My dog, Kacey

Yes...I already know what you're thinking. "Wasn't there a book or a movie like that? Wasn't it 'My dog, Skip?"

Yes there was. And I was playing on your associations. Like Marley and Me. Except that Kacey is a puppy, and I don't even want to think about how that ends...and 'My dog, Kacey' has a better ring to it. Besides, Skip is a stupid name for a dog. Let's be honest.

So...in May, we got a dog. Dan picked her out from a local rescue, because she was sitting quietly in her kennel looking up at us with her big brown eyes, while all the other dogs barked and yapped incessantly. We thought we were getting a sweet, quiet natured dog. There were just two problems. 1. Her name was Kiki. KIKI! Really? And I thought Skip was a bad name for a dog...sheesh. We were definitely going to have to do something about that. And 2. This would be her 3rd home in her first year of life.

So we tackled the first problem right away. We had to come up with a name that started with a hard K sound so she would adjust to it more easily, that didn't make me think of a cartoon girl flying on a broomstick! Hours of creative brain wracks and debates later, this is Kacey:

Now we were surprised to find that Kacey wasn't as calm as she originally had us believing. She is playful ALL THE TIME. She really would prefer for you to chase her all day long, which has led to many unintended (by me) circles around our dinner table. She LOVES people, so much so that she jumps on strangers to lick their faces, or bite their clothes...because apparently that communicates love in dog language? She is incredibly vocal and expressive. Though she rarely barks, she has her own system of chirping, whining, and pawing at you to get her point across. Not to mention her facial expressions. Seriously. And she really is NOT a fan of cuddling. No matter what you do, or how tired or sick she is, she does not want cuddles. 

With all of the package that is our girl....she is perfect for us. She makes us laugh all of the time. She is the perfect way for my husband to utilize the infinite vat of energy that he hides somewhere in that perfectly framed handsome body of his. And she is just the right addition to our little family in this stage of life. 

Kacey, the mountain dog.

Then we started to see signs of the second problem. We hadn't thought much of it before...but she definitely has some "foster kid" issues, which we figured out a couple pairs of shoes, underwear, and  a big hole in our carpet later. Yep, and when we left for our brother's wedding this summer she stopped eating. Altogether. Upon our return she still wouldn't eat. And what she did she immediately threw up. So we figured out she has some pretty severe separation anxiety. Okay. We can handle that. 

But there's more. You see, when you adopt a puppy whose had a home before it came to live with you, you don't necessarily know how they'll respond to everyday situations. Like when their owner takes a bath for instance...

She just kept looking from me to the water in the tub, clearly ignorant of the fact that I was seeking solitude. So she blatantly disregarded my desire to be alone, and do you know what she did? She jumped right in! But then, of course, landing in water, which for some reason she wasn't expecting, sent her into a panic. She tried to climb out the other side of the tub and was met with a wall to the face. Then she just stared at me for 3 solid minutes, with her front paws on the wall and her back paws in the water, as if asking me, "Mom, what do I do? Why is this happening to me?! I DON'T UNDERSTAND!" Eventually I coaxed her back off the wall, into the water, at which point she became immediately fascinated with trying to touch my foot. Slowly, cautiously she would extend her paw to where my foot was, but she could never touch it. And then she would glare at her paw, probably cursing it in her puppy mind for not being able to reach my foot. The depth perception in the water was confusing her. She would try and fail time and again. The next thing I knew she had given up trying to reach my foot and was drawn instead to the razor at the bottom of the tub. She would dive her head in the water, only until halfway up her snout, and try to bite the razor. She could see it, but she couldn't reach that either. And she wouldn't put more of her face underwater, because she doesn't like water on her head. Then she would look up at me laughing at her, a mix of shame and curiosity in her big brown eyes, before trying again. And so the cycle continued. 10 minutes later, she'd had enough. In one grand overdramatic gesture she hurdled out of the tub and proceeded to run laps around our apartment, and down and up our stairs, like a chicken with her head chopped off! All that...over a little bit of water. 

Or when my husband has to work late several days in a row and she can't decide if she is being abandoned or not. She lays at home with me, emotions spiraling like this. 1. Dejected--"He's never coming home. He hates me. What did I do? Why doesn't he love me anymore?" 2. Morose--"There's no point. Nothing matters. Is that a ball?!...Oh wait...I don't care. My life is dark." 3. Comforted by my presence--"Mom's here. Mom won't leave me. Maybe if I cuddle really close to her she will never leave me." That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Kacey has started cuddling with me in Dan's absence. 4. Meltdown--"Maybe he would like me if I wasn't so big. He would come back if I was a little dog." At which point she makes herself puke. Kacey, the amazing, bulimic dog. 5. (When Dan comes home) Ecstatic--"Dad's home! Dad's home! Oh boy, a ball! Dad's home!" We cycle through stages 1-4, repeating them over and over again until Dan comes home, then we stay at 5 until he leaves. 

This is Kacey somewhere between emotions 3 and 4. About five minutes later, without any warning she puked all over our quilt.

And after cycling through the spiral again, she had landed safely at emotion 3 long enough for a nap.

She recently figured out how to close my computer while I'm working on it; in order to have my full attention. You won't be surprised to read she has attempted to close it 4 times since I started this entry. 

My dog, Kacey, is an overly playful, emotionally disturbed mess, and she fits right in with us. She helps us get out to enjoy beautiful Alaska. And while Dan and I have always been connected, she has brought us even closer. We're so happy she has found her forever home with us and that you get to come along for the ride. 

Kacey's best friend, Watson, a small but feisty daschound, will be staying with us for the next week. There are sure to be plenty of puppy shenanigans. 

Blessings in Disguise

I left Alaska and arrived in Mississppi late last Monday night, eager to spend some time with my husband and catch up on sleep! And the first day was precisely that! I slept in, read, made a delicious dinner for Dan, cuddled with him a LOT, and even spent some time at the beach! It was great!

 

 

But on Wednesday I got a phone call that kind of turned everything around. My mom had called to tell me that my great uncle, who had been in the hospital recovering from a heart attack, had passed away. None of us expected it. He has been doing so much better! I was shocked. And Mom took it hard. Uncle Louie had been like a father to her; stepping in when her own dad walked out. He was a selfless, loving man who was eager to open his heart up and let you find a special place there. You never once doubted his love or pride in you. It just wasn't possible. Dan and I made arrangements that night for me to fly to Oklahoma for the funeral. I knew I needed to be there to honor my uncle. To take care of my little brother so Mom could grieve in whatever way she needed to. To help make food for the weekend and after the funeral, so everyone else could focus on other things. And to just be there with my family, bearing the weight of the loss together.

As I traveled on Saturday, I had all of the typical expectations that accompany a  funeral. But I walked away with so much more than that. When my Mom picked me up from the airport hugging her felt like home, and I think she would agree. She is so strong, a fighter in so many ways. And all I wanted to do for her was be someone who she didn't have to be strong for; to let her just be. I hope I was able to do that.

Before we went over to my aunt's house that night Mom told me I was going to be asked to read a letter I had written to my uncle at his funeral. I didn't know what to say; but she was right. Sure enough that night Aunt Gloria told me how much the letter had meant to her and Uncle Louie, and that it summed up who he was so well--it would mean so much to her if I read it to everyone. I agreed, outwardly excited but in my heart there was hesiation. Its not that I didn't want to share my letter; I just didn't know if I would be able to do it without crying in front of everyone.

The weekend moved so quickly, but it was filled with sweet moments remembering Uncle Louie. I loved getting to hear all of the ways he had impacted so many people. I knew how important he had been to my family, but the privilege of hearing how he had been such a guiding light to my cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends was one I will never forget. He loved with his whole heart and everyone there felt it. And we laughed together, thinking about all of the silly things Uncle Louie used to say and do. (I'm thankful no one brought out the tape of him and me singing "Achy Breaky Heart" from when I was 4.)

 I was also able to make some fun new memories with my little brother. In fact, Chase and I stayed up later than  our parents one night, wrestling and teasing--stealing each others pillows and blankets. I love him so much.

But some of my favorite moments were with my dad. I got to witness the tenderness with which he loves and cares for my mom, as well as ways they look out for each other. He got up every morning to go buy her coffee at a gas station down the street, becasue she doesn't drink it black. And he checked on her, always offering the comfort of his presence. He and Mom showed me all of the places they used to hang out or that meant something to them. I saw the houses they grew up in, the schools they went to. And he took us to see his dad's grave, because I had never seen it and he wanted me to. My dad's job requires him to move around a lot, so for most of my time in high school and all of college he was away. And I forgot how he communicates and expresses things. He isn't a man of many words. And when he does say something its to get a laugh. But over the weekend I was able to see just how much he loves our family, and how proud he is of me without him ever saying it. We stayed up late my first night, with him just asking me about my and Dan's plans for the future, how my job was...asking specific questions about what I do and how I do it, even though he has no interest in church and I work at one. And the picture on the background of his Ipad is from my wedding, of the two of us with Mom. It seems simple, but my time with him was really special.

The funeral was beautiful; I think it honored my uncle well. And I'm glad I got to be a part of it. I did get choked up when I read the letter, but so did everyone else, and it was ok. It was good for us to cry together. I think Uncle Louie would have been proud and that's all any of us wanted.

I also got a phone call over the weekend from my friend, Cameron, in Alaska. Apparently our car had gotten broken into sometime after I left. I couldn't take care of anything from OK, so I asked him to call Dan. I later found out that Cam had filed a police report for us, brought the car to another friend's house, who had offered to keep it in their garage until the window could get fixed, and took care of details with Dan. By Tuesday the window was fixed and Cam had brought it to my boss's house where it can stay safely until Dan and I return from MS. I'm blown away by their kindness. We've only lived in AK for 6 months and we already have friends who have gone above and beyond to take care of us while we're away!

So this past weekend, while filled with bad news, was actually full of blessings! I'll always miss my Uncle Louis, but I'm so thankful for my family, and for my time with them. And I can't begin to express my gratitude and love for my friends in AK. I am truly humbled by the love I've witnessed and experienced this weekend.

The Weight of Being a Writer

I saw Les Miserables tonight for the first time. I've known the music from it and much of the story for a while, but I had never actually seen or read it for myself. Honestly, I don't know how to respond to it in a clear and concise way. Whatever the opposite of an emotional high is...that's what I am feeling. Not a low feeling of despair or sadness. But something deep inside me is riveted. There were so many peices of the story that resonated deeply in my heart. I don't think given a week I could unpack it all...so I apologize for the rambling mess I am typing now, just a few hours later. The only thing I can say with any certainty is that it is truly one of the most heartbreakingly beautiful things I have ever seen.

My husband asked me what I thought as soon as it ended and I couldn't answer. Truthfully I still can't. There are too many things I need to process. I was thankful that we met at the theater after work, so I could have some time alone with my thoughts on the drive home.

I couldn't get past how haunting, and heartbreaking, and timeless it was. Or the state that I was in after seeing it. I was an emotional mess. My heart was full with turmoil, triumph, misery, and unexplainable hope. It still is. And it got me thinking, "If I feel this much weight from a story, how much more must Victor Hugo have felt?" I mean, can you imagine? To say it takes you on an emotional roller coaster would be the understatement of the century. And I am just a viewer/reader! Victor Hugo created, shaped, birthed this incredible story and likely felt tenfold or more what I do right now! That thought is so overwhelming it feels heavy to me.

Why do I say this? Because I was a writer, and authors don't lie when they say the story lives on in their minds. When you create a character and a conflict, you experience with them what they are feeling. You walk with them more intimately than a reader ever can. You feel the weight of their despair, the pull of their perservance. In so many ways their feelings are yours. It's a rush to create and craft, but it is exhausting in a way I can't even begin to articulate.

I just can't imagine the burden Victor Hugo must have felt carrying Les Mis around inside him. It scares me. And I realize now, as I type this, that that is precisely why I stopped writing a few years ago. Because I feel everything deeply. I know that everybody has feelings, and we all have our moments when we don't think we could possibly feel any worse or better than we do right then. But over the past several years, I have learned that I feel things on a deeper level than some of the other people I am around. When I love someone, I love them so much it hurts. When they are hurting, I hurt with them. And when I have lost a loved one I am acutely aware of the emptiness I have that only that person could fill. I just live on a different plane emotionally than some others do. Not to say I don't know  how to deal with those feelings. I do, and I am so thankful for the gift and practice of being emotionally healthy. But knowing how deeply I feel things, and how emotional it is to craft an engaging tale, I have chosen not to open myself up to that.

The last time I wrote a story was for a creative writing class I took my sophmore year of college. After finishing it, exhaustion overcame me. I wanted to sleep for a week. Instead, I got to go to class where every single one of my classmates read it. I have never felt more vulnerable in my life. Like I was turned inside out, with my soul beared for everyone to see. It was even worse than letting somebody read my journal because there were pieces of me sprinkled throughout the pages that hadn't manifested until they were in the story. All of the things I felt with that experience have kept me from writing sense then. Because I am afraid of the places inside me that writing will take me.

I hadn't thought about that until now. And I am actually surprised by this revelation I am having. I don't tend to be a fearful person. I am typically a strong person, who faces conflict or uncomfortable situations head on, even though I am at heart a peace maker. And when I am processing some sort of painful situation I dive right into it rather than running from it. So its no wonder I hadn't realized I was scared until now.

Despite the fact that I haven't written in a few years, I am still a writer at heart. There are still stories always forming in my mind, truths begging to be shared. The ideas keep coming to me and forming no matter what I do or where I am. And I carry with me the weight of the conflicts in each one because they haven't been released yet. I fear the feelings I will experience and the things about myself I will learn whenever  I do start writing again. But I think it is finally time to stop letting fear rule me.

This spring I have a unique oppertunity. My husband will be out of the state for a few months, taking some classes for work. And my job has permitted me to take that time off and go with him. Many people have been asking me if I am excited, and I haven't known how to respond. I am looking forward to being with Dan; he is my best friend and soul mate, so I hate to be away from him for long. But I also hate being bored. I really love to work, and feeling a sense of purpose for what I do each day. Needless to say 2 months of a blank schedule hasn't sounded very appealing. I see now that the open schedule is a gift, an oppertunity to face my fear, and delve into the gift of story-telling God has given me. I'm scared. So scared I am pretty seriously considering not posting this. Because I know if I post it I have to follw through. (Sometimes I hate that responsibility is my top strength.) But I know and trust that when I am uncomfortable, weak, and scared God is still good. And He uses these moments to teach us, mold us, and pull out of us gifts that have been hidden.

He has been tugging at my heart a long time to get me to dive into it. So while I am away this summer I am committing to write at least 4 days a week for at least 30 minutes. Hold me accountable if you want. This is something I need to develop, and I could use all of the help I could get.