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Just a few photos from our trip to Wyoming.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Puppy (and Kitty) Love
Jeanne is blogging about animals this week:
http://www.assertivepatient.com/2007/08/cancer-dog.html
This is a subject close to my heart, for a few reasons. First, my mom. She loved animals, but was extremely allergic, so she could never have pets. When she got pancreatic cancer, she used to come over to my house to cuddle with my cat, TK. She said TK was a "healing cat" and that she always made her feel better. Maybe it was the warmth of the cat on her poor battered body, or maybe it was just the comfort that comes from something furry purring in your lap.
When my mom died, TK started following me around, meowing at me. She's never been one of those dog-like cats, the kind that wants to be with people all the time. TK has always been content to be on her own. Not anymore. These days, I can expect TK to climb into bed with me in the morning, determined to snuggle under the covers with me. Whenever I sit still for more than 5 minutes, TK is there, ready to jump up on my lap. Maybe my mom was right. Maybe TK really is a healing cat. I have to admit, whenever I'm feeling down she makes me feel better too.
Another reason I have been thinking about the power of animals is that we're considering getting a puppy. My youngest son will be off to Kindergarten in a month, and I have to admit I'm afraid the house will be too quiet. It's not like we're lacking in energy around here with two little boys, but I think the time is right to add a puppy to the mix.
http://www.assertivepatient.com/2007/08/cancer-dog.html
This is a subject close to my heart, for a few reasons. First, my mom. She loved animals, but was extremely allergic, so she could never have pets. When she got pancreatic cancer, she used to come over to my house to cuddle with my cat, TK. She said TK was a "healing cat" and that she always made her feel better. Maybe it was the warmth of the cat on her poor battered body, or maybe it was just the comfort that comes from something furry purring in your lap.
When my mom died, TK started following me around, meowing at me. She's never been one of those dog-like cats, the kind that wants to be with people all the time. TK has always been content to be on her own. Not anymore. These days, I can expect TK to climb into bed with me in the morning, determined to snuggle under the covers with me. Whenever I sit still for more than 5 minutes, TK is there, ready to jump up on my lap. Maybe my mom was right. Maybe TK really is a healing cat. I have to admit, whenever I'm feeling down she makes me feel better too.
Another reason I have been thinking about the power of animals is that we're considering getting a puppy. My youngest son will be off to Kindergarten in a month, and I have to admit I'm afraid the house will be too quiet. It's not like we're lacking in energy around here with two little boys, but I think the time is right to add a puppy to the mix.
Winners and Losers
My husband was reading the newspaper the other day when he suddenly threw down the sports section in disgust. "Every other article in this section is about cheating, or drugs, or fraud," he said. "What's the point?"
He's right. It seems like the 'win at any cost' attitude of professional sports is taking its toll. These days, it's hard to tell what is real and what is illusion in sports. When I go see the Mariners play, am I watching the results of natural ability and hard work, or am I seeing a bunch of guys hopped up on goofballs?
I wonder what all of this is teaching kids about sports. We've had some struggles at our house. We're trying to teach our kids to be "good sports," about the importance of being part of a team, and that everyone has a contribution to make, even if he or she is not the best athlete on the team.
My older son has spent the summer on swim team. It's his first year, and he's been swimming a little bit faster each week. I thought he was doing well, that he understood he was really only competing with himself, until last week's championship meet. He was seeded with other swimmers that had similar times, so each heat was really close. In race after race, my son touched the wall last. He was devastated.
I tried to explain that his times were better than they'd ever been, but he was still upset that he didn't win a ribbon. He's come to expect a red or a blue ribbon at each swim meet. I understand that disappointment, but I wonder how to help him use that feeling in a positive way - to work a little harder.
My son is only 8; I don't think I need to worry about steroid use just yet. But I hope that I can teach him that winning at any cost isn't really winning at all.
He's right. It seems like the 'win at any cost' attitude of professional sports is taking its toll. These days, it's hard to tell what is real and what is illusion in sports. When I go see the Mariners play, am I watching the results of natural ability and hard work, or am I seeing a bunch of guys hopped up on goofballs?
I wonder what all of this is teaching kids about sports. We've had some struggles at our house. We're trying to teach our kids to be "good sports," about the importance of being part of a team, and that everyone has a contribution to make, even if he or she is not the best athlete on the team.
My older son has spent the summer on swim team. It's his first year, and he's been swimming a little bit faster each week. I thought he was doing well, that he understood he was really only competing with himself, until last week's championship meet. He was seeded with other swimmers that had similar times, so each heat was really close. In race after race, my son touched the wall last. He was devastated.
I tried to explain that his times were better than they'd ever been, but he was still upset that he didn't win a ribbon. He's come to expect a red or a blue ribbon at each swim meet. I understand that disappointment, but I wonder how to help him use that feeling in a positive way - to work a little harder.
My son is only 8; I don't think I need to worry about steroid use just yet. But I hope that I can teach him that winning at any cost isn't really winning at all.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Trip Report
As usual, I'm way behind. Behind on household stuff. Behind on my paying work. And behind on this, which was supposed to be a place for me to pile up my thoughts. Instead, they are piling up in my brain. As I may have mentioned, my brain is short on space these days, so it's time to empty out the drawers and dust the corners.
Our trip to Wyoming was a big success. We spent 3 days driving from Seattle to Jackson, 5 days in Jackson, then another 3 driving home (including 2 days at Yellowstone). My little monkeys were better than expected in the car, thanks to the occasional well-timed DVD, some books on tape, and a fresh collection of books from the library.
One highlight of this trip was seeing my kids take risks. Not the dangerous kind, mind you, but stretching themselves beyond their usual (narrow) comfort zones. We went whitewater rafting, and Jack actually sat right up in front of the boat with me, gleefully taking the drenching we got with every rapid. We went horseback riding, and they put Timothy right up on his own horse. He looked like a natural, sitting back in the saddle like a real cowboy.
I think it's easier to take risks like that when you're away from home. You're already away from your ordinary life. The expectations are different - if you have any at all.
In many ways this trip felt like the vacations we took when I was a kid. I remember riding from Virginia to Indiana (where my aunt had a house on Lake Michigan) in the back of our station wagon. My three brothers rode in the back seat; I got to share the "way back" with the dog and the suitcases. I could curl up back there with a book and before I knew it we'd be at our destination.
I'm encouraged to keep traveling with my kids, to keep giving them chances to stretch and grow.
That said, we had a lot of togetherness. It's good to be home where I can duck into my office and be alone for a bit!
Our trip to Wyoming was a big success. We spent 3 days driving from Seattle to Jackson, 5 days in Jackson, then another 3 driving home (including 2 days at Yellowstone). My little monkeys were better than expected in the car, thanks to the occasional well-timed DVD, some books on tape, and a fresh collection of books from the library.
One highlight of this trip was seeing my kids take risks. Not the dangerous kind, mind you, but stretching themselves beyond their usual (narrow) comfort zones. We went whitewater rafting, and Jack actually sat right up in front of the boat with me, gleefully taking the drenching we got with every rapid. We went horseback riding, and they put Timothy right up on his own horse. He looked like a natural, sitting back in the saddle like a real cowboy.
I think it's easier to take risks like that when you're away from home. You're already away from your ordinary life. The expectations are different - if you have any at all.
In many ways this trip felt like the vacations we took when I was a kid. I remember riding from Virginia to Indiana (where my aunt had a house on Lake Michigan) in the back of our station wagon. My three brothers rode in the back seat; I got to share the "way back" with the dog and the suitcases. I could curl up back there with a book and before I knew it we'd be at our destination.
I'm encouraged to keep traveling with my kids, to keep giving them chances to stretch and grow.
That said, we had a lot of togetherness. It's good to be home where I can duck into my office and be alone for a bit!
Friday, June 29, 2007
On the road
When Steve and I moved from Washington, D.C. to Seattle, we made a road trip out of it. We spent a whole month meandering about the country, camping and staying with friends. That was 14 years, a wedding, two kids, and many jobs ago, and it's been about that long since we've taken a road trip. Scratch that - we did drive to Colorado when Jack was not yet 2, but all I remember from that journey was trying to find clean places to change Jack's diaper. (Clean? Diapers? I know.)
So now we're on the road again, with both kids. Our ultimate destination is Jackson, Wyoming, but we're taking some time to meander through Idaho and Montana. It's strange to me that in the 14 years I've lived in Seattle I've never been to these neighboring states.
My plan, on this trip, was to read and write while Steve drove. So much for plans! Mostly I've been looking out the window, watching the world go by.
Today we're in Missoula. Yesterday we took the boys to Silverwood theme park in north Idaho, and discovered a wonderful state park, Farragut. Next, we'll head toward Yellowstone. I've got a brand new camera that I've been playing with, so I'll post some pictures later.
Time to get back on the road. More later.
So now we're on the road again, with both kids. Our ultimate destination is Jackson, Wyoming, but we're taking some time to meander through Idaho and Montana. It's strange to me that in the 14 years I've lived in Seattle I've never been to these neighboring states.
My plan, on this trip, was to read and write while Steve drove. So much for plans! Mostly I've been looking out the window, watching the world go by.
Today we're in Missoula. Yesterday we took the boys to Silverwood theme park in north Idaho, and discovered a wonderful state park, Farragut. Next, we'll head toward Yellowstone. I've got a brand new camera that I've been playing with, so I'll post some pictures later.
Time to get back on the road. More later.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Happy days
The Assertive Cancer Patient is joining forces with other bloggers to write about health and happiness. Since I always have more than two cents worth of an opinion about, well, everything, I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon.
I’ve always thought that if I got a terminal diagnosis – a year, six months to live – I’d want to get busy living. I’d quit my job, cash in my savings and go off to see the world. I’d make a list of all the things I had always wanted to do and I would go off and do them, checking items off the list one by one. I figured if I was going to die, I might as well die happy.
Now I see things a little differently. And I think perhaps I had the wrong idea about what happiness is.
My mother died almost a year ago of pancreatic cancer. We knew from the time she was diagnosed that her days were going to be limited, though we hoped she’d have a year or more.
As it was she lived 8 months. During that time she had some low days, no doubt. But she also had some of the purest happy moments I’ve ever witnessed. It was the happiness you see in the eyes of a child, like she was looking at the world with a renewed sense of wonder.
She did take a few trips. One to Michigan to see her brother, one to Virginia to visit her lifelong friends, and another to Mexico with me just because. But she didn’t pack up her suitcase to go globetrotting. To my mom, eking the most out of whatever time she had left meant staying right at home, with the people who meant the most to her.
My mom found joy in working in her garden, watching the birds, and laughing at her grandchildren. She found joy reading, eating lunch out on her deck, or beating me at Scrabble. The same things she loved before she was diagnosed brought happiness afterward. Maybe even (dare I say it?) more.
When we went to Mexico, I spent our last day sitting on the beach alone. At the time, I wrote this:
It’s a little bit like the Buddhist concept of mindfulness. I wonder how many happy moments I’ve let slip by without even feeling them? I’m trying not to do that anymore.
I have learned that happiness isn’t necessarily found in big grand adventures. It’s more likely to show up in the little moments. The pieces of every day that make up a life.
Cancer stole a lot from us. There’s no getting around that. And I’m not one of those people who will say that it’s a “gift.” But I do know that now that I’ve had to think about life and death and health and happiness, the important things have been brought into sharper focus.
Here's what others are saying about health and happiness:
Cancer Bloggers Join Forces Again: Health and Happiness
Health and Happiness
Jar of Rocks
I’ve always thought that if I got a terminal diagnosis – a year, six months to live – I’d want to get busy living. I’d quit my job, cash in my savings and go off to see the world. I’d make a list of all the things I had always wanted to do and I would go off and do them, checking items off the list one by one. I figured if I was going to die, I might as well die happy.
Now I see things a little differently. And I think perhaps I had the wrong idea about what happiness is.
My mother died almost a year ago of pancreatic cancer. We knew from the time she was diagnosed that her days were going to be limited, though we hoped she’d have a year or more.
As it was she lived 8 months. During that time she had some low days, no doubt. But she also had some of the purest happy moments I’ve ever witnessed. It was the happiness you see in the eyes of a child, like she was looking at the world with a renewed sense of wonder.
She did take a few trips. One to Michigan to see her brother, one to Virginia to visit her lifelong friends, and another to Mexico with me just because. But she didn’t pack up her suitcase to go globetrotting. To my mom, eking the most out of whatever time she had left meant staying right at home, with the people who meant the most to her.
My mom found joy in working in her garden, watching the birds, and laughing at her grandchildren. She found joy reading, eating lunch out on her deck, or beating me at Scrabble. The same things she loved before she was diagnosed brought happiness afterward. Maybe even (dare I say it?) more.
When we went to Mexico, I spent our last day sitting on the beach alone. At the time, I wrote this:
I spent the morning on the beach, looking for treasures and watching sand sift through my fingers. I realized that this is it – this is what we have: sand. And just like sand, life falls through our fingers, no matter how hard we clench our fists. I have to learn to enjoy feeling it as it goes by.
It’s a little bit like the Buddhist concept of mindfulness. I wonder how many happy moments I’ve let slip by without even feeling them? I’m trying not to do that anymore.
I have learned that happiness isn’t necessarily found in big grand adventures. It’s more likely to show up in the little moments. The pieces of every day that make up a life.
Cancer stole a lot from us. There’s no getting around that. And I’m not one of those people who will say that it’s a “gift.” But I do know that now that I’ve had to think about life and death and health and happiness, the important things have been brought into sharper focus.
Here's what others are saying about health and happiness:
Cancer Bloggers Join Forces Again: Health and Happiness
Health and Happiness
Jar of Rocks
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Afloat
One of the challenges of being a parent, for me, is always being "on." Even when I manage a weekend getaway with my husband or with friends, a part of me is still with my kids. My cell phone is never off, and I call to check in frequently.
It's hard to truly disconnect.
That's one reason I really treasure my annual kayaking trip in the San Juan Islands. I go with a group of smart, funny women (all moms, like me) and a gem of a guide, Sharmon. We camp on an uninhabited island, and spend 3 days hiking, paddling, and replenshing our souls. Cell phone service is spotty, at best. My family knows they won't be getting updates from me, and their stories and questions will have to wait until I'm back on terra firma.
When we launch our boats at the start of the trip, I feel like I can leave my life on shore. There is something elemental about being afloat, surrounded by a bigger world. And kayaks are the perfect vessel. I am not on the water, I'm in it. I am of it.
June approaches - just a little over a month and I'll be dipping my paddle into the cool water. I like knowing that I'll be reaching my destination under my own power, and that's the only way I'll get home again. It reminds me that I can do anything I set out to do. Especially when I'm in the company of strong women.
The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea.
~Isak Dinesen
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