Happy Thanksgiving from Tales from a Dog Catcher

Thanksgiving - a time to be thankful.

For my loyal readers; it's probably been pretty obvious that I've been going through some sad times. I know I'm not alone - but times like these cause my mind to drift back to those holidays filled with people who are no longer here - about the holiday plans I looked forward to this year that were completely planned around someone I lost in the past few months. I look around my circle of people close to my heart, and I see empty spaces - the list growing too quickly for comfort.

Tales from a Dog Catcher has been reviewed as a book that has encouraged people to be more reflective, grateful for things they'd overlooked. It's been reviewed as a good book to help those dealing with grief. In a way, that's sort of ironic. Maybe I need to read it again myself. I didn't write that book to elicit and manipulate emotions that I didn't feel myself. That book is me - the me underneath my sarcasm, humor and purposeful facade. I need to remember that.

Today I'm looking forward. It may not be something that's easy but it's something I have to do. For not only myself, but for those people in my life who are no longer here - but would be the first ones to tell me to "get over myself"...to live while I can, enjoy everything while it's here and be totally present. Today I give thanks for my family, sitting here with my brother and sister in law in their warm welcoming home with my husband, children, neices and my mother in law. I'm thankful for my family and friends back at home. For those I see everyday, for those I only get to see every few months, and for those I haven't seen in years.

Thanks to my readers for giving me an opportunity to share my stories and reflections, and for your kind and insightful comments and questions. I'm slowly moving on the sequel and I hope it comes to fruition - there are still yet tales to tell.

I wish all of you a wonderful Thanksgiving, filled with laughter, great food, family and friends. Time to reflect on what you're thankful for - and time to reflect on not just what you've lost, but what you have to gain by opening your heart to the amazing array of possibilities that presents itself to us every day with the simple act of a sunrise.

Happy Thanksgiving from the Dog Catcher. :)

Until We Meet Again...a Eulogy for my Guardian Angel

It is an enormous struggle to find words that express great love, because love is so vast, so intangible. It is beyond description. So I tried to find a way to describe Laila in a way that would truly illustrate who she was and how she lived her life.

And the word I finally came up with was an angel. An angel on earth that walked among us. But that in itself is a word that I believe needs explanation, because there are so many things that angels do. So I looked up the definition of an angel in both secular and biblical references and here is what I found.

A kind and lovable person

One who manifests goodness and selflessness

They are revealers, who show us what we are sometimes too blind to see

They are guides, who take our hand and guide us when we’ve lost our way

Providers who provide physical needs to others like shelter and food to the homeless and hungry

Protectors who keep you away from danger….and deliverers - who pull you out of danger once you’re in the midst of it

They strengthen and encourage those around them

They are those who God chooses to use as intermediaries to answer prayers.

Laila was all of these things. And what makes this so incredibly amazing is that while she was growing up – there were many times in her life where she could’ve used her own angel to guide her through the many difficult roads she had to travel. How could such a beautiful gentle soul endure so much pain in her young life – and become someone who embodied everything that is good and selfless and kind? She became a loving wife to Frank- I believe with divine intervention since he is an angel in his own right, and together they created a life together and a marriage that lasted for 45 years. She was a wonderful mother – who protected and guided and loved her children beyond measure.

She opened her heart, and her home to others who were less fortunate. You may wonder why I am the one writing this? It’s because I was one of them...one of the less fortunate. Many turn the other way when they see a child being abused or mistreated – especially when the last thing they need is another mouth to feed – another problem to deal with – but she didn’t. Maybe it was because when she needed someone to help her when she was that age – there had been no one willing to do it for her.

35 years ago she took my hand and promised me "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you anymore" and in that moment became more than a friend, or my neighbor...she became my mother...she revealed a future I couldn’t see, protected and delivered me from danger, and changed the course of my life.

I’m not the only one with this kind of story. Looking around at the wake, at all the people sitting around in chairs honoring and celebrating her life, I realized that if it were not for her and of how she lived her life – some of those chairs would've been empty - not because of choice, but because the people sitting in them wouldn't have been alive to be there …the one my own father sitting on being one of them. If that doesn’t explain who she was, and how her legacy of love lives on. Then nothing can.

Her sharp sense of humor would surprise you sometimes. She’d put a plate of food in front of us and one of us would say;

“It’s hot”

And she’d say “Well – yes…it wasn’t cooked in the refrigerator!”

As children, she would encourage our mischief and delight in our laughter. I remember helping to make meals with Janie, while dancing and singing to the Blues. She’d pretend she didn’t know what we were up to – but I know now that she always did. Half the time she was the co-conspirator.

She could stop your tears and make you laugh – and then make you forget about what you were crying about in the first place.

She was an exceptional Mom.

Laila leaves her loving family, her devoted husband Frank of 45 years, her beautiful daughter Jane and her husband Kurt, her lovely daughter Donna and her husband Jeff, six grandchildren, including her beloved grandson Tommy, who along with her wonderful daughters Donna and Jane and her best advocate and wonderful son-in-law Kurt, sat with her until the end. She is also survived by her devoted sister Gloria. She was predeceased by two children, three brothers, and her beloved Pekingese Shadow, all of whom are finally together again.

Ancient Egyptians believed that upon death – they would be asked two questions, and their answers would determine whether they could continue their journey in the afterlife.

The first question was; “Did you find joy?”

The second question was; “Did you bring joy?”

And that is how I know where she is now.

Ancient Eygptian Quote attributed to Dr. Felice Leonardo Buscaglia Ph.D

To Every Thing There is a Season...or is There?

What do you do when you have no time to cry?

The days come. You know the ones... the dates that are carved into your heart. Days that deserve to be opened up like a box of old photographs, or a hope chest. Days where you should sit and sift through memories and smile and cry and remember...and most of all just feel.

Why is there no time to feel?

Is it American culture? Is it healthier to move on - forge ahead - be strong and resilient and look to the future? People tell us that all the time. Focus on the now, the immediate, the errands, the responsibilities, life.

But I don't want to do that right now. I want to sit and remember how the rain felt pelting against my face mixing with my tears while I stood at a grave on a crisp wet October morning some years ago.

I want to scroll through the text messages I sent every night connecting me somehow over the miles to someone who can no longer text me back. Days ago he did..and now he can't. I want to process this - but there's no time. At what distance does it become impossible to send text messages? To receive them? Can I measure it? If I could, I would because then maybe I'd understand. I sent some to him yesterday. At what point is that futile? At what point is that faith?

Life is for the living. It is a gift. It is a journey. It is all of these things and more. There is time to appreciate it - but there doesn't seem to be any time for allowing the pain that goes along with all of the joy to let the sorrow wash over you. It won't hurt you. You won't melt. But everyone's afraid of it. I want the world to stop turning just for a little bit - just long enough to let me feel it. I don't want to wallow - I want to cry and remember and feel....because I think only then can I heal.

But first I have to make dinner. Grade papers. Make a test. Pick up my son from school, coax my daughter into the bath, take out the dog, answer the phone, pay the bills and prepare to begin another day of life bright and early tomorrow where I will smile and perform and be productive because that is what is expected of me. I'm grateful. I'm lucky. I'm blessed.

But... I still just want some time to cry.

Photo courtesy of Jenny Ellerbee

Your Life was a Gift to so Many

You broke into my house and put up a Christmas Tree - force feeding me holiday spirit.

You made me buy Halloween pumpkins and candy and told me to "get over myself". I did. You camped out on my couch and then my cat preferred you and didn't sleep with me anymore.

You would bring me coffee because you told me that I was too evil to be spoken to before I finished that first cup.

You were right.

You taught me how to wash my floor, leaving one side (yours) sparkling clean and the other (mine) dingy gray. When I asked you to help me finish you said "This isn't MY floor - I simply provide the knowledge and the tools!"

You used up all my hot water and then told me that since I was not a morning person it was in my best interest to have a cold shower to wake me up. You knew I didn't have enough money for groceries so you stockpiled bags and bags of bagels in my freezer so that I'd have enough for months - making bagels my major food group. When I wore my black skirt with the black vest and white shirt you asked me when I would be milking the cows since I had apparently decided that I was now Amish.

I changed the outfit.

The first time I met you, you said "So, you live in Peekskill. That's right past my house on the highway - so....I'll meet you out by the car everyday so you can drive me home; okay?" So...

we became commuting buddies. Then before driving you home, you made me empty all the old trash and paper cups out of the back seat before you would let me start the car. You even counted them...I think there were at least 15 or so empty cups.

You made me laugh harder than anyone ever had in my life before. You forced me to look at myself and see that I was looking at the glass half empty - and that it was the only thing getting in the way of leading a happy life. You told me to say yes to that date with the new math teacher, he was a good guy. He was...we've been married almost 18 years now. You cracked open my heart and enriched my life with your wonderful, pushy eternal optimism. You made me notice and appreciate things I would've never seen were it not for you.

You loved life with an enthusiasm and joy that I always admired. You didn't see strangers - you saw potential friends. You grew up, but never lost that childlike ability to see magic in all the things that the rest of us lose as we grow older. Your purity of spirit is something I can strive for, but I'll never achieve it because there aren't many like you here on earth. I think God only allows a few - just to show us what we're missing - to teach us about the real meaning of life and love and strength and joy.

I am so blessed that I was given the gift of knowing you - and if you can hear me from where you are - and when I close my eyes I think I can see you - with your head lying on your Dad's chest listening to his heart beat while he strokes your hair - finally holding the son he's missed for so long....there's something I want to tell you beside the obvious - that I love you and your friendship was a gift in my life that I will always hold close to my heart until I see you again...

...I want you to know, Frank....that the back seat of my car is totally clean - no cups anywhere.

And so is my floor.

xxoo

http://www.brookscremations.com/obits/printout.php?oid=47132

Unconditional Positive Regard

When I was around 12 years old, I flipped my bike trying to navigate a rocky narrow trail through the woods on my way to buy some grape gum from a nearby store. I crash landed in a thorn bush right on top of a wasp's nest. I guess you could say it wasn't a good day.

This all could've been avoided had I listened to my mother, who told me that very day - actually only minutes before the incident - not to take my bike on the trail and not to go to the store. Of course I knew best, being almost a teenager and all...and the result of my noncompliance was over 20 stings combined with multiple cuts and bruises.

What happened when I got home? How much trouble did I get into? You would think that I definitely deserved to be punished, especially because I blatantly disregarded both directives, but I didn't. Instead, my mother cleaned all my abrasions and stings and treated them with antibiotic ointment, removed several thorns and then made me pancakes. While eating the pancakes I asked her;

"Aren't you going to yell at me or something?"

To which she answered. "No."

"Why not?" I asked. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I kept waiting, but nothing happened. She looked at me carefully and said. "The reason for a punishment is to get you to learn something. I think you learned today that there was a reason for my rules. I doubt you will ever do that again and the last thing you need right now, feeling as bad as you do, is for me to say "I told you so"."

She was right. I'd already punished myself worse than she would have. I learned that she had reasons behind her rules and that they weren't just designed to control me or to prevent me from having fun. I also felt that she had enough confidence in me so that in the end, I'd have the ability to learn from my mistakes. I felt sore, embarrassed, and guilty...but I also felt empowered. She trusted me, even though I didn't feel very trustworthy at the moment. I never forgot the incident, but what's clearest in my memory is not the pain of the cuts and stings, but the lessons I learned from it.

That's the kind of mother I've tried to be. It's the kind of teacher I strive to be. One who inspires confidence, tries to teach accountability, and focuses on what the famous Humanist Psychologist Carl Rogers called unconditional positive regard - acceptance of a person without negative judgment of their self worth. It's hard at times, and I find that sometimes I want to tell my children "I told you so!" when I've asked them to do something numerous times and they didn't listen to me. I want to remind my students of due dates on a daily basis, up until the actual date the paper is due...but I stop myself. At some point learning only takes place when it's internalized. In order to get there - sometimes you have to make a few mistakes. Knowing someone cares about you anyway is important at those times. It's important at all times.

Hold on tight to those people in your life who show you unconditional regard - they are precious. When they're gone - they're irreplaceable. Tomorrow it will be seven years since I sat next to her, held her hand and watched her go away to a place where hopefully everyone is treated with unconditional positive regard. I know she deserves it.

The Day the World Changed

Nine years ago today I was in my classroom when I heard plane engines. Our school is near an airport and this is not an uncommon occurrence by any means. That day however; it was different. Louder. So loud that the windows started shaking in their frames. I stopped teaching for a moment - I couldn't talk over it. Then it was over.

Someone said "That plane was really low. Something must be wrong."

And it was.

Everyone who remembers knows where they were at the moment when they found out that the first tower was hit. My colleague came into my classroom and told me that terrorists had hijacked a plane and flew it into the World Trade Center. So close, she said. Only about 40 miles away. I remember what I said next.

"My husband works across the street from the World Trade Center."

She looked at me carefully and said quietly. "You might want to call him."

The next few hours were a blur. The phone lines weren't working. Cell phone service was down. All circuits were busy. I tried every phone I could; but to no avail. Parents started streaming into the school to pick up their children. I could understand that. There's something about holding your child close to you that makes you feel like you are in control - that in a small way you can keep your feet on solid ground when it's shifting beneath you. I remember trying to find a way for someone to go get my own children for me until I could figure out what to do. What to tell them? I wasn't sure how much they would be told, or if they would understand. I didn't want anyone else to tell them about this until I knew where he was. All the bridges were shut down and I was across the river from them. My mind was working on a different level as I helped console students and figure out what my next step was going to be. I went about each task with a sense of unreality. I remember wondering if this was going to be the day when my life changes forever.

Everyone's life changed that day. Some in a tragic, unimaginable way. The American Psyche shifted from a place where we thought we were safe - to the realization that what happens in other parts of the world was just as much a reality for us. No one is exempt from terrorism.

I recall how I felt when they paged me over the P.A. in school. I started walking from one end of the building towards the office, people looking at me without saying a word, some averting their eyes. I represented their fears. I could feel their empathy, their hope and even their relief that this wasn't happening to them. It's a natural emotion. It's why we go and look at our sleeping children when we hear on the news of the fire that killed a family in their sleep. We can cry for them, but need to make sure that tragedy hasn't somehow reached out to touch one of our own.

My heart was pounding in my throat. The last few yards I couldn't stand it anymore and started to run. "He called!" the secretaries told me. One was crying. "We hung up on him by accident, but he's fine. He's home!" They were so excited that they disconnected him. He called back. I heard his voice and he tried to tell me what he saw but he couldn't talk. There was too much to say. He'd already picked up the kids. They were all home waiting for me. My principal told me. "Go now, they opened the bridge." I left.

That night I saw his name on a missing person's list online. As I responded to tell them he was okay - I knew that we were lucky. Luck, that's all it was. He'd had to choose between two jobs when he interviewed in lower Manhattan months before. One was in the towers and the other nearby. We never know the repercussions of our choices until later.

On that Tuesday, a clear cloudless sky became blackened with fear. Lives changed, America changed. The world changed. Some of the choices people made that day were to sacrifice themselves to save others, knowing full well what they were walking into, but doing it all the same. Today I think of them and of those who simply got up and went to work like any other day, not realizing the repercussions of that simple choice. And I feel empathy, and relief, and guilt, and the collective grief of a nation that lost its innocence nine years ago today.

Infinite Summer

Summer's coming to a close - I know this now, but for weeks I've been in denial.

I ignore the "Back to School" commercials because they start about 3 days after the school year ends anyway. They're selling Halloween decorations at the local grocery store. I almost created a scene after I walked by a display and commented on how ridiculous it was. My comment may have contained some expletives - but you'd have to prove that first.

After taking a walk through my neighborhood, I chose to overlook the disappearance of the purple and pink petunias; replaced by orange and red chrysanthemums. I pretended I couldn't hear the nightly concert given by the cicadas in my yard and convinced myself that the days weren't getting shorter. I had my first "teacher dream". Those of you who are not in that field could probably relate if I told you that it's similar to those dreams you would get as a child on Sunday nights before school would start, or the "I have a presentation to make for work tomorrow" dreams. For those of you who are teachers, or ever have been...you know what I mean.

So I decided that I would create an infinite summer in my mind. I know that sounds all new-agey and trippy - but bear with me. I have the gulf coast on the screen saver of my phone - and that's where it will stay. I can look at it every time I answer it, even when it's snowing - it'll be there. I made a promise to myself to leave my job at my job when I come home this year. As much as I will hold the summer in my heart, I am going to make a concerted effort to be exactly where I am at every moment of my life - not worrying about meetings or mandates or anything else the moment I leave my job for the day. The kids in my class - that's a different story - I have a place for them inside my heart all of the time - but the other stuff...I'm letting it go.

I learned a lot this summer....about who I am, who I used to be and how to blend the two to create the person I want to be now. I made a great deal of progress on my book. I began to take better care of my health - realizing that it's an investment I deserve. I realized that my older child is beginning the move away from childhood towards young adulthood - and instead of being sad about it, I'm in awe of how much I admire the person he's becoming. My youngest will need more of me now that she's begun the early tumultuous years of adolescence. I'm going to be there to make it as easy as possible - not sitting behind my desk.

Most people make New Year's resolutions - but teachers make school year resolutions. Mine is to live in the moment but be reflective in all that I do. Take it slow even while others race by doing, accumulating, and competing. Seek balance in all the roles I play, but define myself by the ones that matter most. And keep a promise to myself to never lose the slow, peaceful and warm infinite summer in my mind.

Photo courtesy of socksoff.co.uk

Cell Memory and a Gift from my Father

Some people live through their physicality - they're in tune with their bodies, can push them to their limits, enjoy the confidence that comes in doing without thought - trusting themselves to let go of the body-mind connection. There's a freedom in that, perhaps it's almost something mystical. I see it in dancers, in athletes,in gymnasts, even in children at play.

I used to dive. I still remember what it feels like to vault yourself off a board, fly into the air, bend from the waist, touch your toes and straighten out just in time to slice into the water without as much as a splash. I remember the feeling of spinning through the air - forwards, backwards...never doubting that I'd land it. A confidence quite unnatural for me.It was the only athletic thing I ever liked, and the only one I was ever good at before the spine surgery.

It made me better...it saved my life. I was 15. I was very lucky. I'm still grateful for it today. I'm very capable and through the years nobody except those closest to me would notice how I compensate. As I became older I forged my way developing types of skills that were cerebral, emotional, or analytical...not physical.

It's only that a few days ago, for a brief moment, I remembered. I had access to an empty pool and was doing laps, trying to remember all the types of strokes my father, the former lifeguard at Jones Beach in Long Island, had taught me as a child. He could've been an Olympic swimmer, but he had responsibilities and those dreams weren't designed for blue collar Bronx immigrant families. He'd taught me to swim, to dive, to respect the water. He was an expert scuba diver as well. He'd tried to join the Navy when he was younger, but they turned him down for a heart condition. All he ever wanted was the water.

I remember watching him at our community pool. He'd wait on line at the diving board and than effortlessly perform acrobatics that would stun everyone watching. Then he'd go back to his chair and his book like nothing had happened. He could go years between doing things like that. Maybe that's what cell memory is. He'll be 70 years old tomorrow and even after a quadruple bypass and a replaced aortic valve - I wouldn't be surprised if he could still get up there and do it.

For a moment last week, I remembered. The freedom, the rush, the absence of thought - just action. It's in my cell memory, but for me that's where it will have to stay. It was a gift from my Dad that maybe I can't use anymore, but it's in there. Just as much as my love and appreciation for a humble gifted athlete who turns 70 tomorrow.

A man who gave up the ocean to support a family and raise a little girl.

Paradise On Earth

Southwest Florida is beyond words - I've never been here before. I've done the requisite Disney, Orlando trips with my children - but this is a different world.

The beach, the views, the palm trees, the sea breezes, great people, serenity - I wrote more here than I have in weeks. The problem is, I don't want to leave. I want to ship everyone I know down here to come be with me!

I will promise myself to read this over when it's 20 degrees and I'm scraping ice off the window of my car, when the windchill factor is below 0, when I have to get up at 5 am and turn on the heat, gripping a cup of coffee waiting for the caffeine to penetrate my brain. I wonder how far it is to commute to upstate New York to work from here each day?

Obviously I've gotten too much sun and my brain is fried. Sigh.

Great Writer Debuts New Website: Nina Killham

Check out my friend Nina's new website!

http://www.ninakillham.com

Better than that - check out some of her books. It's hard to decide which one is my favorite so I came to the conclusion that I love them all for different reasons.

It's a rare writer that can make you laugh in the middle of a murder mystery, and cry in the middle of a comedy - and in the end make you wish there were more pages to turn. I love Nina and so will you.