The Story of Misty

She came to us from Missouri from Misty Lane Breeders at 8 weeks old. I picked her up at Newark Airport in the cargo area. Poor little one flew in a crate in the belly of the plane. She was so tiny and scared. She had poop and pee on her but I held her the entire drive back to Tappan.  I was so exited to bring her home.  We had discussed with the kids that we would have a family dog when Amanda was 10, but I surprised them and got her a year earlier.  Amanda was so thrilled and I remember her beautiful round face so happy and shocked we had a puppy. You could feel the love in the air as it was palpable. Nick and Jules came home off the bus and as I remember Jules was just so very excited and Nick, who was just 5 years old started to cry.  This was a little boy’s dream.   Misty had more attention than I think she wanted, as we were all over her.  Picking her up, playing with her and just adoring her soulful eyes which were still a tinge of baby blue. 

She was a feisty little girl. Cavalier King Charles’ quintessentially don’t really bark much but Misty did and often, especially when she wanted to get her point across and get what she wanted.  As a young girl she was quick. She would take off chasing cars down the street.  Bryan had to run after her on Cedar Street before she would make it to Western Highway.  With utter abandonment she would run down the front steps and across the street if she saw our neighbor Joe.  She adored him.  She cared less for her safety as long as she got a good belly rub from him. She would wander onto the neighbors lawn to see if there was a better spot to do her business, which she never had performance anxiety in that regard.  She only had accidents in the house when she was feeling sick or one of the kids neglected to take her out for a long period of time.  

When she first came to us we had Willie the cat we had rescued since we were dating. We didn’t rescue him as much as Bryan was given a kitten that was abandoned in a park in Jersey City.  My sister thought it was a great gift for him for his birthday.  We aren’t really cat people but we couldn’t be awful to a living thing.  Willie was an angry old soul.  He was never nice but we tolerated him even though Amanda had a cat allergy and we should have found him another home.  We knew no one would take his nasty cat self so he remained with us.  Misty thought it would be fun to play with him and after many, many attempts and cat scratches she never gave up until Willie was met with his own demise under the wheel of Bryan’s truck. To this day he says Willie wanted to go and it was an accident.  It took us over 10 years to share that with the kids so they didn’t think dad was a cat killer. 

Once Willie was gone Misty had run of the house.  She was always a good pet.  She slept in our beds and we would have it no other way.  She traveled well in the car but hey if u had to fly in the belly of a plane when you were 2 months old a car would seem like a joy ride.  Oddly enough there are so many stories of Misty beating death.  Once when Bryan left the basement side door open and Bob our neighbor found her wandering around the block.  He thought she was our dog so he just opened the side door and put her back inside.  Bryan is a danger to animals it seems.  Then there was the time she got out of the pop up camper when we were at North South Lake camping with the Cascone’s and others. Our campsite was down the road and around the corner and it was dark, actually pitch black. Misty smelled where we were and I’m sure the s’mores we were cooking helped her locate us and luckily someone found her walking on her own down the road.  They thought they saw her in our campsite and brought her over.  She could have been lost forever but she found her way with a little help.

Then there were two times at our lake house in Pennsylvania.  When she was a puppy we got to the house and it was winter. It had snowed and was dark.  Austin, our nephew was still with us and his friend.  As they opened the car door and put her on the snow covered driveway she took off down the side of the house and all the way down to the lake which luckily was frozen. It was quite a far distance and she made it half way across before the boys caught up to her.  Thankfully they were skinny, fast boys.  She would have been gone.  Then when she were an older girl and didn’t wander quickly but still wandered around she was outside with Bryan, Nick and our friend John. They were not paying attention and she ended up struggling to stay head above water  in the partially frozen lake.  She fell in and they finally started looking for her. Nick found her and pulled her up out of the muck of the lake and brought her back from near death. She was remarkable.  

She was expectant of a treat every time she did her business as if she were doing us a favor.  She loved ham and John did her in one Easter as she habitually put her snoot under his arm and looking like a little seal pup he kept supplying her with meat.  Let’s just say the business she produced subsequently was explosive.  She has been the most amazing pet and member of our family. 

When we got Potter when she was 8, which was done to keep her active and young she was none too pleased.  She had settled into a very sedentary life and he was a lot.  But as we soon saw their love as brother and sister would eventually be natural as though they were litter mates or at times she was his momma just tolerating his craziness. The only time we ever saw any aggression from her was when a marrow bone would be given, so over time we just didn’t give them as our girl was sweet.  Any vet or vet tech, groomer or dog watcher would always say she was just so sweet… a lovely temperament. She did however have resting bitch face which was labeled as such by Kelly who cared for our doggies when we were away.  In fact the night we came home from Prague she had a stroke.  Jet lagged and at 2am she was unable to stand and her eyes were rapidly going from side to side and her tongue was distended in a manic pant.  We thought we were going to lose her that night but she bounced back again!  She was resilient. 

She would mark you with her eye goobers, which she especially loved to do to our friend Colleen, or as we call her the treat whore. As a rule Misty didn’t play catch or tug. She would wink, so it is believed, at our friend's daughter Hayley.  She had kidney stones, lots of them when younger, didn't complain  and bounced back.  There was an odd bug that embedded itself on her rear leg, which my friend Patty had to help extricate. She just lay there calmly. 

At a past groomer she had a horrible allergic reaction to something they used on her and off to vet we went and stayed overnight. She was back home with us the next day.  

These past weeks have been hard on her and hard on us to see.  She was coughing, struggling to breathe and walk, as well as she filled up with fluid in her abdomen.  Last Thursday we took her to the vet and he drained a liter and half from her and she rallied again, but not for long. We cancelled a vacation as we knew she wasn’t long for days.  We decided to go to the lake house just to get away.  The car ride to the house proved to be too much for her or I believe she was meant to be there for her final days. Bryan built that house and it is fitting she be where I consider time is of no concern.  It is a very peaceful place.  She was struggling and we knew it was happening.  Bryan who had slept on the floor with her for weeks spent the night trying to keep her at rest.  Earlier that evening he laid on the grass under the harvest moon thinking she was ready but she held on.  He was so strong.  He was with her all night.  He was with her as she took her last breath.  I’m not as strong as him. I’m heartbroken.  So true we never have our beloved pets long enough.  She was just shy of 14 and I feel like it was just yesterday she was a puppy in my arms.  We let Potter say goodbye, but he is alone and we can see he is “off”.

As we buried her, Bryan found a beautiful white feather nearby, which is said to be the most common angel sign telling us our loved one is safe and well.  Then there are the white moths that come by as I am sobbing in the driveway, backyard or as we buried her. They are believed to be incarnations of the soul of the deceased one who hasn’t yet passed into the afterlife and would like to linger on for a while in order to peacefully part from those who are left behind. 

Whichever way it be, rest In peace my dear sweet girl.  You were a special dog and our family was so lucky to have you.  

How Everyone Loves People

There is clarity that comes from sickness.  It’s when we feel the wrath of ill that we truly appreciate the blessing of being healthy… physically, emotionally and spiritually.  The spike of a high fever can cause you to pray to the powers that be and ask for help in recovery, making promises and plans to be better, do better and change unhealthy ways.  It is also a time of understanding exactly where you are in the realm of others in the world.   We are all connected to others in some way but as we age we become more and more removed from relationships for various reasons.  

Many people come on our path along the way and at that time and place we both use each other for what we need.  It is the ebb and flow of relationships. For me in the past decade alone I have seen a  decimation of family, friends, business associates and acquaintances.  I have very few in my corner and as much as I pretend I’m fine I know I’m not.  It certainly has not been an easy process and the fallout has been extensive. Last Thanksgiving I lost an elderly neighbor who became a good and trusted friend to me and my family over the 23 years we lived across from each other.  Her husband passed a year before her and as we mourned him we stepped up our assistance with basic needs like taking garbage/recycling out and making stops at the market or putting aside a Tupperware of food for a meal.  She had been sick for some time on constant oxygen even when her husband was alive, but she needed additional help.  Their children and families live further/far away so they couldn’t be readily available.  We saw they had a need and stepped in. Taking my friend to the doctor/hair appointments or taking care of a shopping list was a new part time job for me.  Sometimes I was off put by it, but now looking back I should have never been, as I clearly see when someone needs you and they are alone you should just help. 

Last January I was sick for a month with a virus that was awful.  I was scared as I have never been that ill for that long.  During this time there was some clarity and a clear declaration that I am powerless for the most part and I need to accept help if provided, which I also acknowledge that people are rather selfish and busy, so at the same time you cannot depend on others.  It was especially apparent when I needed a cup of tea or broth and neither of my dogs were able to help out.  My husband would be at work and I had to muster up the energy to walk downstairs to get some nourishment.  Sounds simple, but the eventual bronchial pneumonia combined with whatever strain of virus was running through me made me incapacitated.  I didn’t have anyone to help, and it got me thinking clearly, we are basically at the mercy of the good graces of others. 

It is true and for the most part people shy away from being selfless.  I was always so perplexed as to why I would get praised for being so good to my friend.  Staff at a doctors office would say I was too kind or I would pick up a prescription from the store and was told how very nice it was of me.  I didn’t think much of it at the time but once I was in a depleted situation I understood the norm was different from my relationship with my friend.  I never thought of it as being selfless, just what decent people do for each other. During  this bout of sickness, I would have never asked, nor would I expect my children to come home for a weekend from school to help out.  It would be selfish of me to expect that, thus putting them in harms way potentially getting sick.  Right?

My children are actively in the process of college or recently graduated and they are venturing off in different directions.  I'm having most difficulty with their ability to be comfortably selfish.  Is it the epidemic of their generation?  Exposed to so much screen time, growing up with computers and phones, they are able to shift their focus extremely easily away from familial needs or the big picture to something that will provide immediate gratification and be easier for them.  It is uncommon for them, without being told, to assist in the mundane maintenance of the homes, easily leaving multiple mounds of mess for someone other than themselves to clean.  At a certain age I believe all understand the needs of being an adult.  They seem to piecemeal their adult responsibilities, leaving the less desirable to myself or my husband.  As I see them living their best lives and we are left with the burdens of the homes, which at some point they will inherit, it infuriates me to no end and I wonder when they will become better helpers.  I see their generous spirits with others extraneous from their immediate family.  When do they pivot with us?  How do we move forward, without becoming removed? Helping one another isn’t a burden, but an opportunity to appreciate and give back.  It is how everyone loves people.   

The Rubberband That Snapped In My Face

It's been over eight years.  I measure the time based on my son's current age and the seasons.  He was 8 when it happened and it was the summer.  It was the last time I saw my mother and father, as well as my brother and his family.  Our family trip to Cooperstown, New York did not go well, certainly not a home run.  There was constant discord between myself and my mother, mostly surrounding my son and his behavior.  Parenting your child in front of your parent can be daunting. 

My son had been typical for a boy, lots of energy, needs to be constantly focused, and mischievous, but not in an awful way.  Whatever he did or didn't do that weekend was quickly handled by my parents.  He was told to stop running, sit down, be quiet, stop splashing and more.  My attempt to guide him was thwarted by their need to control him.  I can only gather they did not believe my husband and I were doing a good job, thus their obligation to step in.  

Lunch at an overcrowded restaurant was the precursor to the nail in the coffin for these relationships.  My son ordered a plate of nachos as did my oldest daughter who was 11 at the time.  As soon as I saw the plate I knew my children would not like it.  The cheese was processed, the kind I grew up on but never gave to my kids.  I made nachos with real cheese. My two did not want to eat the meal, which was fine for my daughter in my mother's eyes but with my son she became quite angered and chastised him. He wanted his second choice of chicken fingers and fries and didn't want half of a half of her sandwich, which my daughter agreed to eat, as she wanted to please her grandmother.  This would delay our time at the table as well and there was no time for this in her eyes.  My son got his desired meal, I would have it no other way,  but you could see the sadness in his eyes that he had yet again disappointed her.  My heart was broken. 

We went shopping at few more stores.  As we came out of the store with bags in tow my son darted out and nearly got hit by a van.  The collective reaction was shouting to get his attention and that of the driver, who was speeding in a crowded parking lot.  Thankfully he was not hurt, but both my parents proceeded to yell at him, in his face, as though he was a dog they needed to train.  My son began to cry and looked at me with despair.   He was already shook by the near accident and now he was being shredded by their words.  I was done.  Let me remind you he was 8 years old.  

The remainder of the trip was difficult, yet familiar, as most memories I have of trips, special occasions and holidays are marred by a fight, disagreement or discord. Those were my memories and I didn't want that for my family.  This experience is not extraordinary.  My mother and I had serious relationship problems since I was a child.  It was not uncommon for my mother to stop talking to me for days, weeks or months.  Reconciliation depended on the severity of my infraction.  Both my parents had no or very limited relationships with their siblings, so we had no relationship with aunts, uncles and cousins for the most part.

Once home I called my mother to talk about what had happened and let her know what my son had said to me.  I knew it would not be easy to discuss, but the playing field had changed.  I now had to protect my son and honor his spirit which was being destroyed by his grandparents.  I would later find out more egregious punishments that were given to him the few times my parents watched my children.  The phone call ended with irrational screaming.  My mother's final words to me were, "If I die of a heart attack it's on your head." Soon after my father called to rip me apart, as my mother called him at work and said she thought she was in fact having a heart attack.  Instead of rushing home or calling 911, he decided to question me, never listening to my words, but cementing the obvious, our relationship was over.  

I think the game changer for this event were the words of my young son. He sat with me and said, "Why does Ma hate me so much?" It wasn't a reactive statement.  He put thought to this and had developed this idea over time.  It certainly struck a chord with me.  With honest intentions I shared this with my mother as we spoke for the last time.  I was not prepared for her explosive reaction, but expected she would feel disparaged that her grandson thought this for even one moment.  Instead she made accusation that he was being manipulative and the anger that erupted from her was worse than I had ever heard.  It was a rubberband that snapped in my face.  It stung for a moment, as it could no longer withstand the tension. The family ties that bind were severed.

Mother's Day Deconstructed

Please don't wake me up getting your father out of bed to help you cook "the" breakfast. I'm in the same bedroom and can hear you whispering and then you say to me, "Mom don't get up, go back to sleep." Easier said than done. Trust me.

The breakfast is planned like a culinary secret mission, as if they were flying to South America to pick the coffee beans and harvest the eggs from a free range farm. There are few things I don't like, but they seem to make my least favorite. I get pancakes, but this time they are buckwheat pancakes. Talk about a distinctive flavor. Were they trying to conjure days from long ago, pioneer days, pot belly stoves and log cabins or were they just concerned about my gluten intake?
Activities and food choices should reflect the honoree. I would like to go to a museum in NYC, and not on the suggested hike on a mountain side. My family forgot I have a fear of heights. MOMA and The Met would be delightful indulgences. We compromise and stay home.
I am told not to clean anything on this sacred day which is ludicrous, because I know what awaits me if I take the lazy approach. It will be a tornado of a mess that will surely anger me greatly the very next day. So I make the bed, do some laundry and straighten the living room. By midday my family has forgotten their no cleaning rule.
Conversations should be vetted. Having a conversation about finances is not the best choice for the day's topic, in fact it is quite possibly one of the worst. I want you to lie to me, save me the stress for the day. Today, if we must celebrate, I want to be blissfully ignorant. We can talk about payment due dates tomorrow when it's not my big day.
While lying around all day, I take a look at social media, and I get more annoyed. Posts on Facebook for the most part are competitive declarations detailing exactly how other mothers were made to feel special and loved. Everyone's family resembles June Cleaver's, the archetypal suburban family. Mine doesn't, so I'm a little concerned and I try not to compare. Logging off for the rest of the day.
I know I'm not a superhero and no one thinks I am, so I don't believe the Mother's Day hype the Hallmark cards propagandize. Thank me a little over time. If everyday could be Mother's Day, just a little bit, with an occasional thank you and an appreciative glance, I could be persuaded to enjoy my family fawning over me for one day. I may even learn to love pancakes.

My Imaginary Friends

I don't remember when they first popped up in my life, but I suspect I was about four years old.  My memories before kindergarten are few.  The family living room was the first room you entered as you came in the front door.  We lived in a two family house on the first floor, with my grandparents on the second floor.  They actually owned the home which was located on a busy avenue in a small New Jersey city.  My imaginary friends lived in the wall behind the front door. I would knock on the wall and press my face up against it trying to look through the painted sheet rock to catch a glimpse of their world. I guess I created Cooney, Chetty and Susan because I wanted someone to play with.  I was so ahead of my time creating the first virtual play date.  Usually when asked if they wanted to play, Susan was most times the only one who could, because Chetty and Susan were always going to Florida and leaving Susan home.  I felt bad for her.  We would dance for hours in the living room, doing fabulous stunts off of the hassock looking at ourselves in the wall of mirrors my parents had installed at the time.  That was the style in the 70's.  We had an entire wall of mirror tiles with a crackle film overlay.  So hip!  Oh, don't dare get your fingerprints on them though as you would hear the wrath of my mother.  It was one of the many things that ticked her off.  I remember running over to the half wall in between the dining room and the kitchen as my father and mother were seated finishing dinner, telling them tales of my friends and them just sitting there chewing and nodding their heads as if this was normal and just fine with them.  I was friggin' crazy and they let me go with it.  Can't recall when my friends disappeared and we stopped playing together, but I have yet to doubt their existence.  I wonder why I named them these crazy names for the most part.  I mean Susan is mainstream, but Cooney and Chetty? Experts would say children develop imaginary friends to help deal with change or times of transition.  Maybe subconsciously I knew that my life would change soon, sort of a sixth sense, because up until this point I think we were happy as a family.  Again my memories at this age and younger are sparse.  All I do know is they were comforting to me, like a blankie or stuffed animal.