Adam loves to remind me that, back in 2002 when I first moved to Michigan, I hated it here. After all, I had just left the bustling metropolis of New York City, where you can get an incredibly good slice of pizza, a scrumptious round bagel or cheap Chinese food pretty much all day and night. There's culture, culture, culture and life doesn't really ever stop. Why did I leave again?
It took some time to reconcile myself to life in Michigan, but after making some dear friends and becoming more involved in the community, it started to feel like home. And, in 2008, I began volunteering for community organizations and local activist campaigns and really felt like I had carved out my niche. Add to that fact, I had a baby and developed an amazing cohort of smart, funny and strong fellow mama friends, and I realized I was rooted to this place. And then, I moved. And I was really, really sad, in case you don't remember. And now I've moved back, and while not everything is the same, I feel like I'm home again.
So, in honor of all the warm fuzzies I'm getting about being here again, I thought I'd do a shout-out to this fair city. You have lots of things that can be improved, old girl, but you're on your way, and there are a lot of us here who love you.
1) Cost of living. This place rocks when it comes to being able to afford a decent standard of living. You won't live in a palace and your house will likely be a fixer-upper, but you can probably own your own piece of property on a student or entry-level job income. And you still might have some extra dough to splurge on eating out from time to time.
2) Transit system. We don't have light rail here, but the Capitol Area Transit Authority (CATA) is rated amongst the top systems in the nation when it comes to cost, accessibility and regularity. Even though having a personal vehicle makes things more convenient, you don't really need to have one here; CATA will take you just about anywhere you want to go in Lansing, East Lansing Okemos and beyond.
3) Educational opportunities. Lansing is a virtual epicenter when it comes to access to post-secondary education. Just over the border in East Lansing is Michigan State University, where one can enroll in an undergraduate, graduate or continuing education program (not to mention medical, dental, veterinary or law school). Downtown Lansing offers Cooley Law School (the largest law school in the nation), Lansing Community College and Davenport University. Whether you're hoping to enroll in law school at Cooley or you want to take a night class in Swahili at MSU, opportunity abounds.
4) State government. There is no better place to have your finger on the pulse of state politics than in the state's capitol city. I am just a bike ride away from our capitol building, city hall and various other government buildings. My claim to fame is driving one Saturday morning along one of Lansing's major thoroughfares while snarfing a bagel and cream cheese. While stopped at a stoplight, I turned to look at the car next to me only to see that Governor Jennifer Granholm was seated in the passenger seat. I looked at her, she looked at me, I waved like an idiot with cream cheese smeared all over my mouth, she frowned at me, and then the light turned green and she was gone. I was fascinated and humiliated all at the same time.
5) The City Pulse. Speaking of having one's finger on the pulse of things, Lansing's local alternative newspaper is a staple here, read by liberals and conservatives alike. It's the go-to newspaper to read about local politics, current musical and theatrical events and the best eats around. I found my favorite breakfast place--Sawyers Pancake House--while reading the City Pulse. I particularly love the crossword puzzle and "Ask Amy" advice column toward in the back.
6) Arts & Entertainment. Lansing and East Lansing are havens for the performing arts. Between the local theater troupes--Riverwalk Theater and Boarshead Theater--and the travelling professional theatrical shows that perform at the Wharton Center at MSU, we are not at a loss for culture by any stretch. Musical acts range from homegrown groups that play at bars such as The Green Door and (before they closed) Magdelena's Teahouse and Temple Club, to world-renowned artists that play jazz, classical, rock and country music concerts at Wharton and Breslin Centers. Students can usually get fairly cheap tickets to the professional performances, and if you're willing to sit in the nosebleed section, you can usually afford to attend just about anything.
7) On the radar. While most Lansingites wouldn't believe it, our little city was recently named amongst the top ten U.S. cities to live in for young adults. Kiplinger took into consideration many of the things that have already made my list--low cost of living, educational opportunities, cultural attractions--and propelled good old Lansing into the top ten. Many people I know can't believe that Lansing was even being considered, but I say, "Wake up, folks. There are lots of things to do here if you just pick up the City Pulse and read. Trust me." And now the rest of the nation knows it, too.
8) Community. When I first moved to Lansing, I had the advantage of being in the microcosm of school to help me meet people. Then, I had a job and had the benefit of friendly coworkers, and then I had a baby and met a bunch of fellow mothers. But Lansing's community is strong on connectivity. I can't meet a person here who doesn't somehow know one of my other friends from a totally different part of my Lansing life. I volunteer at different community events and by the end of the day, I have left with ten new friends. Seriously. This place is truly a social butterfly's paradise, which is why it was so hard for this papillon to leave last year. But wouldn't you know it...my first trip to the grocery store since I've been back had me running into two friends--one from grad school and one from my community activism days. It didn't take long for me to feel like I was back in the embrace of my people.
9) Diversity. Lansing is diverse. Ethnically, minority groups make up about 40% of the total population, and with higher education available, many foreign students regularly relocate to the city. Additionally, Lansing hosts an impressive refugee community orginating from Eastern Europe, Asia, Africa, and South America. Lansing is also home to a large and active LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender) community, which hosts the Michigan Gay Pride Parade in downtown every year, and is constantly working to educate the public about its culture. Lansingites are poor, middle-income and well off. Some have healthy retirements and others live on welfare and food stamps. But, we are all citizens of this city, and most of us are proud of it.
10) Access. Located in the heart of Michigan, Lansing is only a short drive away from many of the state's top tourist attractions, ranging from the urban metropolis of Detroit, to the hippy counterculture of Ann Arbor, to the natural wonders of the Lake Michigan coastline. The drive to the Mackinac Bridge is roughly 3 1/2-4 hours away; the Upper Peninsula (known to Michiganders as the "U.P.") is then at your fingertips.
We all know about Michigan's economic hardships, so it can be hard to remember what draws people to this area. I know why I love it here; perhaps this can serve as a reminder (and an incentive to come) to others. Go Green, Go White, Go Sparty!
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
A Quickie
No, folks, not that type; after all, my husband isn't around right now. No, just thought I'd deliver a quick update to those of you who have inquired about Adam's current status and Bryony's and my well-being and states of mind.
Adam is FINE. Actually, he's doing really well. I received a call from him today and he is still waiting for a flight out of his current location to join his unit. I can't put into writing his actual whereabouts or his final destination, but rest assured he is okay. In fact, he managed to run into several old Navy buddies from years' past (some from as many as TEN years ago!) while at his current location, and is happy to catch up with old friends.
Bryony and I are okay. We spend a little time talking about Daddy everyday, and we look at lots of photos of him, blowing him kisses (or kissing the picture) to feel connected. I've actually been surprised by how much I feel like I'm operating on autopilot these days. It almost feels like I'm in shock, as the full weight and enormity of the situation doesn't seem to register most of the time. I think that I am consciously avoiding thinking about it so that I can get through my day; otherwise, I'd have multiple breakdowns that would only serve to upset and confuse Bryony. It wouldn't do me any good, either.
A couple fun things have come our way that have lifted the mood. The USO (Uniformed Services Organization, a non-profit that supports servicemembers and their families) sent me a care package (yes me, the spouse!) to help get through the year. Included were coupons and gift certificates for various things like restaurants and grocery items. My favorite gift, however, was the hard-bound journal that was included; a way of writing down the year's events, day-by-day, for Adam to read when he returns. Or perhaps it's more catharsis for me as I end each day. Or maybe it's both.
The other cool thing was yet another USO-supported gift. Adam said that he has been video recorded reading a book to Bryony and both the book and the DVD will be shipped to us. I can hardly wait to watch her as she sees Daddy reading a book to her. I know I'll probably get more out of it than she will, but still. It's the little things that keep me going these days.
Anyway, before this quickie turns into anything more intimate (*smirk*) I had better get going. Thanks again for all your thoughts and well wishes. Friends and family helped get us through the last two deployments and I know your support will help carry us through this one, too.
Adam is FINE. Actually, he's doing really well. I received a call from him today and he is still waiting for a flight out of his current location to join his unit. I can't put into writing his actual whereabouts or his final destination, but rest assured he is okay. In fact, he managed to run into several old Navy buddies from years' past (some from as many as TEN years ago!) while at his current location, and is happy to catch up with old friends.
Bryony and I are okay. We spend a little time talking about Daddy everyday, and we look at lots of photos of him, blowing him kisses (or kissing the picture) to feel connected. I've actually been surprised by how much I feel like I'm operating on autopilot these days. It almost feels like I'm in shock, as the full weight and enormity of the situation doesn't seem to register most of the time. I think that I am consciously avoiding thinking about it so that I can get through my day; otherwise, I'd have multiple breakdowns that would only serve to upset and confuse Bryony. It wouldn't do me any good, either.
A couple fun things have come our way that have lifted the mood. The USO (Uniformed Services Organization, a non-profit that supports servicemembers and their families) sent me a care package (yes me, the spouse!) to help get through the year. Included were coupons and gift certificates for various things like restaurants and grocery items. My favorite gift, however, was the hard-bound journal that was included; a way of writing down the year's events, day-by-day, for Adam to read when he returns. Or perhaps it's more catharsis for me as I end each day. Or maybe it's both.
The other cool thing was yet another USO-supported gift. Adam said that he has been video recorded reading a book to Bryony and both the book and the DVD will be shipped to us. I can hardly wait to watch her as she sees Daddy reading a book to her. I know I'll probably get more out of it than she will, but still. It's the little things that keep me going these days.
Anyway, before this quickie turns into anything more intimate (*smirk*) I had better get going. Thanks again for all your thoughts and well wishes. Friends and family helped get us through the last two deployments and I know your support will help carry us through this one, too.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
A Long Good-Bye
Hello again, dear Blogosphere. It's been awhile, but I'm back. Back in Michigan, back online (and now I have Soul II Soul's "Back To Life" playing on the internal turntable of my brain).
It's been a tough three weeks as we planned, cried, packed, bickered, cried some more, and then moved. And then we said good-bye: to friends, to Texas, and to each other. Good-byes are always the hardest part.
Adam's unit deployed ahead of him; since he's a reservist, he had to go through deployment processing in Georgia before he could mobilize with the rest of his colleagues. I was grateful to have a few extra days with him; we spent part of that time packing, part of it making silly home movies for Bryony to watch this year, and part of it just getting lots of "hug time" in to make up for the months ahead when our arms will be devoid of each other. I cried at the most insignificant moments--when Bryony would run up to Adam's leg and hang on, laughing; when I secretly examined my handsome husband's long, lean and muscular frame, thinking of how sexy he is; when he laughed his great big Adam laugh, all toothy and dimply. I knew how hard it was going to be to give up those moments in the coming year, and so I took mental snapshots so I could have something to hold on to.
In mid-February, we attended the farewell ceremony for Adam's unit in a large gymnasium on base. Although Adam has been on two previous deployments, neither of us had ever attended anything like this since reservists don't usually get ceremonial sendoffs. This affair, however, was commonplace for active duty servicemembers and their families and I was curious to see what it would be like. I wasn't prepared. The gym was packed with soldiers in formation, their M-16s dangling at their sides, their gearpacks resting near them. Our men and women in uniform were gearing up for a year away from their country, their families, from the comforts of home. It was a humbling experience to witness. I wondered, briefly, if some of them might not make it back home. Looking out into the crowd of faces I didn't know, the thought of their sacrifice made tears glide down my face. Soon after we arrived and found seats in the bleachers, a senior non-commissioned officer got the ball rolling. He talked about how much the military appreciates the families who take care of the homefront while the troops are away, and how much he knew the year would be difficult for those of us left behind. I don't know how much weight I put in his words; like many before him, it often feels like a scripted speech when military leaders acknowledge the families. I felt bitterness bubbling up inside me when I thought about how little they truly understand what it's like to be the one left behind to handle life, to worry about your spouse, to deal with your own loneliness. Next to speak was a chaplain, whose words felt more sincere when he acknowledged that most of us attending that night were full of sadness and grief for an impending separation. I appreciated the lack of "hoo-ah!" (Army rallying call) behind the sentiment of his commiseration; he really was speaking to the families, not giving a canned pep talk. Finally, a general stood up and gave a short speech, mostly filled with call-and-repeat jargon that was meant to motivate the troops, but felt like a harsh slap to those of us who were quietly grieving. After the speeches, the troops were given thirty minutes to say goodbye to their families before boarding the bus that would take them to the airport. Adam, Bryony and I walked around, and I found myself looking down at the floor so as not to intrude upon the private family despair that was being unleashed all around me. Fathers holding crying, trembling sons and daughters who were old enough to understand; husbands and wives tearfully holding on to each other; pregnant wives who knew their husband would miss the birth of their baby; mothers leaving small children behind knowing the kids would be so different upon return. I cried silently for their pain for the pain I knew I was facing ahead. It all just seemed so unfair. Who else in America is subject to this lifestyle? Who else has to go through this, has to know how this feels? Just then my girlfriend and her family walked up, minutes away from bidding her husband good-bye. I saw the tears on my friend's face and my heart broke. She is a new friend, but a good one and I had never imagined having to see her in pain; now our grief was out for public display and we hugged, finding strength in our friendship and shared experience.
And then, the thirty minutes was over much too soon and the troops assembled in formation once more to exit the building. Those of us on the sidelines continued a sustained applause for each of them as they made their way to the busses. Soon, the gymnasium was nearly empty but for the few stragglers and those in charge of cleaning. We let Bryony run around wild, yelling and waving her arms over her head like a mad child, in utter delight. Mental snapshot.
The next couple days were a blur as Adam packed his car for the drive to Georgia and finalized administrative paperwork. The night before he left, we stayed up until 3:00 am finishing our taxes. It was like cramming for an exam the night before; we were so extremely tired but giddy at the same time. Even in the midst of extreme fatigure, my husband insisted on printing the addresses of the envelopes to the feds, state and local governments; no handwritten addressing for him! No matter what the circumstances, he believes things should always be done the "right" way. I think we didn't actually fall asleep until around 4:00 am because in our last night together, we had so many things we still wanted to talk about as we drifted off to sleep.
Plan A was that I was going to leave Texas at the end of February and either drive out to Georgia to give Adam one final sendoff, or else move up to Michigan. But then, just days before Adam's departure, I received a phone call from the Michigan Dept of Natural Resources, asking if I could come in for an interview the following week. I couldn't turn it down, so we decided that Bryony, both cats and I would pack up my car and leave at the same time as Adam (aka, Plan B). And that's what we did. It was crazy and hectic and overwhelming, but I'm so glad we did it. After an entire day of the two of us packing the apartment up, Adam commented that he didn't know how I would have been able to do it by myself with a toddler running around. Plus, Adam is the master packer, so he managed to make just about everything fit, save for most of our groceries which we left for friends to pick up.
We caravaned from Killeen north to Dallas, where we stopped at a Chili's for dinner. It was surreal to know that it was our last dinner together for such a long time. I kept trying to hide my tears in my pasta dinner, and busied myself with taking pictures of Adam and Bryony as they played across the table from me. And then, dinner was over and we both needed to be on the road. My eyes were floodgates that had burst open from the pressure of rushing tears behind them. I saw Bryony looking at me with those intelligent eyes, knowing something was wrong even as I tried to smile and laugh through my tears. Adam held us both and whispered to me, "It'll be okay. Your job is to be strong for our little girl." I nodded and told him that his job was to safely come back home to both of us. So, so hard to tear myself away from him, I finally did, and weeping, got behind the wheel. We drove in tandem another ten miles before he peeled off to go east, and I kept driving northeast. Our horns blared at each other like two geese flying away in different v-formations. My guy, in his little red sports coup, went under an overpass and was gone from sight. Snapshot.
Bryony, Greg House, Holiday and I took three days to make it up to Michigan. The trip went really well overall, but for the final day when we hit a bad snowstorm in Indiana. I toyed with pulling over as I saw car after car nose-down in ditches after sliding off the road, semis jackknifed and accidents a-plenty. But, by day three, we all just wanted to be out of the car and in our own house, and we were only a five hour drive from home at that point. Long story short, I drove 40 mph the entire way, stopping as accident scenes held up traffic and allowing for bathroo breaks. Five hours turned into almost ten as holdups and slow driving stretched the trip out in front of us. But finally, we made it home at 9:45pm and it was glorious. I didn't bother to unpack anything other than the essentials for the night, and we all rested well and easily. It was so good to be home.
Adam left Georgia this past Friday. We didn't get a chance to say good-bye because his cell phone had no service in the building he was in before flying out. I fretted all of Friday from not hearing from him, checking the news to make sure there wasn't a story of something happening to his unit. I'm a worrywart, if you haven't noticed. Saturday morning at 1:00am my phone rang; I had just gone to bed a half hour earlier and was entering the haze of sleepy thoughts of him. I saw a number beginning with "011" and knew it was him, calling me from overseas. It was so good to hear his tired voice, but we only had a few minutes to talk so I whispered as many "I love you's" into the phone as I could before he had to go. I choked up as he was about to hang up and he said, "No tears, honey. It's going to be okay." He's my rock.
And now I have to be Bryony's. She's already showing some signs of reaction to this whole situation so I am only allowing myself to feel at night, when she's in bed. In her waking hours, I'm her pillar to lean on, the one who takes care of her basic needs, her emotional needs, and reminds her of who her daddy is and how very much he loves her. We kiss Daddy's photo everyday just to feel connected.
And so a long good-bye is going to turn into a long year apart, but I feel like once again, I'm in planning phase. I mean, what else can you do? Life must move on, and I had darn well better keep up. I have to be strong for Bryony, for Adam and for me. As much as I want the year to pass quickly so I can see my husband again, I don't want to wish away a year of my daughter's life. She is sure to grow and change so much and I want to capture those special moments--snapshots in time--for Adam to experience and for me to look back on. It is going to be quite a year.
It's been a tough three weeks as we planned, cried, packed, bickered, cried some more, and then moved. And then we said good-bye: to friends, to Texas, and to each other. Good-byes are always the hardest part.
Adam's unit deployed ahead of him; since he's a reservist, he had to go through deployment processing in Georgia before he could mobilize with the rest of his colleagues. I was grateful to have a few extra days with him; we spent part of that time packing, part of it making silly home movies for Bryony to watch this year, and part of it just getting lots of "hug time" in to make up for the months ahead when our arms will be devoid of each other. I cried at the most insignificant moments--when Bryony would run up to Adam's leg and hang on, laughing; when I secretly examined my handsome husband's long, lean and muscular frame, thinking of how sexy he is; when he laughed his great big Adam laugh, all toothy and dimply. I knew how hard it was going to be to give up those moments in the coming year, and so I took mental snapshots so I could have something to hold on to.
In mid-February, we attended the farewell ceremony for Adam's unit in a large gymnasium on base. Although Adam has been on two previous deployments, neither of us had ever attended anything like this since reservists don't usually get ceremonial sendoffs. This affair, however, was commonplace for active duty servicemembers and their families and I was curious to see what it would be like. I wasn't prepared. The gym was packed with soldiers in formation, their M-16s dangling at their sides, their gearpacks resting near them. Our men and women in uniform were gearing up for a year away from their country, their families, from the comforts of home. It was a humbling experience to witness. I wondered, briefly, if some of them might not make it back home. Looking out into the crowd of faces I didn't know, the thought of their sacrifice made tears glide down my face. Soon after we arrived and found seats in the bleachers, a senior non-commissioned officer got the ball rolling. He talked about how much the military appreciates the families who take care of the homefront while the troops are away, and how much he knew the year would be difficult for those of us left behind. I don't know how much weight I put in his words; like many before him, it often feels like a scripted speech when military leaders acknowledge the families. I felt bitterness bubbling up inside me when I thought about how little they truly understand what it's like to be the one left behind to handle life, to worry about your spouse, to deal with your own loneliness. Next to speak was a chaplain, whose words felt more sincere when he acknowledged that most of us attending that night were full of sadness and grief for an impending separation. I appreciated the lack of "hoo-ah!" (Army rallying call) behind the sentiment of his commiseration; he really was speaking to the families, not giving a canned pep talk. Finally, a general stood up and gave a short speech, mostly filled with call-and-repeat jargon that was meant to motivate the troops, but felt like a harsh slap to those of us who were quietly grieving. After the speeches, the troops were given thirty minutes to say goodbye to their families before boarding the bus that would take them to the airport. Adam, Bryony and I walked around, and I found myself looking down at the floor so as not to intrude upon the private family despair that was being unleashed all around me. Fathers holding crying, trembling sons and daughters who were old enough to understand; husbands and wives tearfully holding on to each other; pregnant wives who knew their husband would miss the birth of their baby; mothers leaving small children behind knowing the kids would be so different upon return. I cried silently for their pain for the pain I knew I was facing ahead. It all just seemed so unfair. Who else in America is subject to this lifestyle? Who else has to go through this, has to know how this feels? Just then my girlfriend and her family walked up, minutes away from bidding her husband good-bye. I saw the tears on my friend's face and my heart broke. She is a new friend, but a good one and I had never imagined having to see her in pain; now our grief was out for public display and we hugged, finding strength in our friendship and shared experience.
And then, the thirty minutes was over much too soon and the troops assembled in formation once more to exit the building. Those of us on the sidelines continued a sustained applause for each of them as they made their way to the busses. Soon, the gymnasium was nearly empty but for the few stragglers and those in charge of cleaning. We let Bryony run around wild, yelling and waving her arms over her head like a mad child, in utter delight. Mental snapshot.
The next couple days were a blur as Adam packed his car for the drive to Georgia and finalized administrative paperwork. The night before he left, we stayed up until 3:00 am finishing our taxes. It was like cramming for an exam the night before; we were so extremely tired but giddy at the same time. Even in the midst of extreme fatigure, my husband insisted on printing the addresses of the envelopes to the feds, state and local governments; no handwritten addressing for him! No matter what the circumstances, he believes things should always be done the "right" way. I think we didn't actually fall asleep until around 4:00 am because in our last night together, we had so many things we still wanted to talk about as we drifted off to sleep.
Plan A was that I was going to leave Texas at the end of February and either drive out to Georgia to give Adam one final sendoff, or else move up to Michigan. But then, just days before Adam's departure, I received a phone call from the Michigan Dept of Natural Resources, asking if I could come in for an interview the following week. I couldn't turn it down, so we decided that Bryony, both cats and I would pack up my car and leave at the same time as Adam (aka, Plan B). And that's what we did. It was crazy and hectic and overwhelming, but I'm so glad we did it. After an entire day of the two of us packing the apartment up, Adam commented that he didn't know how I would have been able to do it by myself with a toddler running around. Plus, Adam is the master packer, so he managed to make just about everything fit, save for most of our groceries which we left for friends to pick up.
We caravaned from Killeen north to Dallas, where we stopped at a Chili's for dinner. It was surreal to know that it was our last dinner together for such a long time. I kept trying to hide my tears in my pasta dinner, and busied myself with taking pictures of Adam and Bryony as they played across the table from me. And then, dinner was over and we both needed to be on the road. My eyes were floodgates that had burst open from the pressure of rushing tears behind them. I saw Bryony looking at me with those intelligent eyes, knowing something was wrong even as I tried to smile and laugh through my tears. Adam held us both and whispered to me, "It'll be okay. Your job is to be strong for our little girl." I nodded and told him that his job was to safely come back home to both of us. So, so hard to tear myself away from him, I finally did, and weeping, got behind the wheel. We drove in tandem another ten miles before he peeled off to go east, and I kept driving northeast. Our horns blared at each other like two geese flying away in different v-formations. My guy, in his little red sports coup, went under an overpass and was gone from sight. Snapshot.
Bryony, Greg House, Holiday and I took three days to make it up to Michigan. The trip went really well overall, but for the final day when we hit a bad snowstorm in Indiana. I toyed with pulling over as I saw car after car nose-down in ditches after sliding off the road, semis jackknifed and accidents a-plenty. But, by day three, we all just wanted to be out of the car and in our own house, and we were only a five hour drive from home at that point. Long story short, I drove 40 mph the entire way, stopping as accident scenes held up traffic and allowing for bathroo breaks. Five hours turned into almost ten as holdups and slow driving stretched the trip out in front of us. But finally, we made it home at 9:45pm and it was glorious. I didn't bother to unpack anything other than the essentials for the night, and we all rested well and easily. It was so good to be home.
Adam left Georgia this past Friday. We didn't get a chance to say good-bye because his cell phone had no service in the building he was in before flying out. I fretted all of Friday from not hearing from him, checking the news to make sure there wasn't a story of something happening to his unit. I'm a worrywart, if you haven't noticed. Saturday morning at 1:00am my phone rang; I had just gone to bed a half hour earlier and was entering the haze of sleepy thoughts of him. I saw a number beginning with "011" and knew it was him, calling me from overseas. It was so good to hear his tired voice, but we only had a few minutes to talk so I whispered as many "I love you's" into the phone as I could before he had to go. I choked up as he was about to hang up and he said, "No tears, honey. It's going to be okay." He's my rock.
And now I have to be Bryony's. She's already showing some signs of reaction to this whole situation so I am only allowing myself to feel at night, when she's in bed. In her waking hours, I'm her pillar to lean on, the one who takes care of her basic needs, her emotional needs, and reminds her of who her daddy is and how very much he loves her. We kiss Daddy's photo everyday just to feel connected.
And so a long good-bye is going to turn into a long year apart, but I feel like once again, I'm in planning phase. I mean, what else can you do? Life must move on, and I had darn well better keep up. I have to be strong for Bryony, for Adam and for me. As much as I want the year to pass quickly so I can see my husband again, I don't want to wish away a year of my daughter's life. She is sure to grow and change so much and I want to capture those special moments--snapshots in time--for Adam to experience and for me to look back on. It is going to be quite a year.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Good Hair, An Update
You might remember the second part of my as-yet-unfinished series "The Race Card", which was entitled "Good Hair."
I've been meaning to write a quick update to that post, because a couple things have happened in the last few months that I found particularly relevant. Back in December, while at the post office mailing out late Christmas gifts, I walked up to the counter, which was being attended by a black male employee. After starting to process my parcels, he casually commented that he liked seeing "a sister with natural hair."
My first reaction was to touch my hair self-consciously and reply with a quick, "thank you." But then, after a few seconds of reflection, I said a bit sarcastically, "I could write a book about the way I feel about that subject!" Of course, I didn't tell him that indeed, I had already written a rather lengthy blog post.
"Is that right?" he asked, grinning slightly. "I mean, I don't have a problem with what anyone does with their hair," he went on, looking quickly around the office, presumably for any black women with treated hair who might take offense.
I just smiled, and walked out feeling rather proud of my 'tightly coiled' curly hair. There are still some people left in the world who don't hate on natural black women's hair.
Then, about a month ago, Bryony and I were at a local Borders that was having a "going out of business sale." Because I am super frugal (aka, cheap) and hate to pay full-price for anything, I was scanning the aisles for books I could get for 40% off. Just as I asked a young saleswoman to point me in the direction of the nature section, she stopped me and asked, "Excuse me, but is that your natural hair?"
On that particular day, I had let my hair out of its barrette, so my locks that had dried straight while clasped in the barrette were now flowing freely. I told her that yes, it was my own natural hair. Then she asked if it was naturally that straight. I explained to her that my hair was actually quite curly by nature, much curlier than her own hair or even Bryony's, and that it was only straight because it had dried that way. She asked me to follow her to the health & beauty section of the store, where she grabbed a book entitled Curly Girl. She told me the book had changed her life.
"I used to have hair that was dry and bushy and I never knew what to do with it. It just always felt really unhealthy. Then I started using the method that this book suggests and I get so many compliments on my hair now!" Her long mane of wet-looking curls swayed behind her back.
I gave this girl a once-over. She looked as though she could be biracial, and so while she might have some hair similarities to mine, I felt like she was overestimating the amount we had in common. But, always one to try to keep an open mind, I thanked her, picked up the book and started to flip through it. Sure enough, the author, a white woman who has curly hair herself, wrote the book with curly-haired women and children in mind. One of the over-arching themes of the book is to stop the cycle of self-hate that is perpetuated in our society toward and by curly-haired people. We need to LOVE our curly tops. It was a fun book to skim through, but being the el cheapo that I am, I decided to wait until it was 50% off the following week before purchasing it. Of course, when I returned to the store a few days later to buy it, all three copies had been sold.
No worries, there's always Amazon. And there's always time for me to "work" with my hair a bit more. I just hope that Bryony grows up loving her own curly locks as much as we do. We cannot go anywhere without someone commenting on her hair. Sometimes that's good--a woman or man will stop us to say how much they love her hair, or wish that they had it. Usually, Adam will make a bad joke about wanting some of her hair himself (while pointing to his bald head) or we'll respond with a genuine thank you. And sometimes outsiders' comments aren't so good--they will say things like, "Oh, she's going to hate that hair when she's sixteen!" or "That hair must be SO hard to deal with!" I've just learned to respond positively with "Oh, I think she'll love her hair as much when she's a teenager as we love it now!" or "Nope, her hair is really fun to work with!"
If some people in this world are intent on making her feel bad about her beautiful hair, then I'll make it my job to be the one-woman counterattack force for perpetuating appreciation for curly hair. Just call me the Curly Crusader.
I've been meaning to write a quick update to that post, because a couple things have happened in the last few months that I found particularly relevant. Back in December, while at the post office mailing out late Christmas gifts, I walked up to the counter, which was being attended by a black male employee. After starting to process my parcels, he casually commented that he liked seeing "a sister with natural hair."
My first reaction was to touch my hair self-consciously and reply with a quick, "thank you." But then, after a few seconds of reflection, I said a bit sarcastically, "I could write a book about the way I feel about that subject!" Of course, I didn't tell him that indeed, I had already written a rather lengthy blog post.
"Is that right?" he asked, grinning slightly. "I mean, I don't have a problem with what anyone does with their hair," he went on, looking quickly around the office, presumably for any black women with treated hair who might take offense.
I just smiled, and walked out feeling rather proud of my 'tightly coiled' curly hair. There are still some people left in the world who don't hate on natural black women's hair.
Then, about a month ago, Bryony and I were at a local Borders that was having a "going out of business sale." Because I am super frugal (aka, cheap) and hate to pay full-price for anything, I was scanning the aisles for books I could get for 40% off. Just as I asked a young saleswoman to point me in the direction of the nature section, she stopped me and asked, "Excuse me, but is that your natural hair?"
On that particular day, I had let my hair out of its barrette, so my locks that had dried straight while clasped in the barrette were now flowing freely. I told her that yes, it was my own natural hair. Then she asked if it was naturally that straight. I explained to her that my hair was actually quite curly by nature, much curlier than her own hair or even Bryony's, and that it was only straight because it had dried that way. She asked me to follow her to the health & beauty section of the store, where she grabbed a book entitled Curly Girl. She told me the book had changed her life.
"I used to have hair that was dry and bushy and I never knew what to do with it. It just always felt really unhealthy. Then I started using the method that this book suggests and I get so many compliments on my hair now!" Her long mane of wet-looking curls swayed behind her back.
I gave this girl a once-over. She looked as though she could be biracial, and so while she might have some hair similarities to mine, I felt like she was overestimating the amount we had in common. But, always one to try to keep an open mind, I thanked her, picked up the book and started to flip through it. Sure enough, the author, a white woman who has curly hair herself, wrote the book with curly-haired women and children in mind. One of the over-arching themes of the book is to stop the cycle of self-hate that is perpetuated in our society toward and by curly-haired people. We need to LOVE our curly tops. It was a fun book to skim through, but being the el cheapo that I am, I decided to wait until it was 50% off the following week before purchasing it. Of course, when I returned to the store a few days later to buy it, all three copies had been sold.
No worries, there's always Amazon. And there's always time for me to "work" with my hair a bit more. I just hope that Bryony grows up loving her own curly locks as much as we do. We cannot go anywhere without someone commenting on her hair. Sometimes that's good--a woman or man will stop us to say how much they love her hair, or wish that they had it. Usually, Adam will make a bad joke about wanting some of her hair himself (while pointing to his bald head) or we'll respond with a genuine thank you. And sometimes outsiders' comments aren't so good--they will say things like, "Oh, she's going to hate that hair when she's sixteen!" or "That hair must be SO hard to deal with!" I've just learned to respond positively with "Oh, I think she'll love her hair as much when she's a teenager as we love it now!" or "Nope, her hair is really fun to work with!"
If some people in this world are intent on making her feel bad about her beautiful hair, then I'll make it my job to be the one-woman counterattack force for perpetuating appreciation for curly hair. Just call me the Curly Crusader.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Lucky
Last night, Adam's assigned flat mate slept over. We haven't seen him in months, so we weren't too put out that he had to spend the night. When he arrived, I was making dinner and Adam was feeding Bryony, so we had time to chat with him awhile before he went to bed for the night.
His time at Ft Hood, like Adam's, is coming to a close at the end of month; also like Adam, he will be deploying soon. I knew he was also a reservist here on a one-year assignment, but it had never occurred to me that he might have to deploy. He has two teenage kids and a baby daughter (named Lauren) at home. It broke my heart to hear that he would be leaving them and his wife behind for a year.
Then, I asked him how many times he had deployed already. "Four," he responded, shaking his head wearily at the ground. "I just wish they'd stop deploying me," he said when I asked how he felt about leaving. "It just puts your entire life on hold. It's hard." I gaped at Adam, thinking about how I've been feeling sorry for myself that Adam is leaving on his third deployment; this guy is leaving on his fifth.
"Where are you going?" I asked him, not sure I wanted to hear his reply.
"Afghanistan," he responded with a tight smile. Adam commented that he was heading to Iraq, and the roommate said, "Oh, it's not so bad over there. Last time I was there--in 2008--I was inside a building so nice I forgot I was in Iraq. Well, until I stepped outside!" he laughed.
He said his orders were for a year, as troops are not due to fully withdraw from Afghanistan until 2014. Troops (according to the SOFA treaty) are due to leave Iraq by the end of 2011, so we are hopeful Adam will be home by the end of the year.
Then, I asked the roommate what his job in the Army was. He looked down at the floor and gave a short, harsh laugh. "Well, essentially, I shoot people. I'm in the infantry unit." I had no idea. I knew he did a lot of field exercises here on base because he always came to the apartment with a dirty uniform. But it didn't dawn on me that this mild-mannered, unassuming guy could very well end someone's life. He went on to tell a story about one of his previous deployments to Iraq, when he was "in theater," chasing down an insurgent and consequently got his story and photo in his hometown newspaper. His wife and mother were upset to hear the details of his time overseas, because he had always assured them that he never saw any action, for fear of scaring them.
I glanced at my attorney husband and felt so grateful, all of a sudden, that he was only going to Iraq to sit behind a desk in a secure location. Am I still scared for his safety and sad for the time we will spend apart? Certainly. But I realize that there is always someone out there who is worse off than you are.
We are lucky.
His time at Ft Hood, like Adam's, is coming to a close at the end of month; also like Adam, he will be deploying soon. I knew he was also a reservist here on a one-year assignment, but it had never occurred to me that he might have to deploy. He has two teenage kids and a baby daughter (named Lauren) at home. It broke my heart to hear that he would be leaving them and his wife behind for a year.
Then, I asked him how many times he had deployed already. "Four," he responded, shaking his head wearily at the ground. "I just wish they'd stop deploying me," he said when I asked how he felt about leaving. "It just puts your entire life on hold. It's hard." I gaped at Adam, thinking about how I've been feeling sorry for myself that Adam is leaving on his third deployment; this guy is leaving on his fifth.
"Where are you going?" I asked him, not sure I wanted to hear his reply.
"Afghanistan," he responded with a tight smile. Adam commented that he was heading to Iraq, and the roommate said, "Oh, it's not so bad over there. Last time I was there--in 2008--I was inside a building so nice I forgot I was in Iraq. Well, until I stepped outside!" he laughed.
He said his orders were for a year, as troops are not due to fully withdraw from Afghanistan until 2014. Troops (according to the SOFA treaty) are due to leave Iraq by the end of 2011, so we are hopeful Adam will be home by the end of the year.
Then, I asked the roommate what his job in the Army was. He looked down at the floor and gave a short, harsh laugh. "Well, essentially, I shoot people. I'm in the infantry unit." I had no idea. I knew he did a lot of field exercises here on base because he always came to the apartment with a dirty uniform. But it didn't dawn on me that this mild-mannered, unassuming guy could very well end someone's life. He went on to tell a story about one of his previous deployments to Iraq, when he was "in theater," chasing down an insurgent and consequently got his story and photo in his hometown newspaper. His wife and mother were upset to hear the details of his time overseas, because he had always assured them that he never saw any action, for fear of scaring them.
I glanced at my attorney husband and felt so grateful, all of a sudden, that he was only going to Iraq to sit behind a desk in a secure location. Am I still scared for his safety and sad for the time we will spend apart? Certainly. But I realize that there is always someone out there who is worse off than you are.
We are lucky.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Out of the Loop
This morning I opened my e-mail inbox to find a letter from the most recent employer with whom I interviewed. "We have reviewed your application and unfortunately we are unable to offer you a position at this time." It was a huge letdown. Out of sixty applicants, I had made it to the top two candidates for the position, earning me a second phone interview. I felt pretty sure I had kicked some ass on that interview. And, the job was an internship, a job usually taken on by undergradutes. But, it's been so long since I've had a job, and I'm so eager to work in my field and for this organization that I was willing to take a 3-month internship. But they didn't want me.
This whole process is utterly humiliating. I can't describe the emotion that was stuck in my throat as I read the words of rejection. Does no one want me? What the hell am I doing wrong? Why can't I get a job? I'm not asking for a high-paying position with benefits and a 401K plan. I just need an entry-level position so I can get my foot in the door. I just want to feel productive and useful and engrained in my field again. All of my friends from graduate school have jobs; I'm trying to figure out what they've done right that I haven't figured out yet.
When I read the rejection letter this morning, the first thing I thought is how easily I can now understand those stories we've heard of people committing suicide from not being able to find work. This is perhaps the single most (and longest-lasting) ego-bruising endeavour I've been on, and if I knew that my entire family was suffering because of my unemployment status, I could see how feelings of depression, self-doubt and insecurity could get the best of me. These are hard times, and the only thing keeping me going now is the knowledge that I don't have to work (at least as long as Adam is employed by the military), and I have a little girl at home to take care of while I'm searching. But sometimes, even those two nuggets of knowledge don't feel like enough. Especially when I remember a vow I made to myself years ago, based on advice my mother had told me when I was young: "Don't ever be financially dependent on someone else." I know the really negative consequences of relying on someone else to take care you financially; people change, circumstances change and the situation you're in right now might not always be the case. I don't ever want to be caught off-guard if if one day Adam won't or can't "bring home the bacon." I want to be bringing home my own bacon so that my life will more easily go on in the face of adversity.
Two nights ago, Adam encouraged me to join him and his colleagues for a "last dinner" since he will be deploying soon. I didn't really want to go. In my previous experience, I've sat at a table trying to make conversation with my 1-year old or watching the restaurant television while the rest of the table yammered on about work, people and events that I knew nothing about. If someone asked me about myself at all during the night, it was most likely, "So, Lauren, do you work?" Sure as bloody hell I do, you jackass! is what I wanted to respond. Usually I would say that yes, I'm staying at home with our child. As soon as they realize that Oh, she's just a mom, they nod, turn their face back to the more interesting conversation at the table and I'm never addressed again the rest of the night. It's pretty embarrassing to have people just assume that I have nothing of worth to say just because I'm not a lawyer or working in a suit-and-tie profession. I stream NPR through my computer all day long, so I am more than knowledgeable about world and national events, politics, social matters, you name it. The other night, when I tried to bring up current events as a way to shift the conversation to something I could join in, everyone just gave me a weird look and a few "uh-huh's" and went back to talking office politics. I finally gave up and made a mental note to never put myself in a position like that again. I don't need strangers to make me feel like nothing. The way my search for work is going, I can feel that way all by myself.
If I'm completely honest, I think a huge part of my problem is that I have bought into our society's view that being a stay-at-home parent is not a "real job." I know how exhausting--both physically and emotionally--parenting can be. But you get no paycheck. You can't put it on your resume and get any serious recognition from potential employers. There are no accolades, pay raises, sick days, holidays, vacation time or promotions. And even after you've worked all day, you might have to pull the night shift without a nighttime differential. There is no potential for upward mobility. Everyone tells me that I should be glad to have this time with my child, and make no mistake, I am. But for me, that's not enough. I went to school for a long time so that I could do something else, in addition to being a parent. And I hate feeling feeling bad for not having a job and then feeling guilty for wanting one.
I guess this is just one of those days. And this, too, shall pass.
This whole process is utterly humiliating. I can't describe the emotion that was stuck in my throat as I read the words of rejection. Does no one want me? What the hell am I doing wrong? Why can't I get a job? I'm not asking for a high-paying position with benefits and a 401K plan. I just need an entry-level position so I can get my foot in the door. I just want to feel productive and useful and engrained in my field again. All of my friends from graduate school have jobs; I'm trying to figure out what they've done right that I haven't figured out yet.
When I read the rejection letter this morning, the first thing I thought is how easily I can now understand those stories we've heard of people committing suicide from not being able to find work. This is perhaps the single most (and longest-lasting) ego-bruising endeavour I've been on, and if I knew that my entire family was suffering because of my unemployment status, I could see how feelings of depression, self-doubt and insecurity could get the best of me. These are hard times, and the only thing keeping me going now is the knowledge that I don't have to work (at least as long as Adam is employed by the military), and I have a little girl at home to take care of while I'm searching. But sometimes, even those two nuggets of knowledge don't feel like enough. Especially when I remember a vow I made to myself years ago, based on advice my mother had told me when I was young: "Don't ever be financially dependent on someone else." I know the really negative consequences of relying on someone else to take care you financially; people change, circumstances change and the situation you're in right now might not always be the case. I don't ever want to be caught off-guard if if one day Adam won't or can't "bring home the bacon." I want to be bringing home my own bacon so that my life will more easily go on in the face of adversity.
Two nights ago, Adam encouraged me to join him and his colleagues for a "last dinner" since he will be deploying soon. I didn't really want to go. In my previous experience, I've sat at a table trying to make conversation with my 1-year old or watching the restaurant television while the rest of the table yammered on about work, people and events that I knew nothing about. If someone asked me about myself at all during the night, it was most likely, "So, Lauren, do you work?" Sure as bloody hell I do, you jackass! is what I wanted to respond. Usually I would say that yes, I'm staying at home with our child. As soon as they realize that Oh, she's just a mom, they nod, turn their face back to the more interesting conversation at the table and I'm never addressed again the rest of the night. It's pretty embarrassing to have people just assume that I have nothing of worth to say just because I'm not a lawyer or working in a suit-and-tie profession. I stream NPR through my computer all day long, so I am more than knowledgeable about world and national events, politics, social matters, you name it. The other night, when I tried to bring up current events as a way to shift the conversation to something I could join in, everyone just gave me a weird look and a few "uh-huh's" and went back to talking office politics. I finally gave up and made a mental note to never put myself in a position like that again. I don't need strangers to make me feel like nothing. The way my search for work is going, I can feel that way all by myself.
If I'm completely honest, I think a huge part of my problem is that I have bought into our society's view that being a stay-at-home parent is not a "real job." I know how exhausting--both physically and emotionally--parenting can be. But you get no paycheck. You can't put it on your resume and get any serious recognition from potential employers. There are no accolades, pay raises, sick days, holidays, vacation time or promotions. And even after you've worked all day, you might have to pull the night shift without a nighttime differential. There is no potential for upward mobility. Everyone tells me that I should be glad to have this time with my child, and make no mistake, I am. But for me, that's not enough. I went to school for a long time so that I could do something else, in addition to being a parent. And I hate feeling feeling bad for not having a job and then feeling guilty for wanting one.
I guess this is just one of those days. And this, too, shall pass.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Good-bye, Kika
This past Saturday, we said a final farewell to our 15 1/2-year old rat terrier, Kika.
Kika was born 17 April 1995 in Austin, Texas. There is a large flea market on the outskirts of Austin, that at the time housed a vendor that sold rat terrier puppies. Adam and his father flew down to Austin to buy two puppies--a male to mate with the family's female rat terrier, and another puppy to serve as a companion dog to an elderly friend of the family. Adam remembers a box full of pudgy, wiggly puppies, and from that box, they selected a male dog, Gizmo, and a female, Kika. 1995 was several years before the post-9/11 intensely secure screening procedures that are now commonplace at airports. So, it wasn't hard for Adam and his father to tuck the tiny puppies into their coat pockets and pass right through the metal detectors. Once on the plane, they placed the sleepy puppies on the empty seat between them and let them eat and sleep. Kika's life started off flying high.
Four years later, after living with her elderly owner, Kika came to live with Adam and me when the owner died. Adam and I were a new couple, just starting to live together, and I had adjusted well to being with Adam and Shabbi. Although Kika had come around for "playdates" on many occasions, and I had even had an inkling we would eventually become her family, I was still a little shocked when it actually came to pass. After all, there wasn't a lot of love lost between us at first. Kika had not been exposed to other dogs or many other people when she lived with her first owner, so she growled, snarled and snapped whenever somebody (other than Adam or Shabbi) came close. Her nails were so long they curled over, but when I tried to cut them, she made a move to bite me. As a former dog groomer, I had very little tolerance for insolent dogs, so I became much more determined to get her nails cut, which of course, just made her angrier. Kika was also not housebroken, so we were left with many "gifts" all over our apartment when she moved in. It was an exercise in extreme patience to learn to live with her, and to try housebreaking and training her. Unlike Shabbi, Kika didn't necessarily aim to please, and so any moves toward training fell on deaf ears.
But then, things started to change. Kika began to learn from Shabbi that the appropriate place to relieve herself was outside, and so the accidents inside ceased. And Kika started to become friendlier toward me, too (which no doubt, was helped along by the fact that I was nicer toward her since she wasn't having accidents inside). We became a true family of four, enjoying evening walks at the park, weekend hikes and car rides to visit friends and family. Life was good. Then, in July 2000, Adam went away for two weeks of military service, leaving me alone with the girls for the first time. Within hours of his departure, I noticed that Shabbi seemed listless, refusing to eat but drinking relentlessly. At first, I thought she was just despondent over Adam's absence, but it soon became apparent something else was wrong. After taking her to three different veterinarians, we finally got a diagnosis of pyometra, or infection of the uterus. Her uterus--usually 7 ounces--at that point weighed 7 pounds and was near rupturing, which would have killed her. She went into surgery right away. I sat at home, paralyzed with fear for Shabbi's life, and feeling completely responsible for the fate of Adam's dog. But it was Kika who sat on my lap, licking my tears away, and trying to get me out of my stupor to play. She kept me going while Shabbi fought for her life. It took a crisis for Kika and me to realize we indeed were a family and loved one another.
In 2002, our family moved to Michigan to start a new life. Shabbi adapted to her new surroundings well; Kika resigned herself to the unfamiliar faces of our new friends and to the harsh winter weather. But, we eventually found lots of parks for evening and weekend visits, and we made trips around the state to see Michigan's natural wonders, and so even Kika fell into a groove. Both she and Shabbi accompanied me in the field during my graduate research, and I carry many fond memories of two summers living along the Au Sable River with my pups. In 2006, we started to notice that Shabbi, who had suffered from seizures for several months, seemed to have slipped into a permanent state of dementia. We were all confused and frustrated, but none more than Kika, who had lost her big sister and playmate. Then, in 2007, Adam deployed to Iraq for nine months, leaving me with Kika and a "not-quite-Shabbi." It was a difficult existence for us all, Shabbi pacing around the house, her legs faltering beneath her, and losing control of her bowels. I was stressed from constantly cleaning up after her and from not having Adam around to help. Kika was stressed by my stress and from loneliness. Life was tough. But that summer, I accepted a temporary position in Oregon conducting wildlife surveys for a fellow graduate student. I didn't know how I was going to handle the logistics of two dogs--one very ill--while I balanced work, but I knew that a move out of my surroundings was exactly what I needed. So we packed up and left.
It was wonderful, a summer of new sights, new people and new experiences. And I had my girls along to take it all in with me. Kika took care of me and Shabbi as much as I took care of her. For the first time in her life, she had become the alpha dog, and it suited her well. She groomed Shabbi and looked after her. And when Adam returned and the day came that we said good-bye to Shabbi, Kika was right there.
It was difficult for Kika to become the only dog; it's like she didn't quite know how to do it. We noticed that she seemed more anxious to please than she'd ever been in her life. It was heartbreaking to see her trying to understand death--the one thing most of us can't understand ourselves.
In April 2008, a straggly, pathetic grey cat appeared on our doorstep, and never left. We had never had a cat before, but our hearts were open to helping an animal with the pain of losing Shabbi so fresh. But we wondered how Kika would take to the cat we named Greg House. While Greg House was playful and deferential to her, Kika only tolerated him, giving no indication she was receptive to his friendly advances. At the same time, she never tried to attack him, and we suspect that she enjoyed having another animal in the house again.
The test of all tests was when, in May 2009, we welcomed Bryony into our world. Kika curled up next to me on the couch while I held and nursed the baby, more curious than jealous or bitter. When Bryony was able to crawl and walk around, Kika never so much as growled, even when Bryony was a bit too rough in her play. We were forever thankful for the good humor she displayed in her old age.
This last year was a tough one for our old girl, although we were thankful that she was able to spend it in Texas (she never did get used to the Michigan cold). She lost her ability to walk, stand, and even sit herself up long enough to eat. We became her caregivers, beyond what I had ever had to do for Shabbi. But we were willing to do whatever she needed us to, as long as she wasn't in pain. In the end, we determined that her quality of life--most of it spent lying on the couch, disengaged from the rest of the family, barking continuously--was diminished. We wanted to say good-bye to her while she had some dignity left; we couldn't keep her alive for ourselves.
Kika passed quickly and peacefully with her family surrounding her. It was devastating for us, but in our hearts we knew it was the right decision. For all that she gave to us, we wanted to give her the ending she deserved. We try to remember as we grieve that she led a wonderful life. Kika hit all four corners of this country--Seattle, WA; San Diego, CA; Key West, FL; and Kennebunkport, ME. She travelled to Crater Lake, the Redwood Forest, Yosemite NP, Yellowstone NP, the Grand Tetons, Mt. Rushmore, and the Upper Peninsula, to name a few. She loved to play with her sister Shabbi, with her dad and me. In her later years, she took on Shabbi's affinity for tennis balls. She loved peanut butter.
She was loved by her family and we will never forget her.
Good-bye, Kika girl.
17 April 1995 - 5 February 2011
Kika was born 17 April 1995 in Austin, Texas. There is a large flea market on the outskirts of Austin, that at the time housed a vendor that sold rat terrier puppies. Adam and his father flew down to Austin to buy two puppies--a male to mate with the family's female rat terrier, and another puppy to serve as a companion dog to an elderly friend of the family. Adam remembers a box full of pudgy, wiggly puppies, and from that box, they selected a male dog, Gizmo, and a female, Kika. 1995 was several years before the post-9/11 intensely secure screening procedures that are now commonplace at airports. So, it wasn't hard for Adam and his father to tuck the tiny puppies into their coat pockets and pass right through the metal detectors. Once on the plane, they placed the sleepy puppies on the empty seat between them and let them eat and sleep. Kika's life started off flying high.
Four years later, after living with her elderly owner, Kika came to live with Adam and me when the owner died. Adam and I were a new couple, just starting to live together, and I had adjusted well to being with Adam and Shabbi. Although Kika had come around for "playdates" on many occasions, and I had even had an inkling we would eventually become her family, I was still a little shocked when it actually came to pass. After all, there wasn't a lot of love lost between us at first. Kika had not been exposed to other dogs or many other people when she lived with her first owner, so she growled, snarled and snapped whenever somebody (other than Adam or Shabbi) came close. Her nails were so long they curled over, but when I tried to cut them, she made a move to bite me. As a former dog groomer, I had very little tolerance for insolent dogs, so I became much more determined to get her nails cut, which of course, just made her angrier. Kika was also not housebroken, so we were left with many "gifts" all over our apartment when she moved in. It was an exercise in extreme patience to learn to live with her, and to try housebreaking and training her. Unlike Shabbi, Kika didn't necessarily aim to please, and so any moves toward training fell on deaf ears.
But then, things started to change. Kika began to learn from Shabbi that the appropriate place to relieve herself was outside, and so the accidents inside ceased. And Kika started to become friendlier toward me, too (which no doubt, was helped along by the fact that I was nicer toward her since she wasn't having accidents inside). We became a true family of four, enjoying evening walks at the park, weekend hikes and car rides to visit friends and family. Life was good. Then, in July 2000, Adam went away for two weeks of military service, leaving me alone with the girls for the first time. Within hours of his departure, I noticed that Shabbi seemed listless, refusing to eat but drinking relentlessly. At first, I thought she was just despondent over Adam's absence, but it soon became apparent something else was wrong. After taking her to three different veterinarians, we finally got a diagnosis of pyometra, or infection of the uterus. Her uterus--usually 7 ounces--at that point weighed 7 pounds and was near rupturing, which would have killed her. She went into surgery right away. I sat at home, paralyzed with fear for Shabbi's life, and feeling completely responsible for the fate of Adam's dog. But it was Kika who sat on my lap, licking my tears away, and trying to get me out of my stupor to play. She kept me going while Shabbi fought for her life. It took a crisis for Kika and me to realize we indeed were a family and loved one another.
In 2002, our family moved to Michigan to start a new life. Shabbi adapted to her new surroundings well; Kika resigned herself to the unfamiliar faces of our new friends and to the harsh winter weather. But, we eventually found lots of parks for evening and weekend visits, and we made trips around the state to see Michigan's natural wonders, and so even Kika fell into a groove. Both she and Shabbi accompanied me in the field during my graduate research, and I carry many fond memories of two summers living along the Au Sable River with my pups. In 2006, we started to notice that Shabbi, who had suffered from seizures for several months, seemed to have slipped into a permanent state of dementia. We were all confused and frustrated, but none more than Kika, who had lost her big sister and playmate. Then, in 2007, Adam deployed to Iraq for nine months, leaving me with Kika and a "not-quite-Shabbi." It was a difficult existence for us all, Shabbi pacing around the house, her legs faltering beneath her, and losing control of her bowels. I was stressed from constantly cleaning up after her and from not having Adam around to help. Kika was stressed by my stress and from loneliness. Life was tough. But that summer, I accepted a temporary position in Oregon conducting wildlife surveys for a fellow graduate student. I didn't know how I was going to handle the logistics of two dogs--one very ill--while I balanced work, but I knew that a move out of my surroundings was exactly what I needed. So we packed up and left.
It was wonderful, a summer of new sights, new people and new experiences. And I had my girls along to take it all in with me. Kika took care of me and Shabbi as much as I took care of her. For the first time in her life, she had become the alpha dog, and it suited her well. She groomed Shabbi and looked after her. And when Adam returned and the day came that we said good-bye to Shabbi, Kika was right there.
It was difficult for Kika to become the only dog; it's like she didn't quite know how to do it. We noticed that she seemed more anxious to please than she'd ever been in her life. It was heartbreaking to see her trying to understand death--the one thing most of us can't understand ourselves.
In April 2008, a straggly, pathetic grey cat appeared on our doorstep, and never left. We had never had a cat before, but our hearts were open to helping an animal with the pain of losing Shabbi so fresh. But we wondered how Kika would take to the cat we named Greg House. While Greg House was playful and deferential to her, Kika only tolerated him, giving no indication she was receptive to his friendly advances. At the same time, she never tried to attack him, and we suspect that she enjoyed having another animal in the house again.
The test of all tests was when, in May 2009, we welcomed Bryony into our world. Kika curled up next to me on the couch while I held and nursed the baby, more curious than jealous or bitter. When Bryony was able to crawl and walk around, Kika never so much as growled, even when Bryony was a bit too rough in her play. We were forever thankful for the good humor she displayed in her old age.
This last year was a tough one for our old girl, although we were thankful that she was able to spend it in Texas (she never did get used to the Michigan cold). She lost her ability to walk, stand, and even sit herself up long enough to eat. We became her caregivers, beyond what I had ever had to do for Shabbi. But we were willing to do whatever she needed us to, as long as she wasn't in pain. In the end, we determined that her quality of life--most of it spent lying on the couch, disengaged from the rest of the family, barking continuously--was diminished. We wanted to say good-bye to her while she had some dignity left; we couldn't keep her alive for ourselves.
Kika passed quickly and peacefully with her family surrounding her. It was devastating for us, but in our hearts we knew it was the right decision. For all that she gave to us, we wanted to give her the ending she deserved. We try to remember as we grieve that she led a wonderful life. Kika hit all four corners of this country--Seattle, WA; San Diego, CA; Key West, FL; and Kennebunkport, ME. She travelled to Crater Lake, the Redwood Forest, Yosemite NP, Yellowstone NP, the Grand Tetons, Mt. Rushmore, and the Upper Peninsula, to name a few. She loved to play with her sister Shabbi, with her dad and me. In her later years, she took on Shabbi's affinity for tennis balls. She loved peanut butter.
She was loved by her family and we will never forget her.
Good-bye, Kika girl.
17 April 1995 - 5 February 2011
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