Lessons from my dog

I’ve always had dogs. We bred Cocker Spaniels when I was a kid and they were just part of the menagerie that included cats, rats, turtles and hermit crabs. But I’ve always had dogs. In my married life, we’ve been through three, with the latest being a shepard mix named Kyla. Our dogs have been companions, protectors, jesters and confessors and we’ve always treated them as part of the family. Except, we didn’t always take them for walks. Our (my) excuse is that I’ve always had a big back yard for them to run around in. Or I didn’t have time. Or I wanted to take the kids for a walk. Whatever.

Kyla needs to walk. When we get out the leash, she goes into paroxysm of joy, wiggling with her whole body, eyes adoringly switching between you and the front door. Doesn’t matter the time of day, how long the walk is or who it taking her—she’s always game. I, personally, walk for exercise. When I walk, I want to go, I want to sweat, I want to feel my calves burning at the end. Kyla walks for the smells. She loves to smell all things. People, garbage, grass, leaves, pavement. When she finds something especially wonderful to smell, she will throw her 95-lb body to the ground, spreading out all four limbs and stay there until all the lovely aroma has been fully absorbed. There is no moving her at these times.

Our needs did not mesh. If I took Kyla for a walk, I didn’t get a workout and got very frustrated, pulling the dog, feeling that I was wasting my time. Not being a speaking creature, Kyla doesn’t say “Hey, I need to smell this bush now, stop yanking my chain!” but I’m sure she was thinking it. I needed to sweat, she needed to smell. So, I went on walks by myself, pushing her away as I tied my sneakers, petting and hugging her when I returned home, but leaving her there as I took care of myself. Until one day, I couldn’t resist the sad, puppy dog eyes and leashed her up, purely for her own enjoyment. We walked about half a mile. I didn’t look at my watch, I didn’t pull on her leash. When she wanted to stop, we stopped. When she wanted to cross the path, we crossed the path. When she began panting, we turned around and went home. It was a great walk.

My dog taught me to recognize that I couldn’t always do it all. Sometimes, a walk is just a walk. Sometimes grass needs to be smelled. This is why I have a dog—sometimes she’s smarter than I am.

Teacher ABCs

I was looking at journal starters and found a great idea on this Tumblr page about making an alphabetical list of something important. I thought this would be a fun and easy way to give some higher level thinking to a topic of interest. Here's my sample, on teaching.

Alphabetical List of . . . Teaching

By: Amelia Beard Grissom

Are you aware of differences?

Bet on the quiet kid

Count on interruptions

Ditch preconceptions

Every day is a new start

For every kid that “gets it,” two or more don’t

Go for broke

Hit the stuff they’ll need in “real life”

Imagine the potential

Just breathe

Kids are all human beings

Love unconditionally

Make them think

No one is above the rules

Open your door

Put yourself in their shoes

Quiet reflection is good for the soul

Resist telling the answers

Search for a different way

Travel together

Uncomfortable silences promote learning moments

Video as a resource, not a distraction

Wallow in beauty

X-amine your reasons

Yell at the dog (if you have to)

Zorro and teachers—both mark for life

Couch Glue

I think I've discovered a new force of nature. Couch Glue exerts a strong attraction to your soft seating of choice during the cold months, luring you away from the gym or the fitness videos. This force seems to increase in direct relation to the reduction of both light and outdoor temperature and is correlated to one's partiality to sedentary entertainment. Couch Glue's amount of force also increases with time.

OK, so maybe there isn't a force of nature called Couch Glue, but I sure felt something yesterday when I went home with the full intention of working out and became an immovable lump in front of the TV instead. When it's nice outside, I don't have any trouble going out on a walk or working in the yard. In fact, I look forward to getting outside during the work day and can't wait to change clothes and get out to feel the sun on my face.

When it's below freezing, the wind is whipping the remains of the leaves and snow or ice is spitting, that's when Couch Glue begins to exert its inexorable pull on my body and brain.

The question is now, how to fight against it? I've found if I can beat the light--that is I get into my workout clothes and to my designated spot to workout (even if it is in the basement where there is really no natural light), I'll workout. If I get home late and the sun has already set, that increases the pull of Couch Glue. If I sit down before changing, that increases the pull of Couch Glue.

They say recognizing your problem is the first step to solving it. Now that I've discovered Couch Glue, my struggle to overcome that force can begin. Wish me luck!

The First Time

The First Time (modeled after Gary Soto’s Oranges)

The first time I saw

my child’s face I was 27

flushed, and sweaty with

the exertion of labor in Texas heat.

May. Flowers blooming

outside my window, my husband

Smiling before me, holding

my hand as I touched her tiny fingers, the one whose

fact of being burned my heart

night and day, in any weather.

The nurse raised her voice at me, until

the rest was done

all blood and tissue, towels crimson

with life. I grimaced,

touched my infant, and turned away

from the ugliness of the delivery room, toward

my future and my present

a newly grown human,

until we three breathed

in unison, a family.

Sore muscles

I've been thinking about using sensory images in my poetry. So, since we had poetry club today, I used some index cards and mined sensory images from this site: http://www.creative-writing-now.com/poem-starters.html to make four-five cards for each sense. Then I had my poets draw as many cards as they wanted, read the ideas and try to create a poem from one or more, concentrating especially on sensory images. I drew "sore muscles" and this is the poem I came up with:

Sore Muscles

Mouth wide in a lion's yawn,
my body greets the day
with each tendon stretching
longer, stronger.
Feet laced into sweat-scented sneakers.
Heel to toe, leaning into the second mile,
breath coming in pants.
Acid injected deep below my calves,
pinch and burn
slow fire licking my legs
wrapping knotted fibers
into muscles newly born.

Trip to Topeka

     So my father, who is a history buff, took me to Topeka to see the capitol building today. It's extremely ornate--22 carat gold embellishments, hand-carved oak, imported marble and so on. Impressive, yes! Necessary? That's the question that kept circling in my head as we took the tour. Why is all this opulence necessary for senators and congressmen? Perhaps looking in the mirror-like marble floor helps politicians reflect wisely on public policy? Hard to say.
     My children (13 and 18 years old) came along for the ride and my daughter commented on the John Curry paintings of John Brown. She's artistic so she could appreciate the effort that went into creating murals of the size that adorn the walls there. I enjoyed the larger-than-life statues of Amelia Earhart and William Allen White, two of my personal "hometown" heroes.
     I've got to remember to play tourist more often. I've lived in this town 18 years and there is so much I still haven't seen. Just this last year I ventured out to 18th and Vine to the Blue Room. It's so easy to get stuck in our day-to-day routine that it often takes the prodding of someone outside of our comfort zone to get us to change.

Playlist Poem

I've used this prompt with my poetry club and (full disclosure) I got this from a great website but I didn't save the name. Anyway, this is how to create a "playlist poem"

1. Pull up your playlist
2. Put on shuffle
3. Take first five titles and use word-for-word in your poem
4. Order of the titles doesn't matter

EXAMPLE:
My I-pod pulled up these five songs:
Nobody Home
Whiskey Lullabye
A Change Would Do You Good
Not Myself
Early in the Morning

Nobody home at my house
The floor is creaking,
Wind blowing
Each curtain flap makes me wince
Thinking it might be you.

I comfort myself with a whiskey lullabye,
Liquid gold going down hot and rough
Like your hands on me
Like your eyes on me
Wishing it was you.

My mama says,
A change would do you good,
But why would I want change
When I love loving you so much.
Though you’re not here to love.

The smell of you in the house
The print of your head on the pillow
The remembered touch of your flesh
On my flesh. I wish it was
Just not myself.

Early in the morning,
I wake and look and there
You are—smiling from the pillow
Next to me and our smiles
Join to form a new love.