A week into my year-long project and I have to admit I'm struggling. I really want mozzarella cheese, but the kind I like I have not been able to find at a community grocery store.
Since getting $9.80 back from Starbucks I've wanted to go to Coffee Bar, a Truckee gem. Apparently, everyone knows this. For the past four days I have been unable to find parking. Today, I parked on the street, determined to see the inside of the place. It was packed. The cinnamon rolls were over-iced. I like the frosting, but preferred the old un-frosted rolls best. Coffee Bar hasn't made them without frosting for more than a year now, despite my constant request. But today, they were particularly frosty so I opted for a blueberry bran muffin. Not wanting to leave my dog in my car parked on the street, I took my treats to go. Ultimately, I found this unrewarding and a waste of the $9.80 I secured from Starbucks.
Tonight, I'm eating noodles soaked in butter. I admit, this is the way I usually eat noodles. I just wish I had mozzarella cheese to go with them! Ugh!
Other notable items: paper towels are a fortune at community grocery stores. I think I will invest in cloth napkins. Wine is more interesting and the store clerks are much more knowledgeable about where the wine comes from, how its made, if it has sulfites. I've also found the prices of wine to be very reasonable.
I was told to buy a certain type of cream that I cannot find at my local mom and pop store, New Moon. I had planned to run an experiment using store bought cream vs. homemade cream. I was told the reason the store didn't carry those was because they had known carcinogens (see Kaori Oils for more). Wow! Safeway never looks out for me like that!
So aside from a moz-cheese melt down things are going.
Tomorrow I'm venturing out to another mom and pop in Kings Beach: Tahoe Community Market. They serve sandwiches. I intend to walk the dog and eat a sandwich. Maybe Theodore and I will share the sandwich :)
Friday, December 29, 2017
Wednesday, December 27, 2017
Commitment to Community
On December 23rd I posted on FB a "no conglomerates" challenge - mainly for myself, but open to anyone who wants to join me in shopping within the community, not avoiding the community. I realized after posting that challenge that so many things were left unsaid. This blog is long, but does my best to get the year started.
Second step: Remove all affiliate marketing to Amazon (and others, but I only have affiliate marketing with Amazon). I think I've done that, but if any of you notice I have not, please let me know :)
Third Step: Establish the definition of "conglomerate". It could be argued that this is the first step, but I needed to free myself from Amazon first. Can there be a distinction between privately held and publicly traded companies. No. There are huge stores that are not publicly traded. Forbes compiles lists of these and to make the list revenues must be greater than $2 billion (with a "b"). Companies that have made the list include: Albertson's, Toys R Us, PetSmart, and, until last year, Dell. To see Forbes 2017 list, click here.
I don't think it's fair to say that businesses cannot make money. That is the goal of any business. So what constitutes a small business? A community business? Suffice to say that Toy R Us would not open a shop in Truckee, California. It is a large corporation. A community business doesn't need to wait until the next board meeting to make decisions. A community business doesn't go into the business with the intention of putting other businesses out of business or cares if they do. Instead it is an asset to the community.
REI and Briar Patch are co-ops. REI is arguably a very large corporation. It is owned by its members. Members receive a dividend check every year. Mountain Hardware in Truckee is employee owned. These businesses give back to the people that shop (use), work, and/or benefit from the business.
In-N-Out Burger, admittedly an annual indulgence of mine, has 304 stores, all owned by the Snyder family, and worth over $1 billion. It is a very large family-owned business. In-N-Out's growth is dependent on the location of their distribution centers. None of the meat is ever frozen or microwaved.
This is an excellent segue way to supply chain. Where are the items in the store made? Look on the back of the packaging of most items sold at Toys R Us to learn they are not made in the United States. What about Patagonia? Most of their clothing is not made in the United States. Is Patagonia a conglomerate? A large corporation? What are their buying practices? Maybe there is a better choice for certain items, like Inner Waves Organics for yoga-style clothing. I certainly don't think purchasing Patagonia clothing is the same as purchasing WalMart clothing. I had a friend who worked fairly high up in the Patagonia company. She shared a lot of their business practices with me. I feel confident in spending money at Patagonia.
Online small businesses are certainly prevalent in today's internet-centered economy. There are things that I will not be able to find in Truckee. But I have a choice to find a company that is not Amazon. Most online retailers are savvy and have figured out that letting people know about their business practices is important and does make a difference.
Maybe it's easier to define a non-conglomerate. Employee-owned, family owned, independently owned, and member-owned (co-op) businesses. These are key words. Buying and/or supply chain practices that foster community development, offer safe working conditions, opportunities for growth, and do not employ under-aged workers. Companies that give a damn about carbon footprint and how long it takes to get strawberries from overseas to New York City in the middle of winter.
This is what I mean. This is where I want to shop this year.
Fourth step: Ground rules.
I told my brother what I was doing and he brought up some interesting points. He asked what cellular company I use? Utilities, etc. Fortunately, where I live, my utilities are all local except for gas, however, I use propane, which is local. I am not advocating that anyone cut themselves off from power, water, and cellular service. While it is a personal goal of mine to live off the grid and I'm taking steps to do so (a different blog all together) this year is about living in the community and shopping at the stores my neighbors own.
Ground Rule #1: OK to use public utilities.
Goal: Turn off the cell phone 1 full day 1 day a week. Most likely that will be Monday's for me.
He then asked if I would buy Kraft Mac & Cheese. I don't actually buy Kraft Mac & Cheese, but for sake of argument, let's stick with that example. The answer is yes - if it is purchased from a community grocer. My community grocer buys wholesale, just like the big guys -- Safeway, Save Mart, and Costco. I'm still supporting my community grocer regardless of the products I buy. Incidentally, I went to Village Market in Incline Village, a family owned grocery store for 35 years. Village Market does not carry Kraft Mac & Cheese. I looked.
Ground Rule #2: OK to purchase any brand as long as it if from community supplier.
Goal: Purchase brand that use sustainable practices -- we still don't really know what's inside a Kraft Mac & Cheese box.
My brother then asked where I was going to buy my gas. It's been a long time since we've seen truly independent gas stations. I do remember them, when I first started driving over 30 years ago. However, most gas stations are independently owned. I met a gas station owner a few months ago. I was catching a plane to Bali and thought I'd walk from the train station to the airport. On my way, it started pouring rain that turned to hail. I took cover under the awning of an AM/PM. A gentleman pulled up in a worn out Ford Mustang from the late 80's. He seemed harmless so I asked him for a ride. Turns out he was a private pilot chartered by a major casino owner to run between Reno and Las Vegas. As a side project he bought an AM/PM in Reno. He no longer works as a private pilot, but his gas station is paid for -- as well as his Ford Mustang. (This man is a an incredible role model for building wealth -- again, a different blog.) The last time I got gas in Reno, I actually drove a bit out of the way to use his AM/PM.
Ground Rule #3: Get gas from independently owned gas stations. Get to know the owner/operator
Goal: Park the car for at least 1 full day and walk or ride a bike.
About that time, my mom joined the conversation and bet that I'd go to Starbucks before the year is out. I looked at the balance on my Starbucks app: $9.80. I did go to Starbucks this year. I went earlier today. I requested a refund of the balance remaining on the app. Turns out in California if a gift card has a balance under $10 can be redeemed for cash. Apps are considered gift cards.
Ground Rule #4: Try to get refunds from balances left over from the past.
Goal: There is no perfect time to start something like this. This has been an ongoing shift over the past several years. Maybe my mom may be right that I will go to Starbucks before the end of the year. It's not about perfection. I hope I'm never perfect. I hope that I always continue to strive to be perfect.
The next topic was transportation, specifically, flying. Last year I was out of the country almost six months. I flew several major airlines and a few smaller airlines. I hope to fly to Iceland and South America this coming year. I know that my pocket book cannot afford to charter a private plane. I find myself completely stumped. I believe in my heart of hearts that the cultural experiences gained from traveling far exceed anything we can ever read in a book. While traveling, I have charted private planes and independently-owed airlines.
Ground Rule #5: Major airlines, train lines, etc. OK.
Goal: See if an alternative is available and within the budget.
Finally, for those that are still skeptical, the number one way we vote in this country is with our dollars. Don't be fooled by election years. We vote all year long, every day, everywhere we spend money. When we purchase something made overseas on Amazon, we just voted to receive items from overseas, at an easy-to-shop venue like Amazon. Likewise, when we visit Village Market in Incline Village, NV we vote to keep Village Market. Think of it as 1 point for Amazon. One point for Village Market. Then multiple that by all the various items one can purchase on Amazon vs. what one might be able to buy locally. That's a lot of points for Amazon. At the end of the day, who do you want to have all your points?
Follow me through this exploration of local (or loco) on Instagram at samaararobbins. Watch for my hashtags (still learning what that actually even means) #makeeverydollarcount, #outsidethebox, and #liveatthelake. Visit Facebook and this blog (www.killerliving.com). Comments welcome. :)
First step: Cancel Amazon Prime membership.
Second step: Remove all affiliate marketing to Amazon (and others, but I only have affiliate marketing with Amazon). I think I've done that, but if any of you notice I have not, please let me know :)
Third Step: Establish the definition of "conglomerate". It could be argued that this is the first step, but I needed to free myself from Amazon first. Can there be a distinction between privately held and publicly traded companies. No. There are huge stores that are not publicly traded. Forbes compiles lists of these and to make the list revenues must be greater than $2 billion (with a "b"). Companies that have made the list include: Albertson's, Toys R Us, PetSmart, and, until last year, Dell. To see Forbes 2017 list, click here.
I don't think it's fair to say that businesses cannot make money. That is the goal of any business. So what constitutes a small business? A community business? Suffice to say that Toy R Us would not open a shop in Truckee, California. It is a large corporation. A community business doesn't need to wait until the next board meeting to make decisions. A community business doesn't go into the business with the intention of putting other businesses out of business or cares if they do. Instead it is an asset to the community.
REI and Briar Patch are co-ops. REI is arguably a very large corporation. It is owned by its members. Members receive a dividend check every year. Mountain Hardware in Truckee is employee owned. These businesses give back to the people that shop (use), work, and/or benefit from the business.
In-N-Out Burger, admittedly an annual indulgence of mine, has 304 stores, all owned by the Snyder family, and worth over $1 billion. It is a very large family-owned business. In-N-Out's growth is dependent on the location of their distribution centers. None of the meat is ever frozen or microwaved.
This is an excellent segue way to supply chain. Where are the items in the store made? Look on the back of the packaging of most items sold at Toys R Us to learn they are not made in the United States. What about Patagonia? Most of their clothing is not made in the United States. Is Patagonia a conglomerate? A large corporation? What are their buying practices? Maybe there is a better choice for certain items, like Inner Waves Organics for yoga-style clothing. I certainly don't think purchasing Patagonia clothing is the same as purchasing WalMart clothing. I had a friend who worked fairly high up in the Patagonia company. She shared a lot of their business practices with me. I feel confident in spending money at Patagonia.
Online small businesses are certainly prevalent in today's internet-centered economy. There are things that I will not be able to find in Truckee. But I have a choice to find a company that is not Amazon. Most online retailers are savvy and have figured out that letting people know about their business practices is important and does make a difference.
Maybe it's easier to define a non-conglomerate. Employee-owned, family owned, independently owned, and member-owned (co-op) businesses. These are key words. Buying and/or supply chain practices that foster community development, offer safe working conditions, opportunities for growth, and do not employ under-aged workers. Companies that give a damn about carbon footprint and how long it takes to get strawberries from overseas to New York City in the middle of winter.
This is what I mean. This is where I want to shop this year.
Fourth step: Ground rules.
I told my brother what I was doing and he brought up some interesting points. He asked what cellular company I use? Utilities, etc. Fortunately, where I live, my utilities are all local except for gas, however, I use propane, which is local. I am not advocating that anyone cut themselves off from power, water, and cellular service. While it is a personal goal of mine to live off the grid and I'm taking steps to do so (a different blog all together) this year is about living in the community and shopping at the stores my neighbors own.
Ground Rule #1: OK to use public utilities.
Goal: Turn off the cell phone 1 full day 1 day a week. Most likely that will be Monday's for me.
He then asked if I would buy Kraft Mac & Cheese. I don't actually buy Kraft Mac & Cheese, but for sake of argument, let's stick with that example. The answer is yes - if it is purchased from a community grocer. My community grocer buys wholesale, just like the big guys -- Safeway, Save Mart, and Costco. I'm still supporting my community grocer regardless of the products I buy. Incidentally, I went to Village Market in Incline Village, a family owned grocery store for 35 years. Village Market does not carry Kraft Mac & Cheese. I looked.
Ground Rule #2: OK to purchase any brand as long as it if from community supplier.
Goal: Purchase brand that use sustainable practices -- we still don't really know what's inside a Kraft Mac & Cheese box.
My brother then asked where I was going to buy my gas. It's been a long time since we've seen truly independent gas stations. I do remember them, when I first started driving over 30 years ago. However, most gas stations are independently owned. I met a gas station owner a few months ago. I was catching a plane to Bali and thought I'd walk from the train station to the airport. On my way, it started pouring rain that turned to hail. I took cover under the awning of an AM/PM. A gentleman pulled up in a worn out Ford Mustang from the late 80's. He seemed harmless so I asked him for a ride. Turns out he was a private pilot chartered by a major casino owner to run between Reno and Las Vegas. As a side project he bought an AM/PM in Reno. He no longer works as a private pilot, but his gas station is paid for -- as well as his Ford Mustang. (This man is a an incredible role model for building wealth -- again, a different blog.) The last time I got gas in Reno, I actually drove a bit out of the way to use his AM/PM.
Ground Rule #3: Get gas from independently owned gas stations. Get to know the owner/operator
Goal: Park the car for at least 1 full day and walk or ride a bike.
About that time, my mom joined the conversation and bet that I'd go to Starbucks before the year is out. I looked at the balance on my Starbucks app: $9.80. I did go to Starbucks this year. I went earlier today. I requested a refund of the balance remaining on the app. Turns out in California if a gift card has a balance under $10 can be redeemed for cash. Apps are considered gift cards.Ground Rule #4: Try to get refunds from balances left over from the past.
Goal: There is no perfect time to start something like this. This has been an ongoing shift over the past several years. Maybe my mom may be right that I will go to Starbucks before the end of the year. It's not about perfection. I hope I'm never perfect. I hope that I always continue to strive to be perfect.
The next topic was transportation, specifically, flying. Last year I was out of the country almost six months. I flew several major airlines and a few smaller airlines. I hope to fly to Iceland and South America this coming year. I know that my pocket book cannot afford to charter a private plane. I find myself completely stumped. I believe in my heart of hearts that the cultural experiences gained from traveling far exceed anything we can ever read in a book. While traveling, I have charted private planes and independently-owed airlines.
Ground Rule #5: Major airlines, train lines, etc. OK.
Goal: See if an alternative is available and within the budget.
Finally, for those that are still skeptical, the number one way we vote in this country is with our dollars. Don't be fooled by election years. We vote all year long, every day, everywhere we spend money. When we purchase something made overseas on Amazon, we just voted to receive items from overseas, at an easy-to-shop venue like Amazon. Likewise, when we visit Village Market in Incline Village, NV we vote to keep Village Market. Think of it as 1 point for Amazon. One point for Village Market. Then multiple that by all the various items one can purchase on Amazon vs. what one might be able to buy locally. That's a lot of points for Amazon. At the end of the day, who do you want to have all your points?
Follow me through this exploration of local (or loco) on Instagram at samaararobbins. Watch for my hashtags (still learning what that actually even means) #makeeverydollarcount, #outsidethebox, and #liveatthelake. Visit Facebook and this blog (www.killerliving.com). Comments welcome. :)
Saturday, August 26, 2017
Out of Nowhere
Earlier this week, I was having lunch with Jeff. He's training for a 100-mile bike ride. We casually chatted about the training, the ride, and the last time he'd been in a long bike ride, the MS-150 in Colorado. The MS-150 was just days after my first chemotherapy treatment over eight years ago. I started crying. Not balling, but tears stung my eyes and the room went blurry under a film of watery eyes that came literally out of nowhere.
It had been eight years and two months exactly since my first chemotherapy treatment.
I remember it well. I was dropped off at the hospital by my neighbor: are you OK? I'm fine. I walked through the hospital doors up to the post-surgical ward where, in one of the rooms, the beds had been replaced with leather recliners and the windows overlooked the hot roof of another wing of the hospital. It was hot and I could see the waves of the heat rising off the roof.
I was alone and I was scared.I had no idea what to expect except what Hollywood sensationalized. The chemo room was also the medications room where all the meds for the entire ward were locked. Nurses came and went and I sat. After what felt like an eternity, I was hooked up to IVs delivered to a port in my chest that I often referred to as the "mainline to my heart".
A chemotherapy port is a fancy IV with a tube inserted into the subclavian vein -- the vein that empties the blood from the body back into the right side of the heart which then travels into the lungs for some oxygen, returning to the left side of the heart where the oxygen -- and poison -- rich blood is pumped through the entire body. The poison (doctor's refer to as "medicine") is literally delivered to your heart-lungs-heart, in that order, first. This amazing me still today in two ways: first, what a way to inject poison (or medicine) into a body; second, what amazing bodies we have to survive a direct shot to our hearts.
Eventually I fell asleep thanks to liquid Benadryl. I woke to Jody putting a hat made of balloons on my head that now, deflated, lives in a box labeled "cancer". I was thankful for Jody. She arrived within the last 30 to 60 minutes of all six of my treatments. And on the sixth treatment she even wore pink as I sang "Gotta have Boobs" (see posts from June though December 2009). We would have an early dinner before she took me home and I would throw up the dinner and further into treatment would throw up everything and nothing for three days.
I worked with a wonderful woman going through breast cancer treatment many years later. She told me that cancer treatment was easy. It was the collateral damage that sucked. This morning, I read an article about intimacy following cancer. Three weeks ago I had yet another surgery related to cancer. My entire body is so different now. I stepped on the scale as I do every morning - no shift. Still the same large number as the day before. The number post-hysterectomy-collateral-damage of cancer.
I'm part of an art exhibit that will be at the held at the ISPA conference in Florida October 16-18. Ironically, a brief conversation I had with Julie Bach the founder of Wellness for Cancer inspired the exhibit. Yesterday I spoke with the artist that will be drawing an abstract of me and several other women. Each abstract drawing will be beside an actual photograph of each of us. The exhibit is modeled after the Dove Experiment, but instead is our opinion of who we are post cancer. I told the artist I was in a really good place right now. But as we spoke I remembered.
Cancer often feels a lot like death of a loved one. After the memorial (treatment) the people around you go on, but you still grieve. On the surface everything looks great, but scratch below and all hell breaks loose.
Admittedly things are much easier now. I'm slowly accepting the many changes my body has undergone with over 11-ish cancer related surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation. The hardened outward surface is slowly matching the softer inside. Most days I don't even remember having cancer.
Then, out of nowhere....
It had been eight years and two months exactly since my first chemotherapy treatment.
I remember it well. I was dropped off at the hospital by my neighbor: are you OK? I'm fine. I walked through the hospital doors up to the post-surgical ward where, in one of the rooms, the beds had been replaced with leather recliners and the windows overlooked the hot roof of another wing of the hospital. It was hot and I could see the waves of the heat rising off the roof.
I was alone and I was scared.I had no idea what to expect except what Hollywood sensationalized. The chemo room was also the medications room where all the meds for the entire ward were locked. Nurses came and went and I sat. After what felt like an eternity, I was hooked up to IVs delivered to a port in my chest that I often referred to as the "mainline to my heart".
A chemotherapy port is a fancy IV with a tube inserted into the subclavian vein -- the vein that empties the blood from the body back into the right side of the heart which then travels into the lungs for some oxygen, returning to the left side of the heart where the oxygen -- and poison -- rich blood is pumped through the entire body. The poison (doctor's refer to as "medicine") is literally delivered to your heart-lungs-heart, in that order, first. This amazing me still today in two ways: first, what a way to inject poison (or medicine) into a body; second, what amazing bodies we have to survive a direct shot to our hearts.
 |
| Balloon Hat - Chemo #1 |
 |
| Gotta Have Boobs - Chemo #6 |
I worked with a wonderful woman going through breast cancer treatment many years later. She told me that cancer treatment was easy. It was the collateral damage that sucked. This morning, I read an article about intimacy following cancer. Three weeks ago I had yet another surgery related to cancer. My entire body is so different now. I stepped on the scale as I do every morning - no shift. Still the same large number as the day before. The number post-hysterectomy-collateral-damage of cancer.
I'm part of an art exhibit that will be at the held at the ISPA conference in Florida October 16-18. Ironically, a brief conversation I had with Julie Bach the founder of Wellness for Cancer inspired the exhibit. Yesterday I spoke with the artist that will be drawing an abstract of me and several other women. Each abstract drawing will be beside an actual photograph of each of us. The exhibit is modeled after the Dove Experiment, but instead is our opinion of who we are post cancer. I told the artist I was in a really good place right now. But as we spoke I remembered.
Cancer often feels a lot like death of a loved one. After the memorial (treatment) the people around you go on, but you still grieve. On the surface everything looks great, but scratch below and all hell breaks loose.
Admittedly things are much easier now. I'm slowly accepting the many changes my body has undergone with over 11-ish cancer related surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation. The hardened outward surface is slowly matching the softer inside. Most days I don't even remember having cancer.
Then, out of nowhere....
 |
| Photograph taken for art project in 2010. Photos and texts were included in a book as inspiration for others going through treatment. There were about 30 survivors and their stories. Today, almost a third of those amazing women are gone. |
Thursday, May 25, 2017
To My Best Friend
The night before Sampson died, he asked me to write his story...
With our feet in the sand, a warm wind, and water lapping at the shoreline I wrote.
Sampson could jump from standing still over five feet high. He often fetched his dinner from the upper cabinets in the kitchen. And nothing was safe on the counter...or in the toaster over. One day I came home to find the toaster oven door open, the plate still on the rack, and the cupcakes all gone. He would chew just a small hole in the potato chip bag and empty the bag. He seldom destroyed the wrapping -- he only wanted the good stuff. When he'd rob the trash, he would hide his "treasures" on the bed. When I came home, he'd run to great me, then run back to the bed and lay across the mess. It was a dead give-away, but I pretended to be surprised to find the contents of my trash on my bedspread. At least he never rolled in dead animals!
Sampson was kind. He once swam with a mother duck and her ducklings in Hyalite Reservoir in Bozeman. He caught a rabbit and let it go, unharmed. He curled with his cat friends and always met new dog friends -- named Bob every time. When we went to get Theodore, Sampson sat by the car and said, "No. I don't want a puppy. I'm an only dog. Let's go now. Mom. Mom. Dad. Let's go." He glared at Theodore who curled up in my lap and slept all the way home. Within days Theodore was his new best friend. When Theo was about 3 months old a very big dog charged him. As though Sampson flew through the air, he was there to protect Theodore. Theo always looked up to his big brother Sam.
I found Sampson through a newspaper ad in Dallas. I called and asked if they had any red male Aussie's left. The man on the other end of the line said he only had one Aussie left and yes, it was red male. My aunt and I drove the always-under-construction-highway from Ft. Worth to south of Dallas. At the ranch I picked up Sampson and asked him if he wanted to go home with me. When I set him down, he turned and ran the opposite direction! By the next day, he snuggled onto the pillow where my head was and slept the night away. He would sleep on my pillow for the next 11 years.
Sampson was not short on marking his territory and that included me. While at tricks class in Bozeman, he walked right over to me, lifted his leg, and peed on my shoe! And again at an impassable creek crossing in Truckee. And as I wrote his story in my journal that last night at the lake, he crawled into my lap, rested his head in my arms and peed on my leg. But that wasn't his fault. By then, his auto-immune disease was affecting all the nerves and muscles in his lower back. It struck me then as it does now that I would give anything for him to have had the ability to lift his leg.
We've traveled all over the country together -- Kansas to see the largest ball [blob] of twine and to Minnesota to see its competitor, an encased ball of twine. We stopped at playgrounds, hiking trails, lakes, and to eat fresh, very delicious, blueberry pie. Sampson always ate the whipped topping and I ate what was left. This was true for everything: pie, sunday's, mochas, anything with whipped topping. Even at home I would make whipped topping for my pies so Sampson had dessert. We both agreed life's too short to omit dessert. I went anywhere a "dogs welcome" sign hung. Sampson's eaten at posh restaurants in Carmel-by-the-Sea to outdoor eateries in New Orleans. Bar-be-que being Sampson's favorite. We visited the oldest family-owned store in the country in Kentucky, ate at the original Kentucky Fried Chicken, and toured the battlefields of the Civil War. Sampson's scaled many of Colorado's 14ers, skied in Montana, Colorado, and California. He's swam in lakes, rivers, streams, and the ocean. He's chased squirrels, deer, and imaginary objects in the Rocky's, Sierra's, and Appalachian's.
Sampson has scarred the shit out of me and himself I'm sure. One day I called home frantic that Sampson was missing in the woods. I asked Jeff to come as quickly as possible to help me find him. Jeff opened the front door and there was Sam. "Dad. I think I messed up. I lost mom." He always found his way home. To me.
During the darkest moments of chemotherapy, Sampson would curl on the floor with me in the bathroom. He would lay on my feet to keep them warm. He had to be touching me. I didn't know then and I don't know now who it was more comforting for - me or him? He would lick my tears and put his paw on my lap. He let me hold his paw. Often we would fall asleep like paw in hand and he would wait for me to get up first.
Sampson had my back and I had his. We were partners, walking together. He was always ready for an adventure, whether it was to the grocery store or across the country.
Sampson died from an auto-immune disease that overtook his lower spine, rendering him partially paralyzed and unable to eliminate. He had a sadness in his eyes. He would get to the bottom of the stairs and look to me. Together we learned an assist to front leg walking. Two days before he died, I spent the day with Sampson. We hiked as much as he would, paddled, and snuggled on the paddle board. The next day he spent with dad and then we camped that night. On his last morning, he was spunky, alive, and alert. We went to a lake where he found and played fetch with a tennis ball. Went for a swim, and ate sardines. After we went to the vet.
I know now that that morning was his gift to us. And later that morning was our gift to him as we held him close and told him we loved him and we all said goodbye.
Sampson will forever by in my heart and part of my soul. I love you "sammy davis jr. jr."
With our feet in the sand, a warm wind, and water lapping at the shoreline I wrote.
Sampson could jump from standing still over five feet high. He often fetched his dinner from the upper cabinets in the kitchen. And nothing was safe on the counter...or in the toaster over. One day I came home to find the toaster oven door open, the plate still on the rack, and the cupcakes all gone. He would chew just a small hole in the potato chip bag and empty the bag. He seldom destroyed the wrapping -- he only wanted the good stuff. When he'd rob the trash, he would hide his "treasures" on the bed. When I came home, he'd run to great me, then run back to the bed and lay across the mess. It was a dead give-away, but I pretended to be surprised to find the contents of my trash on my bedspread. At least he never rolled in dead animals!
Sampson was kind. He once swam with a mother duck and her ducklings in Hyalite Reservoir in Bozeman. He caught a rabbit and let it go, unharmed. He curled with his cat friends and always met new dog friends -- named Bob every time. When we went to get Theodore, Sampson sat by the car and said, "No. I don't want a puppy. I'm an only dog. Let's go now. Mom. Mom. Dad. Let's go." He glared at Theodore who curled up in my lap and slept all the way home. Within days Theodore was his new best friend. When Theo was about 3 months old a very big dog charged him. As though Sampson flew through the air, he was there to protect Theodore. Theo always looked up to his big brother Sam.
I found Sampson through a newspaper ad in Dallas. I called and asked if they had any red male Aussie's left. The man on the other end of the line said he only had one Aussie left and yes, it was red male. My aunt and I drove the always-under-construction-highway from Ft. Worth to south of Dallas. At the ranch I picked up Sampson and asked him if he wanted to go home with me. When I set him down, he turned and ran the opposite direction! By the next day, he snuggled onto the pillow where my head was and slept the night away. He would sleep on my pillow for the next 11 years.
Sampson was not short on marking his territory and that included me. While at tricks class in Bozeman, he walked right over to me, lifted his leg, and peed on my shoe! And again at an impassable creek crossing in Truckee. And as I wrote his story in my journal that last night at the lake, he crawled into my lap, rested his head in my arms and peed on my leg. But that wasn't his fault. By then, his auto-immune disease was affecting all the nerves and muscles in his lower back. It struck me then as it does now that I would give anything for him to have had the ability to lift his leg.
We've traveled all over the country together -- Kansas to see the largest ball [blob] of twine and to Minnesota to see its competitor, an encased ball of twine. We stopped at playgrounds, hiking trails, lakes, and to eat fresh, very delicious, blueberry pie. Sampson always ate the whipped topping and I ate what was left. This was true for everything: pie, sunday's, mochas, anything with whipped topping. Even at home I would make whipped topping for my pies so Sampson had dessert. We both agreed life's too short to omit dessert. I went anywhere a "dogs welcome" sign hung. Sampson's eaten at posh restaurants in Carmel-by-the-Sea to outdoor eateries in New Orleans. Bar-be-que being Sampson's favorite. We visited the oldest family-owned store in the country in Kentucky, ate at the original Kentucky Fried Chicken, and toured the battlefields of the Civil War. Sampson's scaled many of Colorado's 14ers, skied in Montana, Colorado, and California. He's swam in lakes, rivers, streams, and the ocean. He's chased squirrels, deer, and imaginary objects in the Rocky's, Sierra's, and Appalachian's.
Sampson has scarred the shit out of me and himself I'm sure. One day I called home frantic that Sampson was missing in the woods. I asked Jeff to come as quickly as possible to help me find him. Jeff opened the front door and there was Sam. "Dad. I think I messed up. I lost mom." He always found his way home. To me.
During the darkest moments of chemotherapy, Sampson would curl on the floor with me in the bathroom. He would lay on my feet to keep them warm. He had to be touching me. I didn't know then and I don't know now who it was more comforting for - me or him? He would lick my tears and put his paw on my lap. He let me hold his paw. Often we would fall asleep like paw in hand and he would wait for me to get up first.
Sampson had my back and I had his. We were partners, walking together. He was always ready for an adventure, whether it was to the grocery store or across the country.
Sampson died from an auto-immune disease that overtook his lower spine, rendering him partially paralyzed and unable to eliminate. He had a sadness in his eyes. He would get to the bottom of the stairs and look to me. Together we learned an assist to front leg walking. Two days before he died, I spent the day with Sampson. We hiked as much as he would, paddled, and snuggled on the paddle board. The next day he spent with dad and then we camped that night. On his last morning, he was spunky, alive, and alert. We went to a lake where he found and played fetch with a tennis ball. Went for a swim, and ate sardines. After we went to the vet.
I know now that that morning was his gift to us. And later that morning was our gift to him as we held him close and told him we loved him and we all said goodbye.
Sampson will forever by in my heart and part of my soul. I love you "sammy davis jr. jr."
Thursday, April 27, 2017
This is Real
A chime sounded on the platform before a prerecorded man's voice began: Step behind the yellow line. The approaching train does not stop at this station.
The train approached fast. I thought about jumping onto the tracks. I thought about Linda. The train sped through the station and I realized there would be no second chance. Once on the tracks there would be no where to go. If in that split second between jumping and being hit there would be no escape if I changed my mind. I wondered whether Linda had changed her mind. I wondered whether she was here right now.
I have wanted to be dead so many times in my life. But I have never been able to pull the trigger. My appetite for what is on the other side of the door is insatiable. In my darkest of darkest hours, balled in a heap with tears flooding down my face I have always had one thing. Hope.
Today I unraveled my compression stocking slowly up my arm, beginning at the wrist, stretching and smoothing out any wrinkles. Brightly colored in pinks and blues. The person sitting across from me said it was pretty. To me just another of the many constant reminders that I had cancer.
In conversation she told me this isn't real. We only experience things as real because we have five senses.
But this is real. I'm real. My life is real.
I appreciate different points of view. I appreciate that this is her point of view. But there is no way I can go through life with the belief that this is just a game of senses.
Someone else looks over at my compression stocking engulfing my right arm. I catch her glance. She smiles and nods in the direction of my sleeve chasing her nod with her eyes. I smile back then cover my sleeve with my jacket. I know that she is just one of many today. I know that if I leave my sleeve on - like I should do - I will be pulled aside and searched when I reach the U.S.
I am a passionate person which I've often considered more of a liability than a strength. I don't just cry. I get into it. Tears stream down my face. Big. Fat. Tears. I curly into a ball and rock back and forth on the floor until I cry myself to sleep or cry every tear I have. And when I'm happy, I'm all in! I exude that joy from deep inside every cell of my body. I sometimes think that people half way around the world can feel my pain and my joy.
When I watched that train blow through the station just a week ago my thoughts shifted to Linda and then to everyone else I've known. Some who've died by their own choice. Some who have not. Some whose lives were stolen by disease. Their words come back to me.
I've made up stories of why Linda stepped in front of that train just before Thanksgiving three years ago. I admired her strength, but hated her choice.
If life wasn't real and I truly believed it wasn't real I would jump. I would get rid of the hurt and the hate. But life is real. And with that hurt and the hate, I would lose the joy and the happiness. I would miss the fun. I would miss my dogs licking my face clean after a peanut butter sandwich. And spring. The fresh smell of the forest after an August rain. I would miss the sea and the rivers polishing the rocks below. I believe life is real. And with that life - my life - I have hope.
The train approached fast. I thought about jumping onto the tracks. I thought about Linda. The train sped through the station and I realized there would be no second chance. Once on the tracks there would be no where to go. If in that split second between jumping and being hit there would be no escape if I changed my mind. I wondered whether Linda had changed her mind. I wondered whether she was here right now.I have wanted to be dead so many times in my life. But I have never been able to pull the trigger. My appetite for what is on the other side of the door is insatiable. In my darkest of darkest hours, balled in a heap with tears flooding down my face I have always had one thing. Hope.
Today I unraveled my compression stocking slowly up my arm, beginning at the wrist, stretching and smoothing out any wrinkles. Brightly colored in pinks and blues. The person sitting across from me said it was pretty. To me just another of the many constant reminders that I had cancer.
In conversation she told me this isn't real. We only experience things as real because we have five senses.
But this is real. I'm real. My life is real.
I appreciate different points of view. I appreciate that this is her point of view. But there is no way I can go through life with the belief that this is just a game of senses.
Someone else looks over at my compression stocking engulfing my right arm. I catch her glance. She smiles and nods in the direction of my sleeve chasing her nod with her eyes. I smile back then cover my sleeve with my jacket. I know that she is just one of many today. I know that if I leave my sleeve on - like I should do - I will be pulled aside and searched when I reach the U.S.
I am a passionate person which I've often considered more of a liability than a strength. I don't just cry. I get into it. Tears stream down my face. Big. Fat. Tears. I curly into a ball and rock back and forth on the floor until I cry myself to sleep or cry every tear I have. And when I'm happy, I'm all in! I exude that joy from deep inside every cell of my body. I sometimes think that people half way around the world can feel my pain and my joy.
When I watched that train blow through the station just a week ago my thoughts shifted to Linda and then to everyone else I've known. Some who've died by their own choice. Some who have not. Some whose lives were stolen by disease. Their words come back to me.
I've made up stories of why Linda stepped in front of that train just before Thanksgiving three years ago. I admired her strength, but hated her choice.
If life wasn't real and I truly believed it wasn't real I would jump. I would get rid of the hurt and the hate. But life is real. And with that hurt and the hate, I would lose the joy and the happiness. I would miss the fun. I would miss my dogs licking my face clean after a peanut butter sandwich. And spring. The fresh smell of the forest after an August rain. I would miss the sea and the rivers polishing the rocks below. I believe life is real. And with that life - my life - I have hope.
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
Life Happened
This past year has been unbelievably challenging for me. I feel amazingly displaced swirling in a spiraling vortex to an end I have no control over. It is as though everything that has happened in my life up until this very moment finally weighed me down like an anvil on my shoulders. Life happened to me.
Every word that has ever been spoken. The things that have happened in my life. The events of the past. All of the big fights. The enormousness of it all. It is suffocating.
Each day it has been harder and harder to get up. I struggle to get through the day once I get up. I can't wait to go to sleep, but can't sleep once I get there. My brain will not shut down or power off.
Today I stood in front of a doctor who told me I was fat. Thank you. I have a mirror at home, put my clothes on every day and take a shower naked. I know what I look like. Chalk it up to cancer -- that big fat fucking "c" word that stole my life, buried my soul and then served it all back to me in a broken body. Fat body.
In my life I've heard so many times -- rise above this. What is interesting about the people that say that is those are the people who have never had anything go wrong in their lives. Those are the people from Norman Rockwell paintings with perfect teeth. Well my teeth are not perfect. I've been through the wringer. I've lived at least ten lives in the past 46 years and the start of this year ain't anything to write home about.
It's not a money thing. I have money in the bank. A fair amount of it actually. I'm debt free, yet surrounded by emptiness and the back end of a Toyota 4Runner. I've been here before, but this time is definitely different. The emptiness is dark without color. And hollow.
Every word that has ever been spoken. The things that have happened in my life. The events of the past. All of the big fights. The enormousness of it all. It is suffocating.
Each day it has been harder and harder to get up. I struggle to get through the day once I get up. I can't wait to go to sleep, but can't sleep once I get there. My brain will not shut down or power off.
Today I stood in front of a doctor who told me I was fat. Thank you. I have a mirror at home, put my clothes on every day and take a shower naked. I know what I look like. Chalk it up to cancer -- that big fat fucking "c" word that stole my life, buried my soul and then served it all back to me in a broken body. Fat body.
In my life I've heard so many times -- rise above this. What is interesting about the people that say that is those are the people who have never had anything go wrong in their lives. Those are the people from Norman Rockwell paintings with perfect teeth. Well my teeth are not perfect. I've been through the wringer. I've lived at least ten lives in the past 46 years and the start of this year ain't anything to write home about.
It's not a money thing. I have money in the bank. A fair amount of it actually. I'm debt free, yet surrounded by emptiness and the back end of a Toyota 4Runner. I've been here before, but this time is definitely different. The emptiness is dark without color. And hollow.
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