities (bariatric patient) but so far I have received a positive reaction. I am just learning to order for him and myself separately. I am low calorie and he gets what wants and divides it up. It works and makes me happy. Tonight is a Korean pork dish. Yum.
The upsides of this new countertop space grabber far outweighs its bulkiness in a world gone minimal. We are eating balanced low calorie meals that are portioned correctly and enjoying our choices, more time together, and sometimes a fancy lunch, if leftovers or an extra chicken, does no meet his tastebuds.
So run do not walk to www.tovala.com and find you machine, meals, and your new best friend.
I was Joe for years. I have no understanding as to why technology placed my number under this moniker. But so be it. My dad was happy, it made him laugh, and that is what I lived for, his laugh. It was big and Joe made him laugh. Sometimes. I still have his last message and kick myself that I waited a day to give him a call but I did not expect death. No one does. I cry at odd times and need to see a shrink. I am a mess. We were an odd couple with a deep father- daughter bond with distance, understanding, and a likeness that was odd since I never grew up in the same zip code, state, or on the same coast. No ill will. Just a reality that made our times, good and bad, more poignant. The last time I saw him, I let him read part of my book, aka the heap of papers that I am rewriting and asked his permission to use his addiction story but no name. No big details just enough to tell my own co-dependency story. He loved it and agreed. But it sits. Every year, it is the books year, with more of an effort on the type of cover picture than the words. This is a problem and a pure sense of delay in my own healing and perhaps the two others that purchase the book. It is not the sales, it is the completion.
So, this is the year and while I should dedicate it to “Joe” whoever that technology snafu friend was, it will be dedicated to my Clem.
Going to an arcade with a five-year-old is a blast. As a grandparent you cherish the smiles, the firsts, the games you choose and do not choose to play. You do, however, just because you are a grandparent and let’s face it this is more fun than parenthood. Truth. Even better is the fact that my nugget outsmarted the claw four times over. Yes, the impossible claw, that my husband and I swore to our own son, “the claw always wins.” We were cheap. Well, with the nugget, who cares. This is our third or fourth trip. I stayed with the mantra, but dad gave in… well, toys came out galore. “Grandma, I won. I beat the claw.” Of course, this is really the first time I have seen anyone win at the claw, so I was overjoyed and yes, we continued to play. Why not? Yes, there is more loot (one stuffed item for all) as he shares nicely. The Kermit like figure, is my gift from my grandson, which I will cherish. All $50.00 of him! A grandparent’s time is pricey but well worth it, as parents, usually cannot do what we can due to just life being expensive. It is our time. I never did arcades with our son. Never, but the nugget, after reading me a book gets the moon and I get the love of Kermitish.
Kermitish
The Kermitish, will be my forever. It was the combination of the sharing, the excitement, and just the enjoyment of the day. Nugget laughed at the name. I would as well, it is goofy. But so is an arcade and an after delight of a kid’s movie in a fancy theater. These days are precious, and they are coupled with the delight of reading, watching him tie shoes. Almost. Helping me pick out a Halloween costume (Blues Clue) down to the tights and ears. Since it was cost effective, and it made him happy, why not? No reason, sans my dignity but it for a school function. I lost any sanity and sense of costume style long ago. So, while the claw can lose, news to me, grandparents who put in the time, a few bucks, and plans for the years ahead to share in their lives, will never. That to me is the adventure, I will gladly continue to take, as long as Kermitish can come along for the ride, and he will. In the arcade I had an epiphany. Odd, yes. But it was the consistent flashing lights that brought on an idea he will never forget. Wherever we travel so will the Kerm, sort of like Flat Stanely, with postcards, journals, and of course pictures of grandma and grandpa (unwillingly) and the Kerm, wherever we go. So today, while was just a small adventure in an arcade and the viewing of a movie became so much more. It was compassion, sharing, beating the claw, and having a grandma make it into a lifetime of memories for all of us, especially the Kermitish because he thought his life would be inside a bubble, but now he will see the world. Eventually.
Sorry Columbus, but our week off (Fall Break) has nothing to do with you finding the New World. In fact some no longer celebrate your deeds. That is another story. Today, my writing celebrates my confusion of a week off in the middle of a school year. We just started! I have never understood this week off for teachers. Never. I gladly participate in this new age holiday of sorts. But why do we have four weeks off before the beginning of our third quarter? There are no answers as we have only been in school nine weeks. But we gladly take it. Does this impede family vacations and day care? Probably. Does this hurt the educational dynamic of our students? Eh. No data to tell. So we carry on.
So, what do teachers do with their time. Well, those with little ones, they enjoy, and I am constantly jealous, as I loved any time off with my kid, now adult. For those in the latter part of our careers we probably don’t do big travels if we are prepping for retirement. We organize, sleep, workout, etc. We stay busy and enjoy the solitude and ability to go to the bathroom on command. We recharge. If you are over fifty teaching becomes increasingly demanding and we need to reset the batteries, that are so badly drained, from their constant powering level of being ON, ON, ON for everyone at all times. While, I am still on empty, I am at least to the stage that only one nap is needed a day. My first day home, I woke up at 4:00pm and went to bed by 9:00pm.
Today, I am wearing make-up, a chic all black lululemon dupe, and checking off my lists and creating Christmas lists. This teacher budgets and shops from October onward. I am just getting things done for a happy organized home ready for fall, without having to leave the house. I am not ready for the real world, perhaps tomorrow. Maybe. I have time.
When it is blazing hot we take fun inside. But today we worked. I took the entire day to train one command. My training titles are a tad different from the traditional dog blogs. Why, I am not a trainer, just a GSD mom, who is in over her head. I trained every hour on the hour for ten minutes. My command. Get off my effing lap. Now, she is a jumper, because she is a dog, but she is seventy pounds and my height. It ain’t cute. It was my first order of business and unless super thrilled or overly crazy, she no longer jumps on me as I stroll through my air conditioned sanctuary and our makeshift training grounds. Now, she is not a food girl. But I found her weakness bacon treats. Disgusting. Little tiny preshaped bones, are her version of cavier and because I am cheap and do not want a chubby pup. I break them up to almost a powder form that she licks with delight. I now smell like prefabricated bacon.
We worked from chair to chair in my house. Of course with both pups, because the other one is well a follower, and while he would never jump, he thinks he is working. Not so bright. Loving. But. He enjoys short walks, a bone, and getting brushed. She is killing me. All day she was amazing. I thought I had this off my to do list before school resumes. Nope. At the end of the night, up she came again and this time sat on my lap to watch TV. That little b**** . Literally. I ignored her as the experts say to ignore. I got up (interesting maneuver) and walked away, again the experts wise expertise. I sat in another chair and called her over and I gave her love when all paws were down, if one paw came up for a cute look at me, it was a stern stare, a hand before her face and a NO, a quiet one. This was my call. We did this in every chair with the added bacon. She did not jump. I brought her back to reality and put her to bed. She is truly more tired than I am. She knows she met her match. But she will test again and again and again. Until she gets that it is a hard no, or until I permanently smell like bacon. As for her buddy he got brushed ate a nice rawhide bone and was happy.
The advantages to starting school on the first week of August in Arizona are non-existent. Zero. Zilch. Nada. I have done this for twenty-eight years. While my first year picture (cover shot) looks cool and comfy, that is due to a bundle of makeup, and washing my face fifteen minutes before the photo shoot, of sorts. Or the stand, turn to the left. No too much, to the right. Perfect. Smile. Next, nightmare. It is hot, humid, and we drip in sweat as most of air conditioning in our building is a tad on the older side. In every building. If you want me I am in the hot room.
So I melt. I am assigned to little to no makeup with a cute dress, preferably with pockets, and practical shoes. It’s a messy look. But I can spot an August teacher out in the wild in seconds. We all look the same as we toss real fashion out the window to survive the mileage we walk combined with our consistent state of heat. August stinks. Literally.
So, the pre-fall attire is best found in the cheapest stores. I consider it more disposable fashion. Now, a few of my pieces I love and are keepers, due to style, price, and quality. But bring on the big box stores and dupe fashion. If a piece is cool enough to get me through this period of time and has enough copy of fashion sense. I have bought it, in triplicate. This year very into the flowy dress, dignified menswear, and linen galore. Also, stepped up my shoe game with retro sneakers. All the rage and at sixty cool shoes are a must.
As we head into the starting gates. I am already wishing for October, for overall comfort and the ability to wear pieces that won’t target me as a teacher the moment I step outside of the classroom and allow me to wear makeup that won’t drip down my face, and to the release of the holiday trio of delights. The cardigan, the light turtleneck, and sometimes a coat. Well, more of a jacket. This is Arizona.
If you scream outside, trust me, no one comes. Even in my sleepy little neighborhood, that is Legislative District friendly. No one comes. Oh, the screaming. A bird in my dogs mouth. Second walk for the day. My Coco was perfect. Onto King. I made the decision to bring on socialization using just grass sniffing. He was fine, not pulling, a dream and suddenly I see feathers. I was not wearing contacts or glasses. Note to self. Big blue feathers. He was thrilled and shoved it my way. So proud. I screamed a sound so panicked and ear piering that he dropped the decapitated bird. We hustled across the street away from the terror. I sat him down and rattled on my thanks but no. We carried on.
Now, my GSD babies are young and we are successfully working on seeing other humans, dogs barking, cars, and garage doors. They are learning life, as until us they had no interaction with anyone but their owners and cows. Yes, cows. yesterday they were so rough in their play, I was worried. So I researched calming behaviors. I found adaptil. It is a naturally calming collar using pheromones. I needed calm as I am the summer trainer and their activity was taking up my day. So, I rushed two to my house. They are on and they are noticeably calmer. Not high, but chill. Oh, pheromones are natural. I highly recommend. Go to the link or Amazon. https://www.adaptil.com/ Get it today.
I love them. But life cannot be stopped because of breaking up spats of play, all day. I do that enough in my day job, middle-school teacher and I feel like my vocabulary has not passed the word “no” in eight weeks. How do I know this. I keep a lesson planner on their every move. A bit OCD. But I want to see the data on their progress. If you nuts or need a reminder you are doing them justice in your training. Grab a journal and write. About them. Everyday. Or just be a normal dog owner and enjoy. My political hubs thinks I am crazy, but I remind him of his profession and suddenly order is restored.
There are how to birth books, how to raise your sweet baby books, how to raise any pet, and if you are into any DIY a book is there for you, that will take you through the steps of any creative project you can dream. There are books on careers or how to find a career, what is anxiety and how to solve it, along with more drastic mental health dilemmas. Do you drink? Do drugs? Books for that. But death or grief. None. At least not what I need at this moment, a how to grieve. A how to not feel guilt. A how to focus on life when someone you loved is now gone. I am lost. My hubs, who was trying, told me my attitude was much worse when my grandparents passed. That entire catastrophic time period is not one that has stayed in my memory. Obviously, his. I was probably a bitch. Today I yelled at the pharmacist, a usual moment, as they are ridiculous. But this was a bit more than my usual tirade.
So, what is this process? How long does it last? Will it ever go away? Will my mind return, or is it gone forever? Those are the answers I need, as now I am just mad, not at my dad’s age, his health, his life, but at me, and the fact that I could not say goodbye. Every tiny mistake comes back in HD and this is a channel, with time I need to turn, so I can serve my family and my mom, who is in her own era of hospice care.
When my friends parents have passed, I send condolences. But now it has hit that while kind, it means nothing. It is just a social transaction that we follow because it makes us feel better, not for those in pain. Just us. So without a manual this is just another part of life that we muddle through with alot of patience and self-love, and in my world some extra yelling at my pharmacist, who always after ten years at this store, manages to mess things up.
Leave it, sit, stay, stay, stay, no…and a finally an occasional good dog. This is my new vocabulary. A chosen one. But words that I am already wanting to expand. Quickly. Coco and King are loved, wanted, but wow…a handful. I blame the small yippie dogs next door to us and the fact that they are allowed to bark all day long. But in reality my pups are just doing their job, too well. They need to quit. Turn in the resignation and spend their days getting spoiled. Breaking their German Shephard bad habits is my task this summer. Some days, I feel like a Master Teacher. But most days, especially today, I am struggling to get a passing grade. Shush, leave it, good dog etc works along with love and treats but they are toddlers mixed with teen brains, so my reputation is high and some days their desire to listen is low.
Their barking is the worst habit. Next up chewing if not monitored, and just overall a level of play that boggles the mind. But my day job is teaching teenagers, so if anyone has the patience, it is me…I think. This morning they wanted to get up before 5 am. Nope. We did go out to create more shit for me to pick up, but back to crates for me to choose their morning walk time. Now this time is akin to a toddler running to the next line at Disneyland, or it was. It took six weeks, but we have a routine with no pulling. No longer do I fly down the street. So, this morning, I will wait. They will wait and perhaps they will learn that I enjoy the light of the day. Or not.
Do I have suggestions? Absolutely not but my new reading genre is self-help for GSD, but if you are reading this and just found a shoe, chair or chairs in tatters. Remember you are not alone. Just stay patient, calm, and take it one day at a time. There should be a group for this…Hi, my name is Tracy, I have two GSD and no patio furniture…insert no judgement and other stories with a prayer to not find disaster awaiting you during your escape. It would fill.
***Please note, my reference to a dog discussion (self-help) group does not make light of sobriety groups. They save lives. I know that, first hand.***
Silver With Stories 