Everyone Needs a Kennel to Call Their Very Own

I hate to say it, but yes...it's true.

I yelled at the kids the other day.

Oh....don't judge me. I had my reasons...all perfectly reasonable ones.

It was Spring Break. They were being what the French refer to as TRES' annoying. And I wanted quiet.

So I hollered.

(and yes, I see the irony. Thanks for pointing that out!)

Speedy, our dog, took his big ol' dog be-hind off the couch and quickly trotted it into our bedroom.

Into his kennel.

That's where he goes when he wants to feel safe. Loud noises generally make him move in that direction...or he'll go there when he wants to protect something. Like his Chewie.

It got me to thinking.

Do you have a kennel?

Not necessarily for your dog...altho I highly recommend one.

Where do you go when you feel threatened? Do you have a safe place to lie down in?

See, sometimes...sometimes we need to get away from the loud voices. Sometimes we need to go where we can breathe easier. Or regroup. Sometimes we need to go to a place where the worries, the pressures, the stresses of the world don't seem so pressing.

For some of us, this place is called Hawaii.

:)

For the rest of us poorer slobs, well....we need to locate somewhere closer...

and you know, I'm not necessarily talking about an actual place...so much as I am about boundaries. About keeping things balanced, maybe.

We are hit with a lot of stuff in the course of a day. A lot of 'mom's hollering at the kids in the house'.

What do you do then? Do you join in the yelling? Do you run out of the house?

Do you go to your kennel?

The more I think about it, perhaps this isn't the best analogy I could come up with. But what I do see when I watch Speedy is kind of interesting. He doesn't stay in the kennel for very long during those times. And he seems to be pretty well behaved for the most part. Perhaps he recognizes when a 'fight' isn't something he needs to be involved in...

I dunno...it's just making me think today...

Simply Put...

It's a day until the official start of Spring here.

Do you want to know how I know that?

No...it's not the arrival of robins. Or the daffodils blooming.

It's not the grass getting greener or the temperature rising.

I can tell that Spring is almost here because everywhere I look...I see...

farmers.

Yep. It's true! They're everywhere!

Getting their fields ready for planting.

In fact, I had to pull over the other day so that a tractor that's got more square feet than my house could get across a bridge. The farmer waved at me as he passed. I waved back.
It took 30 seconds out of my day to do that. To pull over and let him go first.

Not a big deal.

Or is it?

So often in our busy days we get caught up in our stuff and can easily negate the 30 second rule.

What's the 30 second rule, you ask?

Something I just made up, actually. Thanks for asking! And it doesn't have anything to do with eating dropped m and m's...

My friends, take a moment (we'll call it...oh, I don't know....30 seconds!) to time out 30 seconds.

It's okay. I'll wait. I've got time.

(whistles the "Jeopardy" tune to herself)

Did you see how LONG 30 seconds really is? It's a nice bit of time.

Now think about how often you may say during the course of your day "I don't have time for that!"

The truth is: we all have been given the same amount of time in our day. And more truth is: we usually waste a lot of it on what we consider to be 'important' things. Like criticism. Or complaining. Or justifying. Or ranting.

But enough about me....let's talk about you!!

Do something nice for someone today that takes just 30 seconds. Send a nice email message...or give someone a hug. Let that farmer get around you with that big disk thing...

You'll feel better. And so will someone else!

And the best thing is: you'll never miss that 30 seconds of complaint!

A Long Way from Depressed

When I look back on it...the signs were there. I just was too optimistic, I guess.

I should've known it would cause pain.

I should've known that sacrifices would have to be made.

I should've known that I would be taken advantage of by their smooth words and innocent eyes.

I should've known.

But, as I mentioned, I was too optimistic. I thought that this time...this time it would be different!

This time I would be able to do it!

This time...this one small moment in my existence...I would be free to enjoy it as I wished. No judgement. No one to answer to...just me and my Hershey Bar.

I was going to eat the entire bar. And like it!

But, sadly, I'm here today my friends, to tell you that that was not the case. It simply was not meant to be, I guess.

You see, chocolate is a big deal at our house.

A very.big.deal.

And I gotta say that it wouldn't matter if my children had just eaten a fourteen course meal (with double desserts no less!!)...they will still sit there and demand that I share my Hershey Bar with them.

Who knew that those little squares of milk chocolate would have so much power?

Because, my friends, I don't like to share my Hershey Bars!

Not.at.all.

You know, the financial news these days is so depressing. I can't hardly listen or watch any economic news whatsoever. I get so glum and find myself sighing heavily and wanting to just run and hide under my bed for a few months. Money is tight right now, (not that we were ever swimming in it in the first place!)and disciplining ourselves about spending is a daily...sometimes hourly exercise of will.

There are so many things I feel I'm doing without. I can't buy the things I want for my kids...for myself...for my husband. I am tired of casseroles, of store brand toilet paper, of counting every penny. I was never very good with numbers anyways!!

I am tired. I am depressed. I am frustrated. I am scared. I am quietly screaming inside at times...and yet....

And yet....I am encouraged. I am hopeful. I am looking for joy in the small things.

And I'm sharing my Hershey Bars.

Here's why:

There is a book I read a few years ago called "A Long Way from Chicago" by Richard Peck. It takes place during the Depression in Central Illinois. Two children are sent from their home in Chicago to their Grandma Dowdel's home right here in our area. The actual location is never really mentioned, but Piatt County is...so it's close to home.

Grandma Dowdel is an amazing woman. She uses all the items she has at her disposal (which isn't much!) to help others out...even if they don't seem to 'deserve' help. She feeds some bums, for example...when the Sheriff just wants them to move on. She helps a neighbor who's losing their home and belongings. And one of my favorite moments of the book is when she takes the kids to Aunt Puss's house.


Here's an exerpt:
Aunt Puss was by many years the oldest person we'd ever seen up till then. Bald as an egg, but she needed a shave. And not a tooth in her head.

"Who's them chilrun with you?" she demanded of Grandma.

"Just kids I found along the crick bank," Grandma said, to our surprise. "They was fishing."

"I'm hongry, girl." Aunt Puss pulled her shawl around her, "You hightailed it out of here after breakfast, and I ain't seen hide nor hoof of you since."

"She ain't seen me for a week." Grandma muttered,"But she forgets." Then she called out to Aunt Puss: "Catfish and fried potatoes and onions, vinegar slaw, and a pickled peach apiece. And more of the same for your supper."

"I suppose it beats starving," Aunt Puss snapped. "Hop to it, girl."

I thought I might faint. No one spoke to Grandma like that. And lived.

"Grandma,is that nasty old lady your aunt?" I asked in the kitchen.

"Naw, I was hired girl to her before I got married."

"What did she pay you for that, Grandma?"

"Pay? She didn't pay me a plug nickel. But she fed me."

I thought about that.

"And now you feed her," I said, but Grandma didn't reply. "You take her food every week, don't you Grandma?"

"Generally a good big roast chicken. She can gum on that for days. It keeps her out of the poor farm, and it gives me a quiet day in the country. That's a fair swap." Then her jaw clenched in its way. "But it's just private business between her and me. And I don't tell my private business."

My friends, when it is dark, share some light. When you think you that you have little to spare...think of the ones with nothing at all. Because there is something really satisfying about sharing. Oh, it can hurt a little, I guess...if you choose to dwell on what you're missing. If you choose to look at your selfishness.

But if you take a look at what you're giving...well, it can be almost better than having an entire Hershey Bar to yourself. And if you keep it your 'private business'...it will make you feel even better!

Share with someone today. Share your time...or your money...or your seat...or your Hershey Bar.

Here, I'll start. Have a piece of mine...

I can't get no...or can I?

Satisfaction.

I can't seem to get any of it. And like the Stones so aptly sang, "...I'm on a losing streak."

I CAN'T GET NO.....NO NO NO!!!!!
At least it feels that way.

There is so much on my mind right now. Money, cars, kids, money, illnesses, jobs, money, government, church, money...the list goes on. Feel free to insert your own stuff in there.

My brain is full. There's a lot of hurt out there. And inside myself. It can be overwhelming. Lately, it seems that nothing I'm doing makes much of a difference. I feel I have very little control...and mostly what I'm left with is this deep feeling of dis-satisfaction.

Both with myself and others. With life in general.

So what do you do with that?
What did I do with that?
I'll tell you....

I went where I always go when I want questions answered.

Wikipedia?

Nope. Although I venture there repeatedly...

A therapist?

Huh uh. Not that there's anything wrong with them...

I went to my magic 8 ball. Yeah, that's right. I went to my magic 8 ball and I asked, "Will I ever be satisfied?"

And I shook it....turned it over....looked...

and it said, "It is decidedly so."
Cool, I thought. Excellent.

But...seven and 1/2 minutes passed and I did NOT feel decidedly satisfied. Stupid, cheapo 8 ball isn't that magic at all...I'm not sure I trust that information.

So I went to my other source.

My Bible.

We've been studying the book of Matthew at church recently. So I went there first. And this is what I read in my sidenotes of Matthew 5:

"Jesus promises that satisfaction will come to those who seek the good things of God. He says that they will be filled - not with the material goods of this world, not with an easy way of life, not with something of limited value that can be taken away from them...but with the joy and contentment that comes from doing God's will."

Matthew 5:6 says: Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

Hmmm....I think about what God's will is...what that looks like for me right this minute...I mull that over in my head...then turned to another section in my Bible. I have a devotional Bible that I have been reading in lately. And when I turned to Wednesday's (todays) reading, I read this:

"What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." Micah 6:8

I raise an eyebrow. If you do not believe that God can speak to you with His Word...then you are missing out on a wonderful conversational opportunity.

Have I been humble lately? No, not really. If I had, I don't think my dis-satisfaction would be so evident. I obviously feel that I am somehow 'DUE' to have these things I want so badly...and even if they aren't 'bad' things...they are still things that I'm trying to control somehow...in all my 'human greatness'.

Woo.Hoo. Like I can somehow Do God's Job.

I can't do that. I cannot do God's job for Him.

But....

I can do His Will...I can act justly, and walk humbly...and love.

Three things that cover the Ten Commandments, the Golden Rule...and the Sermon on the Mount.

Wow.

And what do you think will happen then? Will I find that satisfaction?

It is decidedly so...

and God told me that. Not the 8 ball! :)

I'm praying that you will find Satisfaction in Him today...

The Dog Arguer?

Well, it's Monday morning. I'm checking out my to do list for the day. And I'm arguing with my dog. Kinda looks a little like this:

Speedy: I want a chewie.

Me: You cannot have one.

Speedy: I want a chewie.

Me: It isn't happening, dog.

Speedy: I want a chewie.

Me: Go.Away.

Speedy: I want a chewie.
(I stare at him for a long moment. You can literally hear the Western showdown music playing. My eyes squint. He cocks his head to the side and uses his 'cute face'. I square my jaw. He wags his tail. And I say...in my best Clint Eastwood voice:)

Me: Eat the breakfast that's in your bowl, punk. And maybe, if you're good, I'll give you a chewie later.
(Speedy stares at me for a second or two. And then begins to eat his breakfast.)
Me: Good dog.

I tell you, my friends...that there are days when I am beggin' for my chewie at breakfast. I haven't done anyhing to earn the chewie. I haven't done anything to NOT earn a chewie. I just want it. And I want it now!

Waiting is awful, isn't it? Friday night my daughter and I went to the movies. And
there was a line to get in. Apparently, this particular theatre has only 2 people working on tickets on a Friday night...and what's worse...I was told that the movie began at 7:30 p.m....but the sign at the theatre said 7:10 p.m. It was 7:20 p.m. I HATE BEING LATE FOR MOVIES!! So I feel myself start to panic a little inside. "Let's go, people...let's go!" I say under my breath. Finally, after what feels like 4,000 hours...we get our tickets and go. And the movie hadn't started yet. I'd been anxious. And it was a waste of my time.

Was Speedy anxious, I wonder? I should ask him. You see, the kids and my hubby think it's funny that I talk to the dog. And he talks back. We converse. We share ideas and opinions. We contemplate the stars and the subtle differences between vanilla ice cream and french vanilla ice cream. But mainly, seriously, really....we argue about the chewie.

Yeah, that's pretty much it. And when I give him a chewie...do I get a thank you? Rarely. Sometimes, for fun...I ask for the chewie back.

That doesn't go over well. Suddenly, mild mannered Speedy turns into Savage Beast of a DOG Speedy! RAWWWR! It's a little scary.

My friends, the sobering thought here is: sometimes Speedy and I have a lot more in common than sharing the same address and fondness for ice cream. I don't want to wait. I want my chewie RIGHT NOW! And if/when I get the chewie...I can almost guarantee that I am not eagerly interested in giving it back.

And sadly, sometimes I do not say thanks.

Waiting is hard. Working is hard. Being denied your chewie on your time is not easy.

Are you tired of arguing? Can you be satisfied just eating your breakfast for a little while longer?

Oh, and here's another thing to remember: I love Speedy. I love him with a passion sometimes. And there are times when I want to just get up and give him the chewie. And there are moments when he gets two...just for fun.

I think he knows that. I should ask him.

There is Someone, my friends...that doesn't want to argue with you. He wants to spend time with you. And He cares deeply for you.
His chewies...by the way...are well worth the wait.

SPEEDY! STOP BARKING AT ME! I'm trying to blog here! Oh, for the love of...I gotta go! Have a great day!

Maybe Mrs. Tuggle was right...

Help me out here people. How can folks run in -44 below temperatures? I could, I guess, if I were running towards say, a warm, inviting Taco Bell....or perhaps just running to my car to get out of the cold.

How do they do it? It boggles my mind. I can come up with 465,093,123 reasons not to do that. Not to run in this weather.

Who am I kidding? I don't run. Ever.

You see, I've never been very interested in exercise.

Yeah, I can hear you gasping in surprise. Take it easy on the sarcasm, okay? Knock it off.

Even as a baby, I didn't really exert myself. Wasn't one of those amazing kids that you see walking around at 3 1/2 months. Nope. I preferred to take it easy. Maybe drag myself along if I had no other option. Used my baby cuteness to get myself picked up and carried around. Did that until I was twelve. Yeah. Seriously.

There's the reason my name is what it is. I am supposed to be carried!

Sure, C. Whatever helps you to get to sleep at night. Aren't you a little big to be carried now? You know, if you would do a little exercise...like maybe, oh I don't know....run?

Seriously, I said knock it off.

Anyways, like I mentioned, exercise and me...we don't get along. The exercises that I actually do somewhat enjoy (like swimming) aren't possible right now due to money mostly. I just don't have the cash available to join the Y or whatever. And yeah, I know that sounds a lot like an excuse. But I don't care. And you know what? Chalupas are cheaper...

But...thanks to dictionary.com, I now know why I don't get along with physical exertion.

It's training. It's putting forth strength. It's effort. It's practice. It's...

It's sweaty, y'all. And tiring. And requires a good deal of discipline to be really effective in the long term.

Discipline. Oooooh. There's a word for you! I looked up "discipline" in my Webster's Dictionary and found this:

Discipline - (noun) PUNISHMENT.

Ah...dictionary.com must be written by someone who exercises...because it lists 'punishment' as the number 3 definition!

PUNISHMENT.

Not a good word. Look it up and you find "Suffering, pain, penalty, p.e. class".

Okay. So I lied. You won't find "p.e. class" there. But you will find a picture of Mrs. Tuggle, my jr. high gym teacher.

It's not pretty.

Punishment, I mean. Not Mrs. Tuggle. Although I have to admit that the woman was not the cutest banana in the bunch.

See, my problem is...I don't like pain. I don't enjoy suffering. I'm not that into p.e. class. In fact, p.e. class felt kinda like being on a chain gang.

And who wants to do that? Who volunteers for the chain gang?

No one.

But here's the kicker. I need discipline. I need training. I need to do push ups because that which doesn't kill me...makes me stronger, right?

Push ups kill me. Even the thought of push ups makes me light-headed and a bit freaked out.

I think one of my problems with this is perfectionism. I think I have to be just like that gal who's been running for 40 years and has a negative body mass index number. The gal that's running in -40 below temps. And smiling.

I blame an absence of oxygen for the grin. I do. Unless she's running say, to a Taco Bell...

So what does discipline take?

Small, little, wee steps. Baby steps. And it takes time. You have to do it every day. Every day. Small steps every day. For 40 years.

It seems a little daunting.

Daunting, by the way, is defined as dismay.

And...unfortunately, that's what I feel when I think of exercise. Not anticipation. Not enthusiasm.

Dismay.

Like I'm missing out on something better by taking the time to exercise.

Do you ever feel that way about something that disciplines you? Like budgeting, or smaller food portions...or waiting to purchase that big screen t.v.?

We don't like to wait. We don't want to hear that things take time. I mean, my perfectionism tells me that I should be able to have that body type NOW. With little effort or time.

Seriously?

I know. It's dumb, isn't it? But I know I'm not the only one that struggles with those sorts of thoughts.

We get overwhelmed by the task ahead, don't we? So we choose to not do it...or put it off. Thinking what? That somehow, down the road, the Chalupas we ate at Taco Bell will just melt off on their own?

My friends, I encourage you to take one small step towards a discipline today. I will. And you know what?

I will try not to focus on the sweat too much...sheesh...where's Mrs. Tuggle when you need her??

Death of a Toaster

It's a new year. A new month. There is a glorious, wonderful expectant feeling in the air.

THIS YEAR...THINGS ARE GOING TO BE DIFFERENT!

And boy howdy...that, my friends...is true. I'm not pyschic...but I know that I can say that sentence above with confidence. You, regardless of age, race, religion, gender, education, experience, dog person, cat person...

Your year, my friend...THIS YEAR...THINGS ARE GOING TO BE DIFFERENT.

Write it on your calendar. Stencil it on your wall in your kitchen. Make it a scrolling marquee on your computer screen saver. Scrapbook it. Whatever.

It's a fact.

The question is not...will this year be different? The question is: How will I handle the changes?

It was October, 1986. I was a freshman in college at Millikin that fall. Talk about change! I had a 'new home' in a dorm room, a 'new roommate' from the Chicago area that I was still trying to get to know, new classes, new teachers (oh, wait...they're PROFESSORS now!), new friends were being made. That fall EVERYTHING was new! Everything was different. It was a little overwhelming...but I was really trying to see the positive side of things.

And then my Grandma Sybil died. Suddenly.

Something different. Something new. Something unexpected.

I went home for the funeral. I thought I was handling things pretty well. I mean, as well as one handles the death of a grandparent. I read her last letter to me several times. I remembered the wonderful times we'd had at her house as kids. All 'typical' or 'classic' mourning stuff.

Then my Dad called to tell me that they were cleaning out Grandma's apartment and was there anything I wanted furniture wise?

Yes! Yes there was! Two things. A round table(George Washington style, I think...is what Antiques Roadshow calls it) and her toaster.

Her magic toaster.

As a child, staying overnight at Grandma Sybil's was just about the best thing in the world. She made us milkshakes...and played Pollyanna with us...and Seven Up...and made us watch Lawrence Welk.

It was a blast! And mornings were amazing! Because of the magic toaster!

This toaster was different from every other toaster I'd seen in my seven years of life. This toaster DIDN'T HAVE A BUTTON! There was no button to push down! You set a piece of bread into the slot...and it sank gracefully, noiselessly down...out of sight...and then, as you waited in anticipation...toast would slowly appear...rising out of the heat of the machine silently. No dinging sound...no jumpy toast. Just....magic toast.

Excellent with some Skippy peanut butter and a glass of milk.

So I got that table and toaster. And for 22 wonderful years...I've been watching toast rise out of that machine...and I have to say:

I still think of it as a magic toaster! It, to this day, still causes me to behave in a somewhat childlike fashion. I'll actually stand there and watch the bread sink down...and wait....and watch toast rise up!

Well, I did. Until Christmas Eve. That's when I...killed the toaster.

I guess, looking back, I should be glad that it wasn't a bigger fire and all. I lit a pastry thing on fire in the toaster...and now it doesn't work anymore.

I know. It's a stinkin' toaster, Carrie. GET OVER IT!

Here's the thing: the past couple of weeks, I've been really down about it. And I think it's because of a couple of things. One, I'm struggling with the fact that I'm missing my toaster...and two: part of me has felt that by having the toaster work...having it 'be alive' so to speak...that Grandma was still 'alive'. I mean, I know she's not...perhaps I'm not explaining that well.

So what have I learned? I am grieving all over again. Mourning. Because it's different in my kitchen now. I have a different toaster. And while I fully appreciate it for what it is...it isn't magic. Something's missing.

Acceptance is hard. And just yesterday, I talked to someone who thinks that maybe...they can fix the old toaster.

But you know what? Part of me doesn't want that. Part of me thinks that it's TIME for a change. That I need to have a new toaster now. I'm old enough to handle it.

I am keeping the Magic Toaster. It's on top of my kitchen cabinet with some other antiques. It is...a part of me. Even if it is a simple kitchen appliance.

I'm sure most of us have things like my toaster around us.

Change is hard. Different isn't always a good thing.

But attitude, my friends...attitude is everything. I know, for a fact, that Magic Toaster or not...I am still the same goofy gal I've been.

Wait, maybe I'm not. Maybe I AM different! In fact, by losing my toaster...I understand loss better. So my loss might help me to understand your loss.

If the things in our lives didn't experience change...we wouldn't grow.

That's what makes toasters amazing in the first place! They change bread, right??!!

Time to eat some breakfast. Let me know what's different in your 2009...