Wabi sabi represents a Japanese view that in art books is typically defined as "flawed beauty." Personally, I spent the first twenty years of my life with quite the opposite view. A quality that is both a blessing and a curse: I like to keep things perfect. My grandpa was adamant about taking good care of things and knowing the value of what you have. To him, taking the best possible care of what your hard earned money had bought, was showing appreciation for it, plus, it kept you from being wasteful since things would not need to be replaced unnecessarily. I remember how his dump truck, which he used daily for work, was cleaner on the inside than most other peoples new cars. This sickness, as we've grown to call it, was passed on to my Mom and to us kids. We always took care of things, yet often took this to the extreme. I remember playing for hours and hours with my huge collection of Barbie's. However, the Dream House was always in order, her clothing was always organized with not so much as a shoe misplaced and everyone was always impeccably dressed with their hairdo's perfect. I had Barbie's Afghan hound and he was always groomed to the nines. I liked my bedroom neat and I could find everything I needed and everything had it's place.
As I got older, I was even more determined to keep things showroom new. If you've seen one of those people who could paint a house and not get one drop of paint on them, that's me. Plus, the least little scratch, mark, or blemish on anything could send me into either a fit of repair or I would toss whatever it was and replace the whole thing with a new, unmarked version. See why we call this a sickness?
Then, one sunny day in June of 1993, I brought a stray kitten home from work. Tiger howled at the back door of our office wanting in that day. I fed him a can of tuna at lunchtime and brought him home that evening. I had never had a cat or dog in the house, ever. I loved him already and was afraid if I didn't keep him inside, he would run away or get hurt and maybe even killed. That began a big lesson for me. I learned about wabi sabi. When you decide to share your home with a pet, especially a dog or cat, no matter how well behaved they are, some of your stuff is going to get the brunt of it.
The foot of my bed has ever since been the favorite rest area for cats. The back of my couch has been a scratching post. The whole house has been one big race track. The bathroom sink doubles as a cool, summertime cat bed. I've seen the paw prints all over my coffee table. Most of my black clothes have cat hair on them. There's a long legged Siamese who can jump nearly five feet straight up and she does. Then came the greyhounds. There are big dog beds scattered through the house. Our warmest blankets became dog blankets. Squeaky toys litter the living room and our front room. The glass storm door always has nose prints. I paid the library $27 for Cesar Milan's Be The Pack Leader because Luke ruined the cover carrying the book around and finally hiding it in his bed. I had to put my cute collection of Boyd's Bears up on a shelf after I found several bears, soaking wet with doggie drool after they had taken lots of abuse in the search for a squeaker. These things may not sound like big deals to most people, and they're not to me now, but to me, about fifteen years ago, the most minor of things could have caused a full blown, perfectionist, five alarm emergency to get things back in order and the damage assessment performed.
After I spent the first few year with Tiger, I was semi-reformed. I would still love to keep things in good repair, looking new, and I do try. But, the scratches, the dings, and blemishes make my stuff mine. I guess I've learned to embrace the wabi sabi. My hounds and cats have brought more to my life than anything money can buy and if things get a little beat up, no big deal. I can replace or repair any of this stuff, but I cannot replace them.
Right now, Tiger sleeps in one cat bed, Jasmine sleeps in another, and Paisley is snug as a bug on the foot of my side of the bed. Luke is stretched out in his living room doggie bed, covered in what used to be my favorite warm blanket. I need to clean the litter boxes and pick up the toys. Plus, I'm pretty sure Jasmine has been playing in the Christmas tree again. The house will never be perfect and I'm just fine with that. But, just between us, in a chest at the foot of the bed, sleep all of my childhood Barbie's, wrapped in tissue, and wearing their original clothes.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Nothing To Fear But Fear Itself or Maybe A Bottle Of Cough Syrup
I've pretty much always been afraid of anything I didn't have control over, but went ahead and did whatever I wanted anyway. I saw fear as a challenge and wore my game face. As a child, there was only one thing I hated worse than foul tasting medicine and that was the place it came from, the doctors office. I was never a good patient and putting a little Vick's on my chest was like trying to put a cat in a five gallon bucket of water. I could be burning up with fever yet insist that I was feeling fine because I was terrified of that potential car ride. Who knew what was going to happen after we got there! Nurses and doctors had access to needles, nasty tasting medicines, and wooden gagging sticks all stored neatly in a funny smelling office with trees and birds painted on the walls. Who were those trees fooling, anyway?!
I was sick each and every Christmas as a young child and dreaded it actually, because I knew what would happen. The big problem was, not one of those needle-toting doctors could figure out why. They just wanted to stick my finger with a thumb tack or take blood out of my arm or send home more delicious medicine. It wasn't until Mom took me to a doctor, an older fellow with the office that looked like a Norman Rockwell painting, that my Christmas time plague was cured. He told Mom to go home and throw our real Christmas tree outside and buy a fake one next year and I would be fine. To me, it was like a Christmas miracle! That Norman Rockwell doctor had figured out that I was very allergic to those real trees! The holidays were awesome for me from then on, but the thing that didn't change was, I still was afraid of doctors.
Who knows how I ended up working for doctors during nearly fifteen years of my life! I saw what these talented physicians did for people in getting them well, but I was still terrified to be the patient. I nearly always had to have my blood pressure checked multiple times because even though my face didn't tell the story, my heart beating out of my chest did. The first time I went to the chiropractor for my neck, I just knew he was going to break it. After my x-rays, he took my blood pressure, then my pulse all the while looking at me strangely. Finally he asks if I was nervous. I laughed. Nervous he says. I let him know that if I was more familiar with which doors led to the outside of his office, I would have sneaked out before he came back in to exam me. He was the one laughing when I told him that a few nights before, I had watched Arnold Schwarzenegger very easily and gingerly break a guys neck on an airplane and I didn't want my neck broken. Instead of treating me like a bonafide nut job, this doc had his chuckle and proceeded to explain why breaking a neck barehanded would be really hard to do and how he would tend to go after the knee if he wanted to hurt someone. We then had an understanding. He could have a go at my neck, but stay away from my kneecaps.
Naturally, this fear always reared its ugly head every time I had to take one of my fur-kids to the vet as well. Even for a run-of-the-mill yearly vet check and shots, I was sweaty handed and half sick myself. Dread filled me the day I asked Chris if Sugar's neck glands looked puffy to him too. I just cried once the day Doc Jenny called and told me it was lymphoma. I was terrified, but God gave me something that day I did not expect. He gave someone who had spent a lifetime in fear of everyone wearing a white coat, a spirit of confidence that we would use to fight this with all we had in us. I sat in Docs office that evening with my Mom deciding how this battle would begin. Sugar woke each morning with the spirit of ten hounds and then some. I was there for every needle stick, for every chemo treatment, for every poison-pill-laced dog treat, for every good day and for every bad one. She showed no fear, therefore neither could I. That little hound put her faith and trust in me and for the first time in my life, I fully put my faith and trust in God. Even though my darling girl had to leave me that rainy morning in June, she lives today in what she did to my life. I believe God knows just how to speak to us and He spoke volumes to me through a dog. I clearly remember the night that lovely hound stole my heart and I remember that same heart being broken the day she left. I'm grateful for every minute I spent with her and I've come to realize it's no accident that dog spelled backwards is God.
I was sick each and every Christmas as a young child and dreaded it actually, because I knew what would happen. The big problem was, not one of those needle-toting doctors could figure out why. They just wanted to stick my finger with a thumb tack or take blood out of my arm or send home more delicious medicine. It wasn't until Mom took me to a doctor, an older fellow with the office that looked like a Norman Rockwell painting, that my Christmas time plague was cured. He told Mom to go home and throw our real Christmas tree outside and buy a fake one next year and I would be fine. To me, it was like a Christmas miracle! That Norman Rockwell doctor had figured out that I was very allergic to those real trees! The holidays were awesome for me from then on, but the thing that didn't change was, I still was afraid of doctors.
Who knows how I ended up working for doctors during nearly fifteen years of my life! I saw what these talented physicians did for people in getting them well, but I was still terrified to be the patient. I nearly always had to have my blood pressure checked multiple times because even though my face didn't tell the story, my heart beating out of my chest did. The first time I went to the chiropractor for my neck, I just knew he was going to break it. After my x-rays, he took my blood pressure, then my pulse all the while looking at me strangely. Finally he asks if I was nervous. I laughed. Nervous he says. I let him know that if I was more familiar with which doors led to the outside of his office, I would have sneaked out before he came back in to exam me. He was the one laughing when I told him that a few nights before, I had watched Arnold Schwarzenegger very easily and gingerly break a guys neck on an airplane and I didn't want my neck broken. Instead of treating me like a bonafide nut job, this doc had his chuckle and proceeded to explain why breaking a neck barehanded would be really hard to do and how he would tend to go after the knee if he wanted to hurt someone. We then had an understanding. He could have a go at my neck, but stay away from my kneecaps.
Naturally, this fear always reared its ugly head every time I had to take one of my fur-kids to the vet as well. Even for a run-of-the-mill yearly vet check and shots, I was sweaty handed and half sick myself. Dread filled me the day I asked Chris if Sugar's neck glands looked puffy to him too. I just cried once the day Doc Jenny called and told me it was lymphoma. I was terrified, but God gave me something that day I did not expect. He gave someone who had spent a lifetime in fear of everyone wearing a white coat, a spirit of confidence that we would use to fight this with all we had in us. I sat in Docs office that evening with my Mom deciding how this battle would begin. Sugar woke each morning with the spirit of ten hounds and then some. I was there for every needle stick, for every chemo treatment, for every poison-pill-laced dog treat, for every good day and for every bad one. She showed no fear, therefore neither could I. That little hound put her faith and trust in me and for the first time in my life, I fully put my faith and trust in God. Even though my darling girl had to leave me that rainy morning in June, she lives today in what she did to my life. I believe God knows just how to speak to us and He spoke volumes to me through a dog. I clearly remember the night that lovely hound stole my heart and I remember that same heart being broken the day she left. I'm grateful for every minute I spent with her and I've come to realize it's no accident that dog spelled backwards is God.
Friday, November 5, 2010
To Lead a Dog's Life
I've always loved dogs and suppose you could say I was born with the gene if there is such a thing. My dad never met a dog he didn't like and I don't remember a dog that didn't love my dad. I mean no offense in admitting this, but if I visit your home, chances are I will be more taken by your dog than your children or grandchildren. A previous co-worker of mine who enjoyed astrology, handed me a paper one day that she had printed about the Chinese zodiac. It was no big surprise to find that I'm not a rooster, rabbit, or any of those other animals. I am the dog, not the bounty hunter guy, but a loyal, honest, trustworthy, yet temperamental, narrow-minded, and stubborn dog according to this zodiac. Whether you put any confidence in that kind of thing or not, I don't mind being the dog at all. In fact, the life of leisure our hound leads proves that often "being treated like a dog" is pretty darn sweet!
It's very ironic that although I had no previous interest in becoming a runner, the only dogs I've shared my adult life with, were born to run. We raised two dalmatian puppies, Duchess and Lady, who were sisters out of the same litter. If you've ever had a Dal, you should very well know they aren't "porch dogs" but tireless runners. Historically, these dogs worked as "coach" dogs running along with the stagecoaches, clearing the paths for and protecting the horses. Young dalmatians will run themselves to detriment if you're not careful. They are not sprinters, but marathoners or ultras. I was just as easily fascinated with our greyhounds, Luke and Sugar, also siblings out of the same litter. An ancient breed of sight hound with a fascinating history, greyhounds are natural born sprinters who can take off in explosive bursts. There is no "building up" to top speed for a greyhound, it's literally BOOM and they're gone! If you've ever had a retired-racing greyhound in your family, you've seen the happy face of a hound running at full speed and it's obvious they are doing what they love.
If we were only as smart as our dogs, the world would be in order. They plainly and simply do what they were born to do and couldn't be happier. Now, you're going to balk at this statement, but I really think we humans were born to run too. Maybe some of us were meant to be sprinters like the greyhound, marathoners like the dalmatian or possibly some of us are like a pug and were made just to take a spin around the block, buggy-eyed, with our tongue hanging out. Where ever I fit in with my running, I'm going to take a lesson from my dogs and enjoy it. God did not put dogs here to be chained to a tree and I don't believe He put us here to be chained to a desk in front of a computer, so by all means, act like a dog and get out and run!
It's very ironic that although I had no previous interest in becoming a runner, the only dogs I've shared my adult life with, were born to run. We raised two dalmatian puppies, Duchess and Lady, who were sisters out of the same litter. If you've ever had a Dal, you should very well know they aren't "porch dogs" but tireless runners. Historically, these dogs worked as "coach" dogs running along with the stagecoaches, clearing the paths for and protecting the horses. Young dalmatians will run themselves to detriment if you're not careful. They are not sprinters, but marathoners or ultras. I was just as easily fascinated with our greyhounds, Luke and Sugar, also siblings out of the same litter. An ancient breed of sight hound with a fascinating history, greyhounds are natural born sprinters who can take off in explosive bursts. There is no "building up" to top speed for a greyhound, it's literally BOOM and they're gone! If you've ever had a retired-racing greyhound in your family, you've seen the happy face of a hound running at full speed and it's obvious they are doing what they love.
If we were only as smart as our dogs, the world would be in order. They plainly and simply do what they were born to do and couldn't be happier. Now, you're going to balk at this statement, but I really think we humans were born to run too. Maybe some of us were meant to be sprinters like the greyhound, marathoners like the dalmatian or possibly some of us are like a pug and were made just to take a spin around the block, buggy-eyed, with our tongue hanging out. Where ever I fit in with my running, I'm going to take a lesson from my dogs and enjoy it. God did not put dogs here to be chained to a tree and I don't believe He put us here to be chained to a desk in front of a computer, so by all means, act like a dog and get out and run!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
The best bill I've ever paid
I always like to weigh my options and sometimes this is more just to justify what I really want to do than it is to actually help make a decision. When I viewed running from a financial standpoint, I figured it was just about one of the most fiscally reasonable activities a person could do. I mean, after all, if I wanted to try swimming, I would have to learn how and probably join the Y or if I wanted to bicycle, I'd need a new bike and helmet. With running, I calculated the cost of shoes and I'd be good to go! Right? Well, almost!
What I really didn't expect to happen was our grocery bill was going to get the brunt of it! I have became an eating machine not unlike throwing wood into a chipper. In order for me to have the fuel I need to run 12, 13, 14, miles or more a week, plus cross train, I have to eat and I don't mean junk either. I crave real food!! The kind of food God intended for us to eat, not Tuna Helper. Plus, add Gatorade, nutrition bars, and gels to the list and you will spend more.
I also discovered that running shoes don't last for a year when you actually run in them. My trusty "Haines Her Way" socks couldn't cut the mustard either and were dropping off like flies. And this is for the ladies, I don't care if you look like a ten year old boy or Dolly Parton, the sports bra is your friend, but she's not cheap and will not live to see a birthday. The first time I slapped on a regular cotton t-shirt and returned with it ten pounds heavier from sweat, how quickly I realized the "tech" shirt is worth it's ever so light weight in gold.
So many things in life come with a price and possibly a sacrifice. I've came to look at my exercise expenses as an investment. I'm investing in the me I want to be. The me I've wanted to be all along and didn't realize it. I know way too many people who take far better care of their homes and cars than they do their bodies. I'm all for cleaning the gutters and waxing the ride, but I can trade my car or sell my house. However, I'm pretty much stuck with this body. When I spent ten weeks watching what lymphoma was doing to my darling hound, seeing day in and day out how awful this disease is and realizing how many people are facing that everyday, something happened to me. I started loving this ol' body God gave me, broken veins, stretch marks, scars and all. I only have the one and I asked God to forgive me for all the years I treated it like an afterthought and not taking care of it the way it deserved to be taken care of.
When I head out the door in my running shoes I couldn't care less that they were $100 or that my running socks were $10 and so on. Sadly, I've wasted far more money than that on nonsense. But, taking care of myself and treating what God gave me with respect is certainly not nonsense, so the pocketbook will get over it. Heading up the road, with one foot in front of the other, I enjoy what God has given me and that little bit of cash never crosses my mind.
What I really didn't expect to happen was our grocery bill was going to get the brunt of it! I have became an eating machine not unlike throwing wood into a chipper. In order for me to have the fuel I need to run 12, 13, 14, miles or more a week, plus cross train, I have to eat and I don't mean junk either. I crave real food!! The kind of food God intended for us to eat, not Tuna Helper. Plus, add Gatorade, nutrition bars, and gels to the list and you will spend more.
I also discovered that running shoes don't last for a year when you actually run in them. My trusty "Haines Her Way" socks couldn't cut the mustard either and were dropping off like flies. And this is for the ladies, I don't care if you look like a ten year old boy or Dolly Parton, the sports bra is your friend, but she's not cheap and will not live to see a birthday. The first time I slapped on a regular cotton t-shirt and returned with it ten pounds heavier from sweat, how quickly I realized the "tech" shirt is worth it's ever so light weight in gold.
So many things in life come with a price and possibly a sacrifice. I've came to look at my exercise expenses as an investment. I'm investing in the me I want to be. The me I've wanted to be all along and didn't realize it. I know way too many people who take far better care of their homes and cars than they do their bodies. I'm all for cleaning the gutters and waxing the ride, but I can trade my car or sell my house. However, I'm pretty much stuck with this body. When I spent ten weeks watching what lymphoma was doing to my darling hound, seeing day in and day out how awful this disease is and realizing how many people are facing that everyday, something happened to me. I started loving this ol' body God gave me, broken veins, stretch marks, scars and all. I only have the one and I asked God to forgive me for all the years I treated it like an afterthought and not taking care of it the way it deserved to be taken care of.
When I head out the door in my running shoes I couldn't care less that they were $100 or that my running socks were $10 and so on. Sadly, I've wasted far more money than that on nonsense. But, taking care of myself and treating what God gave me with respect is certainly not nonsense, so the pocketbook will get over it. Heading up the road, with one foot in front of the other, I enjoy what God has given me and that little bit of cash never crosses my mind.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Thanksgiving and dirty running shoes
I almost don't recognize myself from the beginning of spring. Running has done a lot for me physically, I've gotten smaller and stronger, but probably the most marked improvement is mental. I used to hate the song that talked about "seeing clearly now, the rain has gone," I mean, who wants to see your obstacles anyway? But, that's exactly what running does for your mind. The only difference is, you feel like the obstacles, although in plain view, aren't that big of a deal anymore. Somehow, the more your body sweats, the less your mind does.
Over the summer as I trained with my Team in Training family, I learned every crumbly sidewalk, every hill that made my legs scream, and every water stop on our normal paths. I learned that God will bless your feet, ankles, knees, hips and He'll hold them all together on your nearly 40 year old body if you just ask. I learned that when you're grieving, running is a very productive way to get those feelings out and the tears mix right in with the sweat, so no one really notices. I learned there are too many things that go on everyday that we should be thankful for instead of taking for granted.
I heard Joel Osteen say that God sends us all kind of blessings, all kinds of opportunity in our lifetimes. In doing so, He often sends what we never expected and if we don't stay open and pay attention, we could miss out on something big He's trying to do in our lives. I never expected one of my biggest blessings so far, to be a little greyhound from Birmingham. Because of her, and I hate to say this, but also because of the cancer that took her, I realized a gift I didn't even know I had. She wasn't alone in bringing out the best in me. I have another blessing, her brother, asleep right now, on his featherbed, right beside a dirty pair of running shoes.
Over the summer as I trained with my Team in Training family, I learned every crumbly sidewalk, every hill that made my legs scream, and every water stop on our normal paths. I learned that God will bless your feet, ankles, knees, hips and He'll hold them all together on your nearly 40 year old body if you just ask. I learned that when you're grieving, running is a very productive way to get those feelings out and the tears mix right in with the sweat, so no one really notices. I learned there are too many things that go on everyday that we should be thankful for instead of taking for granted.
I heard Joel Osteen say that God sends us all kind of blessings, all kinds of opportunity in our lifetimes. In doing so, He often sends what we never expected and if we don't stay open and pay attention, we could miss out on something big He's trying to do in our lives. I never expected one of my biggest blessings so far, to be a little greyhound from Birmingham. Because of her, and I hate to say this, but also because of the cancer that took her, I realized a gift I didn't even know I had. She wasn't alone in bringing out the best in me. I have another blessing, her brother, asleep right now, on his featherbed, right beside a dirty pair of running shoes.
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