Sharing my quiet observations on life.
“Rest and be thankful.”
― William Wordsworth
The past few days have been long on worry, short on rest.
Things took a giant turn for the better today. Duffy’s surgery went well and he was able to come home late this afternoon.
All is well in Hibdonville.
I am thankful for that and for all of you who took such great care of me.
Thank you.
I am…
B…simply being…
Peace
“Dogs are the leaders of the planet. If you see two life forms, one of them’s making a poop, the other one’s carrying it for him, who would you assume is in charge.”
― Jerry Seinfeld
There is never a question about who is in charge at our house.
It’s Duffy.
He’s our Lhasa Apso we call the Prince of Royal Court because he is completely carefree. He has absolutely no worries.
He arrived via Delta Airlines from Utah in March 2009. I know that because I just read through all his records while I prepared to take him for his first vet visit in Texas.
We’ve been treating him for a urinary tract infection. It responded well to treatment except for the fact he still had a lot of crystals in that post medication sample. Because of that, we were strongly advised to bring him in for an evaluation and an x-ray.
We went today and he does have many radiopaque bladder stones. There are so many of these ragged looking stones our vet has concerns they may cause a bladder obstruction. Whether I wanted to hear it or not, the fact was, he needed surgery. Their first open date was weeks away. Too long to wait. Her advice was to leave him. That way they would work him into the surgery schedule today or first thing tomorrow.
I rapidly played through every single scenario I could come up with where I could delay the inevitable. Even to me, all the excuses sounded pathetic.
They are a busy clinic with decades of experience. The vets there have the type of real-life experience that comes from honest to God, in the trenches work. I’ve observed them carefully over the past few months. From the front desk staff to the vet techs, I’ve been impressed with their efficiency and knowledge. Even with all those positive vibes, I’d never had to leave MY DOG with them–until today.
The day has gotten progressively cooler and the skies darker as the latest cold front makes it way across Texas. It is a direct reflection of my mood.
I know. I really do understand that all of this is out of my control. I need to let go and trust those I trusted to care for our little Prince of Royal Court take care of him. Our Duffy will be home soon and will quickly re-establish balance to our world.
“No matter how close we are to another person, few human relationships are as free from strife, disagreement, and frustration as is the relationship you have with a good dog. Few human beings give of themselves to another as a dog gives of itself. I also suspect that we cherish dogs because their unblemished souls make us wish – consciously or unconsciously – that we were as innocent as they are, and make us yearn for a place where innocence is universal and where the meanness, the betrayals, and the cruelties of this world are unknown.”
― Dean Koontz, A Big Little Life: A Memoir of a Joyful Dog
I am…
B…simply being…
I love you and wish you peace.
My husband has a yellow jacket that always makes me smile. Every time I see him slip it on, I think of being on the safety patrol when I was in sixth grade.
My School Safety Patrol card is another one of those things that surprised me by surviving fifty plus years stuck in little corners of big boxes. I have misplaced dozens of things over the years but this little card somehow held on to its space.
As sixth graders, we were the class that “manned” the safety patrol. That meant at noon and at the end of the day, kids from our class were sent to guard crosswalks around the school. I volunteered because I would have time away from the classroom. That was just too much to resist.
What I did not think about as I enthusiastically threw my hand up in the air that first week of school, was the weather. This was Iowa. Sure, at the beginning of the school year the weather was perfect. Before long, the warm Indian Summer and windy Fall days turned into the blustery, cold days of Winter. Like mail delivery, safety patrol guards could not be deterred by the weather. Rain, sleet, or snow, we headed out to our posts. To protect us from those elements, the school had a number of bright yellow slickers. These rubber slickers felt and smelled ancient. Heaven only knows how old they were but we HAD to wear them when we went out in the rain.
As lunchtime got closer and closer on my day for patrol, I watched the sky get darker and darker. The rain started falling harder and the temperature fell. As my fellow patrol person and I left to go to our posts, we were told to wear those yellow slickers.
“Be careful,” Mrs.Kvidera told us, “with it getting colder, it could be getting icy.”
I walked to the locker, grabbed the crunchy yellow jacket, pulled the hood up, and walked toward the front door. Mr. Lenth, the school superintendent, and a teacher were standing at the entryway, observing and discussing the quickly changing weather. I nodded my head, the stiff and scratchy hood falling across my eyes as my legs pushed against the heavy rubberized coat. I was concentrating on walking against that added weight while constantly adjusting the stubborn hood.
I pushed the heavy door open and headed outside. As my foot hit the wet pavement, I felt it slip. I was moving too fast to stop. My other foot never made contact. Before I knew it, I was on my back. That yellow slicker was exactly that–slick! In a mass of crackling yellow, I was propelled across the sidewalk, down a little asphalt hill that was the side parking lot, and under a bus.
I looked up to see the teacher and Mr. Lenth looking down on me, saying in unison, “Looks like we need to end school early today.”
They helped me up, brushed me off, and sent me back to class. Shortly after, an overhead announcement declared due to weather, school was dismissed.
So, the little card survived to remind me of a time when I fell–literally–and was helped up by the kindness of others. There are times when we all need that type of gentle reminder.
You may have a fresh start any moment you choose, for this thing we call “failure” is not the falling down, but the staying down.
Mary Pickford
I am…
B…simply being…
Remember, ask for help if you need it.
I love you.
Peace
“Whoever said that loss gets easier with time was a liar. Here’s what really happens: The spaces between the times you miss them grow longer. Then, when you do remember to miss them again, it’s still with a stabbing pain to the heart. And you have guilt. Guilt because it’s been too long since you missed them last.”
― Kristin O’Donnell Tubb, The 13th Sign
It’s been a difficult week for many. There was the terror attack in Manhattan where a man used a rental truck as his weapon of choice, mowing down people as they were going about their daily routines. A Dad, after making a last-minute run to the neighborhood store, was hit and killed by an unknown driver just a few feet from his home. Three people shot and killed in a Denver area Wal-Mart–motive unknown. I could go on with more, but how would I know when to stop?
On a personal note, we learned today one of our friends lost his long and hard battle with cancer. It should not have surprised either of us. We both knew he was sick before anyone put a medical label on the process. Our sympathy goes out to his family. May they all have some peace now that Paul’s fight is over. God bless.
Over and over we are given examples of how precious life is. I wish there was a way to help everyone put the damn cell phones down and be present. Look, listen, and appreciate those amazing souls surrounding you, giving meaning to your life. Allow your mind to be in that moment–not remembering yesterday or worrying about tomorrow. Make the memories–do not just record them. Our powerful brains are very capable of keeping those memories for us–use it.
As we begin our weekend, I found a prayer I wanted to share with you. I was tempted to just post the prayer without any of my thoughts for the day–I hope I was not too wordy! I think this prayer is wonderful. Hopefully, you will, too, and join me in adding it to your own prayer practices.
“Prayer of an Anonymous Abbess:
Lord, thou knowest better than myself that I am growing older and will soon be old. Keep me from becoming too talkative, and especially from the unfortunate habit of thinking that I must say something on every subject and at every opportunity.
Release me from the idea that I must straighten out other peoples’ affairs. With my immense treasure of experience and wisdom, it seems a pity not to let everybody partake of it. But thou knowest, Lord, that in the end I will need a few friends.
Keep me from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point.
Grant me the patience to listen to the complaints of others; help me to endure them with charity. But seal my lips on my own aches and pains — they increase with the increasing years and my inclination to recount them is also increasing.
I will not ask thee for improved memory, only for a little more humility and less self-assurance when my own memory doesn’t agree with that of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be wrong.
Keep me reasonably gentle. I do not have the ambition to become a saint — it is so hard to live with some of them — but a harsh old person is one of the devil’s masterpieces.
Make me sympathetic without being sentimental, helpful but not bossy. Let me discover merits where I had not expected them, and talents in people whom I had not thought to possess any. And, Lord, give me the grace to tell them so.
Amen”
― Margot Benary-Isbert
I am…
B…simply being…
Love and peace, Y’all.
Laughter is a holy thing. It is sacred as music and silence and solemnity, maybe more sacred. Laughter is like a prayer, like a bridge over which creatures tiptoe to meet each other. Laughter is like mercy; it heals. When you can laugh at yourself, you are free. Ted Loder
I saw this picture posted by my friend, Michelle, early this morning. I knew exactly what had happened before I read her story.
Getting dressed in the dim early morning light and in a rush, she had grabbed her shoes, laced them up, and headed out the door. It wasn’t until later when she was getting out of the car, she realized the shoes she’d put on earlier did not match.
Being the quick comedian she is, she commented, “And I have another pair just like them at home.”
I recognized her sleepy error as did several others who commented, each telling their own stories, extending a welcome to the “Mismatched Shoe Club.”
Years ago, I had the same experience. I was working at Children’s Hospital in Denver. It was summer and we were very busy. We had lost one sonographer and my remaining co-worker, who had called in sick earlier, had just quit. No notice. She was done and would not be returning.
That news meant I was the only staff sonographer. That news meant I would be covering the hospital, the clinic, and covering call by myself. That meant my summer was toast.
My only hope rested on one person. Ole. I did not know him well but knew he was an amazing sonographer. He was hired to do research–a position that was constantly changing and busy. Factor into that, our boss was often unrealistic and always protective of Ole’s time. I could not imagine how he could help me.
Michael had the wine was waiting for me when I walked through my front door. Thank heavens he was home to give me support and suggestions. This was not an unusual dilemma for us–he was used to helping me cope with work problems. I’d done it before–I’d put my bravest face on and make it work.
My night was a restless one, filled with more worry than sleep. I woke early, dressed in the dark so I would not wake up Michael, and headed downtown. As I walked from the car to the hospital, my feet felt so odd. Why did it feel like I was limping?
All kinds of scary things flashed through my mind before I thought to actually look at my feet.
To my surprise and embarrassment, I saw one square-toed, low heeled navy flat and one round-toed navy lower heeled flat. I burst out laughing. As stood waiting to cross the street, I laughed until I cried.
I was obviously not as calm, cool, and collected as I thought I was.
When I walked into the office, I saw Ole was already there, motioning for me to come talk with him. Oh man. I was so self-conscious about my shoes. I had to find a way to tell him about my mistake before he noticed.
As I walked towards him, he looked down at my feet. In that nanosecond, I could see he was trying to figure out why I was walking so funny. As his gaze took in my strange choice of footwear, our eyes met and we connected on a level we never would have without those mismatched shoes. He knew and I knew he knew how not okay I really was. Suddenly, we were both bent over with laughter, tears streaming down our faces. A hug naturally followed as he began to tell me how he could and would help.
Laugher was not only the best medicine but it formed a solid platform for a friendship that remains very special. My subconscious mistake provided that connection as well as being a message for me to lighten up. By opening up, sharing my fears, and laughing at myself, others found ways to help.
I don’t know the cause of Michelle’s shoe mishap. Whatever it is, I hope it gave her a way to share the medicine of laughter today. I love you, Michelle. God bless you.
“Laughter is wine for the soul – laughter soft, or loud and deep, tinged through with seriousness – the hilarious declaration made by man that life is worth living.”
― Seán O’Casey
I am…
B…simply being…
Love and peace, Y’all.
“Let me tell you something big: Give importance to little things!”
― Mehmet Murat ildan
I found this little handmade gift tag in a box of old pictures. I’d been sorting through what felt like a hundred boxes Michael had pulled out of our basement storage space. We were downsizing after our Colorado home sold, preparing to start our retirement as full-time RVers–there was a LOT of stuff that had to go.
This tiny little scrap of paper took me completely off guard.
How can I describe the pure joy of finding something so precious and so unexpected? How had this fragile piece of wrapping paper survived the moves across town, across the country, followed by even more cross-city moves? Not only was it a mystery to me–it felt like a miracle.
This tag came from my old childhood neighbors, Tom and Karen Sink. When I first met them, Kevin was their only child. They were next door for quite a few years and I had been fortunate to be with them for the arrival of their other two precious babies. It was a babysitter’s dream and they lived right next door.
Not only did they call me to babysit on a regular basis, they gave my sisters and I shelter from the maddening storm that had become our home life. They’d moved in shortly after my family had moved to Waterloo from Traer. This was a rough time for me–moving right after my eighth-grade year. I had to leave the kids I’d gone to school with since we were all in kindergarten just when we were all ready to begin our high school years.
I was miserable.
Answering a prayer I did not know I’d put out to the Universe, God sent Karen and Tom who filled my life with love, hope, and kindness.
Our houses were very close together–meaning all our family arguments were easily overheard by Tom and Karen. I’m pretty sure they had many unplanned nights out in order to give the Burton girls a place to hang out and a way to escape the chaos.
They were our angels.
It should not have surprised me, finding this powerful little piece of paper when I did. I now had my newest but oldest talisman to take with me into my future.
“Whenever you’re feeling lonely, remember that there are people in this world who bless every one of us before they go to sleep at night. They may have never met you, but their hearts go out to you. They are true angels.”
― L.J. Kane
I am…
B…simply being…
Love and peace to all.
“When no one you know tells the truth, you learn to see under the surface.”
― Cassandra Clare, Lady Midnight
It was a mixture of drizzling rain and sleet combined with a steady northerly wind, discouraging even the hardiest of trick or treaters. This Halloween I did not have to worry about the weather. I’d been grounded since I’d snuck out a couple of weeks earlier. Honestly, my punishment was tolerable. My homebound isolation was worth every minute it in exchange for the fun and freedom I’d had that exciting, if unwise, night.
I had another worry nagging at me as I stood looking out the back door. Fanny, my big goofy dog, had been missing for over a week. As I’d walked down the alley from school that afternoon, I did not see her waiting for me at the end of the driveway. Sometimes she fell asleep over to the side of the house–but her dog time clock had always been accurate. As I got closer to home, I could see her chain stretched across the drive–she was gone. My dog was gone.
I had begged for a dog forever. As a way of stopping this constant nag, Dad told me a friend of his had puppies she was giving away. If I still wanted a dog, he told me to go up and see if she had any puppies left. Well…I took off–running as fast as I could to her house. What I did not know was Dad had already talked to her and knew she had just given away the last puppy. What he did not know was in the time since he’d talked with her and I got to her house, the person who’d come to pick up that last puppy had changed their mind.
Needless to say, when I got home with that ball of black fur, he was speechless. What could he do? He’d already said I could have the dog. Not only that but by the size of her paws, she promised to be one very large dog. Because of that, she would have to be an outside dog. And–Dad said firmly, her name would be Fanny–named after the lady who chuckled as sent that promised puppy home with me.
The garage became the home of my most loving and loved best friend. I’d head out to talk to her when I was sad or happy or just needed a place to go. For years, she’d always been there for me–until now.
Every minute I was not at school I looked and called for her. Halloween made me very nervous thinking someone could do something mean to her. My searching and calling intensified that night. I finally gave up when the window in the back door began to frost up. Coming through the kitchen Dad and Irene had little encouragement for me–stating the obvious sad facts–if she had not come home by now, someone had probably found her or something had happened to her.
Time moved on. My search continued–until a week or so later.
It was noontime on a warm fall Saturday, our new family unit altogether for lunch when the phone rang. Since I was not grounded from the phone, I rushed off to grab it.
The female voice on the other end asked if this was the Burton residence. I said, yes. She then asked if we were the people who were the previous owners of the black poodle she found at the Waterloo Humane Society? She wanted to make sure that the dog was current with all of her shots.
I don’t remember saying much. I’m sure I was polite and answered her questions. There was so much I wanted to say and ask her–the words would not come–she thanked me and I slowly hung up the phone. I walked back to the kitchen table and told Dad and Irene who had been on the phone and why she had called. The needed to know. That would be all I’d say to anyone for a very long time.
I don’t remember even walking back to the table. I quietly told Dad and Irene who had been on the phone and why they had called. There was no response and Fanny was never discussed again.
Like so many things in my life, Fanny had simply disappeared.
I told myself I now knew Fanny was safe–she had a home–hopefully she had another kid to love and care for–I could stop searching and rest.
One phone call had turned what was left of my world totally upside down.
Yes, my friends, trust is hard-earned and easily, often forever, lost.
And then all of a sudden she changed. She came back a different person with a new mindset, a new outlook, a new soul. The girl that once cared way too much about everyone and everything no longer cared at all.
I am…
B…simply being…
Love you and wish us all peace.
“That is the curse of lying, Sister. Once you place that crown of the liar upon your head, you can take it off again, but it leaves a stain for all time.”
― Terry Goodkind, Soul of the Fire
Retirement has given me time to think back to parts of my life sequestered away in different little nooks and crannies. The sound of falling leaves and the smell of bonfires burning in the distance transported me to a place in time I had not visited in a long time. In one quick sweep, I saw myself standing in front of my old house in Traer, shuffling my feet through a widening pile of leaves, waiting for my friends to come by so we could all walk together to our music teacher’s house for chorus practice.
Now, this memory is a very serious one–not one that I am very proud of and one that probably set the course of my life for years to come. First of all, we were not going to have chorus practice. It’d been canceled earlier in the day because our teacher, Mrs. Wilson, was sick. Some of my friends had decided to go out anyway. Not so easy for me since I had just told my Dad and his new wife, Irene, we did not have practice that night. No way they would let me go out when there was no real plan for the night. I mean, teens out roaming around at night in a small town….nope. No way. Nadda. Not going to happen.
Well, someone suggested after multiple phone calls back and forth, I just needed to tell them I was going to practice. Odds are that they weren’t really paying attention and won’t remember me telling them. It’d be an early night so it won’t be a big deal. Just come on–they’d be walking by in ten minutes.
They pleaded. They really, really, really wanted me to come along. I really, really, really wanted to go. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged. This was a very new and a very heady experience for me.
With all my inner voices screaming at me that this was NOT a smart move, I decided to act fast, grabbed my coat, and rushed out the front door, yelling, “Bye, Dad, I’m going to practice.”
As predicted, my Dad did not remember. What I could not have predicted and was about to discover, Irene never ever forgot anything.
I was with my friends and it was wonderful. We walked up and down the streets, imitating the line walk we had all seen on the new TV show, The Monkees. We pushed, shoved, and laughed. We told each other our scariest ghost stories and made plans for Halloween. The wind gusted harder as we walked. The once clear evening had become overcast and cold. One of the guys said his parents weren’t home, why not head over to his house and warm up.
Meanwhile, at my house, Irene was looking up Mrs. Wilson’s phone number as my Dad dialed. Within a matter of minutes, my great escape was about to become one of my biggest nightmares.
Even now, I don’t know how he knew where to find me. We were crowded in Bruce’s kitchen, checking out what was in the ‘frig, when the knock at the front door came. We all tried to be quiet, but the giggles persisted as someone went to see who was there. What I heard next put pure fear into my heart.
“Barb, it’s your Dad.”
I was pretty sure my Dad was not there to join our little impromptu party.
The silence was deafening as I walked out the door, across the porch, and down the steps to where my Dad stood.
He did not speak to me–just pointed the way home.
If you took the route my friends and I’d just taken, we weren’t far from home. It’s only been a few minutes earlier when we’d raced each other through backyards and down alleys. Dad was not directing me that way–he marched us home by way of the sidewalks. I was a full block ahead of him, hearing his every word. Those words were sparse, repeated over and over, ensuring I got his message.
I got it. Loud and clear.
“I am so disappointed in you. You are no longer the good example you once were for your sisters. Your sisters are embarrassed by you. I am disappointed in you.”
It was one of the lowest times of my life.
My nightmare was not over–it continued when I got to school the next day. Mrs. Wilson told us all about a phone call made to her house the night before. She did not mention my name–there was no need. She was not happy one of her students used her as a way to get out of the house. That was not alright with her. She was very disappointed in that student. It would not–could not–happen again or she would end our special choral group.
This was one of my biggest lessons about trust. In a matter of minutes, I learned trust is earned through hard work. It is lost easily with just one reckless decision.
Over the years, I’ve been haunted by questions. Would things have been different in how our very new family developed if I had made a different choice? Had I set a certain ball in motion that night, creating a momentum I did not understand or know how to stop?
I found a quote earlier that helped me as I wrote and shared this story today.
In my life, I’ve lived, I’ve loved, I’ve lost, I’ve missed, I’ve hurt, I’ve trusted, I’ve made mistakes, but most of all, I’ve learned.
I am…
B…simply being…
Love Y’all.
Peace
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly…who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.
Theodore Roosevelt, “Man in the Arena”
I was reading Brene Brown’s book, Rising Strong, when I realized my blog is my arena. This is the place I show up and risk being seen. I agree with Brene when she said we all want to show up and be seen in our lives. But, there is a catch. In order to do that, we will all struggle and fail–meaning we will be brave and be broken-hearted. It is by getting back up on our feet–rising up–we learn who we are.
This book will not be a fast read for me. So much of what Brene says validates the struggles I am going through right now in my life. It is another example of the teacher showing up when the student is ready. Yes, Brene Brown, I am ready, and I’ll share a little with y’all.
Brene talks about “wholeheartedness.” She describes wholeheartedness as “cultivating the courage, compassion, and connection to wake up and say, no matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough. At night saying, yes, I am imperfect and vulnerable, and sometimes afraid, but that does not change the truth that I am brave and worthy of love and belonging.”
She continues by telling us we must show up and be seen “even if that means we are risking failure, hurt, shame, and heartbreak. Doing otherwise is killing us–killing our spirits, our hopes, our potential, our creativity, our ability to lead, our love our faith, our joy…when we own our stories, we avoid being trapped as characters in stories someone else is telling.”
The timing of this seemed especially poignant to me after a week filled with many people coming forward to share their experiences with sexual harassment.
“There are too many people today who instead of feeling hurt are acting out their hurt; instead of acknowledging pain, they’re inflicting pain on others. Rather than risking feeling disappointed, they’re choosing to live disappointed.”
“…We more need people who are willing to demonstrate what it looks like to risk and endure failure, disappointment, and regret–people willing to feel their own hurt instead of working it out on other people, people willing to own their own stories, live their values, and keep showing up.”
I found a real treasure today. Thanks, Brene Brown.
I am…
B…simply being…
I love you and wish you all a wonderful weekend.
Peace
A Buddhist Prayer of Forgiveness
If I have harmed anyone in any way, either knowingly or unknowingly through my own confusion, I ask for their forgiveness. If anyone has harmed me in any way, either knowingly or unknowingly, through their own confusions, I forgive them. And if there is a situation I am not yet ready to forgive, I forgive myself for that. For all the ways I harm myself, negate, doubt, belittle myself, judge or be unkind to myself, through my own confusions, I forgive myself.
As I shared yesterday, throughout my life, God has offered me many opportunities to successfully learn my life lessons. Patience is and always has been at the top of that list followed closely by forgiveness. There are several things I’ve carried around with me over the years that continue to challenge my ability to forgive. Working through all that old stuff is one of the reasons I started sharing my stories. I am learning that unpacking some of these things from that crusty old bag is not only difficult but pretty scary. I’ve been asking myself since I began this journey if I was really ready to unpack this bag, shake it all up and out, look it all over, and share.
Several of these stories happened in the Fall and around Halloween. I think next week will be the perfect time to start the unpacking.
“Listen. Slide the weight from your shoulders and move forward. You are afraid you might forget, but you never will. You will forgive and remember.”
― Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible
I am…
B…simply being…
I wish you all love and peace.
B...simply being... 