The Circle of Life Begins and Ends With Patience

I've been enjoying the thrills (and, dare I say it, even the frustrations) of raising my twin grandsons and investing my time into their lives. 

Teaching them American Sign Language before they can even grasp their own bottles has been very rewarding for me. Lucas (the one on the left in the above photo) anticipates the spelling of his name and babbles in ASL with me when I go through the Alphabet Song with them. 

I have never really had the patience not the temerity to teach anyone anything. Yes, I taught my own children the basics of life. Yes, I homeschooled them. I have even taught some fun skills to them. But teaching has never been my thing.

I love to learn new things, and until this morning, it's never really dawned on me that the very act of learning is a skill. When the twins were born, one of the doctors' biggest fears for them was whether or not they would quickly learn to breathe and eat at the same time. Learn to breathe while eating? 

Fast forward 3 months, and I am watching my son (the twins' uncle) teaching my mother how to navigate something that, to me and him, is as simple as breathing while eating-- setting up an email account.

It's not that I'm not proficient in the basics of computer skills. I was around when the ridiculous staticky sound of dial-up internet was the norm. The last three courses I needed when pursuing my Master's Degree in Criminal Justice were all online. But the patience to teach it to someone else, particularly someone who believes that "an internet" is an infinite black hole filled with scammers, predatory data stealers, and serial killers is not a skill I have perfected. Yet. 

My father firmly believes that once you plug a modem cable into a computer, the entire world can see and hear everything going on in the house. He refuses to possess more than a rudimentary flip phone, and he doesn't even know where the power button is located to turn on the ancient desktop computer my mother uses for word processing. That said, my dad has found value in YouTube videos that feature his old albums and favorite songs of ages past. Someone else has to find them for him, but he'll watch them. 

As I've mentioned on a livestream or two, I met my husband on the internet. Anyone remember the all but obsolete "Myspace"? It hasn't disappeared, but the social networking aspect for us normies has been replaced by the plethora of musicians there. My husband and I met while playing an app--a game-- called "Hotties For Sale".  It wasn't a dating app. It was just one of those "buy your friends" mindless games where you use fake money to buy and sell your Myspace friends' profile photos and chat with the people who are buying and selling from and to you. Remember those online classes I told you I was taking? This game was how I blew off steam between assignments. 

When I told my mother about my budding romance with my husband and how it happened, she was terrified for me. The internet may as well have been The Twilight Zone to her. I can only imagine she thought there were just swirling faces and weird-looking colors like in the Willy Wonka movie with Gene Wilder as they sailed through the super crazy tunnel. Even though she now knows that real, live, sane human beings are on the internet too, it is still as foreign to her as the day she heard the first network handshake/nails on chalkboard staticky sound of dial-up just before I clicked onto the blue screen that led to, "You've got mail!"

But back to this morning. My conversation with her went something like this:

    Mom:  "Why did they put an 81 behind his name?"

    Me:  "It's just a suggested email address. You can change it to whatever you want."

    Mom:  "But he wasn't born in 81. Do I need to change that? How do I call them to tell them he is                      older than that?

    Me:  "If you don't like that one, see this blank space here? Type what you want his email address to                 be."

    Mom:  "Why are they asking me for a password? Do you know my password?"

    Me:  "You don't have one yet. They're asking you to make one up."

    Mom:  "So, like..." [She begins to type "1,2,3,4..."]

    Me:  "Not one that can get hacked. Something harder."

    Mom:  "But then how will I remember it?"

    Me:  "You have a pen and paper right there."

    Mom:  "If I write it down, won't somebody steal it?"

I'm not cut out for this. This is the woman who taught me how to use a spoon and fork. How to walk. How to spell my own name. And I can't muster up the patience to teach her something that seems even more simple than those things. As I'm feeling kind of low about myself and my ability to navigate my mother down the chocolate Willy Wonka stream and through the tunnel of nightmares, my 19 year old son walks in and takes the reins. 

And he's full of compassion and an air of superiority as only teenagers can beautifully pull off, and he gets my mom where she wants to go online. When he's finished, he isn't even sweating! 

Here I am trying to teach my mother's great-grandsons American Sign Language, and my son gives her basic computer tutorials. This circle of life thing is really working for me! Now if only I can learn patience...

Life with twins

They are a handful!😆 When they both want to sleep in someone's lap, and there's only one someone available...

SKUNK! 😳🦨 #skunks

I cannot express how little I enjoy knowing skunks have found my little garden. When I add chickens, what's gonna happen? They're already digging up the little seed pods I plant, just to get at the earthworms and grubs beneath them. I want to coexist with them, but I fill better repelling than living with them.

Know how I got this one to run? I barked like a dog and chased it. Thank goodness that plan (and the skunk) didn't backfire!

The Little Things

I'm reclining in a GCI Outdoors camp rocker at 2:19 a.m., a sleeping baby in my lap, the sound and vibrations of a severe thunderstorm as my soundtrack, and a power outage. 

It would be nice to have another plush  rocking chair recliner like the one in which my daughter has fallen asleep while holding the other baby, but there is no more space for a large chair so we use a camp rocker. It folds flat, can hold 400 pounds, and is nice and roomy.

It's times like this that all the sleepless nights and dirty diapers seem to become fleeting memories. I am finding that I actually enjoy rocking babies in a camp chair. There is a nice reclining rocking chair. I just don't like it. I'm short, and it's made for taller people. But still, I don't remember the feelings I had when I rocked my own children,  but there is a weird contentment that comes with just being in the moment-- being in this moment.

Elodie, the Labradoodle. Mourning the loss of a pet.

 

Elodie 

 

Always alert 

Always running 

Always in the lead... 

You are 

 

Never relaxed 

Never content 

Never fully trusting you’re secure... 

You are 

 

We feed you 

House you 

Dress your constant wounds 

 

Take you to see new things 

Buy toys you shred 

Buy treats that last only minutes 

 

To see you smile 

To see your tail wag 

To see you’re aware that you’re loved... 

You are 

Too curious, too adventurous

Too anxious to explore

You are

Too trusting, too naive

Too sheltered from the outside world

You are

Gone now

Across the Rainbow Bridge

You are

I was out of town when I received word that she had escaped the person who was dog sitting for us. She had been gone for two hours before they found her down the street. I was told she was very much alert and happy to be back with them, but then her condition quickly deteriorated. She had passed just minutes before arriving at the vet's office.

I received the news as I pulled up to my hotel in Birmingham, Alabama (4 hours away) to check in. And I needed a moment I never thought I'd need.

Elodie was a great dog. She was protective, silly, and always up for a romp. But I didn't know I had the depth of feelings for her that I apparently showed. I cried for a few hours before going to the conference I was traveling for. Every commercial on the television screen seemed to show dogs and their people. Every billboard along the route to the conference location seemed to show dogs and their people. And just when I thought I was over it, people were outside the hotel with their dogs taking potty breaks...and the tears came back again.

It's not easy to lose a pet. Some people roll their eyes at the emotions people have for animals, but at the end of the day, grief is still grief. Pets may not be humans, but because we are humans we love. Pets are among our loved ones. They see us at our best and our worst. They listen to us as we complain about our days, tell them our secrets, and sing in the shower.

To be perfectly honest, Elodie got on my nerves. A lot. Because she was all the qualities I'd ever wanted in a dog, being "Elodie" was what was irritating and endearing about her. And I think that was why I was responding in a manner I'd not thought possible upon news of her death. I also knew things would be very different when I made it back home, but I didn't know just how different it would be without her. I didn't know just how much of my life included her.

We spent an hour a day walking or jogging in the mornings, rain or shine. When I come up for air from behind my computer desk during the day, Elodie and I spent time together outside on the tailgate of the farm truck. I ran new ideas by her. I sang songs to her I hadn't written onto staff paper yet. I complained to her and ranted about the news headlines I'd seen that day. It was very difficult the first few mornings back as I woke up and had to walk alone. I have stopped going the route I used to go with her because it just isn't the same. I don't even go to the same pet store anymore because I remember every place Elodie stopped to sniff the toys and treats that were placed just at puppy eye level.

Healthy grief is taking time to process your feelings. My daughter found another Labradoodle who looks identical to Elodie, although this one is a lot younger. I wasn't ready to lay claim to her, so my daughter has adopted Lily for herself. I have to tell you, while I'm not ready to interact with Lily, seeing virtually a young clone of Elodie is fascinating. It's like reliving the happy parts of her existence (without the attachment). Is this weird? Probably. But knowing Lily is loved, even if not by me, kind of makes it okay in my mind. She gets plenty of attention among the other dogs we have (the Labradoodle in her commands attention), but a part of me hangs back. I'm still getting over not having Elodie here, but in an odd way, it's like she never left.

The garden is looking like a garden now!

 Remember the other day when I was going out in the pouring rain to check on the garden? Yeah, well...that day saw the opening and subsequent ripping of my rain suit. 😅 It seemed to fit fine, and I wore it over my regular clothes. I walked around for a few minutes in the driving rain, and just as the rain began to slow down, I saw a carrot top peeking out of the soil. As I bent in for a closer look, I felt the rip. It seemed small, but when I pulled off the rain pants, I saw it ripped from the crotch seam aaaall the way down to the ankle! I stayed dry, but I can't wear those again. Twenty dollars down the drain.

But with the April showers come mid-April, well, maybe not flowers. Take a look!

(Above) The little tree frog who eats stink bugs and moths

 (and probably spiders) on the porch.

I'm really thankful for nature's helpers!

                                             (Below) Various garden beds...

(Above) This comfrey is flowering!

(Above) I love mullein's health properties!

All these things have sprang up since the last rains. I'm so proud of my little corner of the world. I can't wait to see some tomatoes and peppers, though. 

April Showers

What do you when it rains for three days and you are desperate to get into the garden. I went out and bought a rain suit. I haven't tried it on yet, but I am not above going out in pouring rain and pounding wind to baby my baby spinach!😆

My daughter's Great Dane escaped into my garden yesterday, and she almost got stuck out there coaxing him out, even in rain boots! He didn't like how his paws were sinking in the mud, so he decided he was just going to stay out there in my brand new strawberry bed...forever.🙄

You've seen Zeus before if you've kept up with my Youtube videos. 

Each paw weighs, like, a thousand pounds. He doesn't drink water from cute, dainty bowls. He drinks from a bucket. Like a horse. And where did he remember lots and lots of buckets? Noooow you're getting it. And the only way I can assess the damage is to go out in driving rain and 45 mile per hour wind, with mud boots that will probably get sucked off my poor, innocent feet. I'm not very fond of the cold, muddy watery feeling creeping around my toes. 

I'll keep you posted. If in my next video, it looks like I've been crying and covered in mud, you'll know why.