Be the Squirrel

            A commotion just outside the window caught my eye.  I looked up to see Roger the Cat chasing a grey squirrel all over our deck in a mad ricochet of fur.  The rodent dashed along the railings, up the post and along the trellis, with Roger in close pursuit.  Suddenly the fluffy-tailed squirrel stopped and turned to face the cat.  Dumbfounded, Roger stopped too.  (And I'm pretty sure I heard him mutter a swear word under his breath.)  For a few moments they stood there, eye to eye.  Then the squirrel looked around, planned and followed a safe route off of the deck.  Too stunned to continue the chase, Roger watched and eventually made a half-hearted attempt to follow.

            What had just happened?  This was a lesson my dog has had to learn over and over (so I guess she hasn’t quite mastered it yet) – that You Can’t Chase What Won’t Run Away.  Our Riley-dog has nursed a scratched, bleeding nose on more than one occasion as a result of over-estimating the fear she can instill in a neighborhood cat.  With a hiss and a yelp, the chase is over before it ever begins.  A large buck sporting large antlers delivered more serious injuries to our mutt when he refused to be intimidated by her bark-ful and speedy pursuit.

            We humans should take note.  Of course the massive buck was not taking a risk by standing his ground, but what about the smaller animals?  What business does a five pound cat have standing up to a 70 pound dog?  Is it plain stupidity, or bravery and good judgment?  I’d like to advocate for the latter.  Bear with me on this segue, please.

            Recently a friend posted a cautionary tale about a sexual predator hiding in a women’s bathroom stall in a shopping mall.  Totally creepy and possibly quite dangerous.  The moral of the story was to always accompany your young children into public bathrooms.  Good advice, we can all agree.  But it got me to thinking about my own kids who are teenagers and no longer willing to hold mommy’s hand.  In fact, this is the age when we push them out into the world and hope they use good judgment.  What if I can’t be there?  What if there’s a creep in the bushes on their way to school?  What if…what if…what if??  Watch the evening news just once and your mind will be over-flowing with terrifying “What if?” scenarios to keep you up all night with worry.  Nobody will benefit from that.

            It’s time to teach my teenage children to Be the Squirrel.  Take control of their safety and not live in fear.  In reference to the public bathroom scenario, I always think of the lesson my running partner, Carol, taught me.  As a runner you are out at strange times of the day, often in secluded areas.  Once in a while there is a need to stop at a park bathroom, when nobody seems to be around.  Carol’s tactic is to storm into the building, pushing the door hard so it hits the wall with a “thud” and belt out a loud, deep man-cough.  Next look under doors for occupancy, and swing each door wide open with force to expose any hiding creeps.  If there was any shady character sitting in wait, he’d likely dash out the door with his tail between his legs, and he certainly wouldn't see you as an easy target.  Carol is channeling the Squirrel.  She is showing the world that she is strong, competent and not to be messed with.

            I want each of my daughters to live a life full of adventure.  Of course their safety is of utmost importance, but I don’t want them to be constantly looking over their shoulders in fear or feel haunted by endless What ifs.  My hope is that they will face their fears with confidence, take control of their lives and Be the Squirrel!

The Legacy of My Daughters’ Dead Mother

            That would be me, only I’m not dead yet.  And I don’t plan to be among the deceased any time soon.  Unfortunately the end of my life is inevitable and occasionally I think about what I will leave behind someday, what lessons my children or students might say I taught them.  I’m not talking shoe-tying or arithmetic.  Rather, will I be a voice in their head that inspires them to do good things?  Or will they merely remember my mistakes so they can successfully avoid making them, too.

            So one day in the future if my daughters, or one of the other children in my life, claim they learned one of these nuggets of wisdom from me I will do a happy dance in my urn.  Better yet, they will confess to it while I’m still around and kicking and I will truly celebrate.  (And Mom and Dad – I thank you for teaching me these things, too!)

            So kids…Listen Up:

Perfection is a Myth.  Like hanging a picture on the wall that never-seems-straight-from-all-angles so looking at it makes you crazy and you can’t-leave-it-alone but can never-get-it-just right, seeking perfection does not bring happiness.  Don't try to hide that scar, but DO tell the story of the epic adventure when it happened.  You are human.  You might have a wart, a blemish, or wrinkle.  Every single thing that makes us “not perfect” adds character to who we are.  I laugh too loud, am as graceful as a three-legged elephant and have unruly hair, but I do enjoy life!  That’s good enough for me.

Be Proud of Yourself at the End of Each Day.  Take time to reflect on all the great stuff you accomplished, but also pay attention to that nagging feeling that erupts from time to time.  That feeling that comes when you didn’t help the scrawny kid when he dropped and splattered his lunch across the floor while everybody laughed.  You can’t turn back time, but you can do better next time.  If it is something you can fix, with an apology or a ‘thank you’, then promise yourself to fix it tomorrow.

Be Kind.  If somebody around you is acting like a butt-head, assume they are having a bad day.  An offer of help, a tiny compliment or a kind word may turn them around.  Of course, some people really ARE butt-heads and you should just steer clear!  Use your best judgment, but never stoop to the butt-head level yourself.

Don’t Take Yourself Too Seriously.  Since we can’t be perfect we make mistakes, say stupid things or embarrass ourselves.  I try to keep my kids humble by embarrassing them in public whenever possible.  Remember that by nature teenagers are embarrassed by their parents, so why not make it count!?  I like to sing while shopping, make silly puns at every opportunity and call my kids by goofy nicknames.  They have learned to not worry so much about what people think of them.  I like that.

Be Humble.  This doesn’t mean that you can’t celebrate your greatness, but don’t think you are better than someone else because of it.  You aced that test?  Betty got a C?  She was probably up late playing her violin in the symphony last night.  We all shimmer in the right circumstances.

Respect Living Things.  (Within reason, of course – parasitic mosquitos and ants swarming your kitchen are free game as far as I’m concerned.)  It is not cute, funny or heroic to squish a small creature or harass a larger one.  Some people think my younger daughter may have taken this one too far, as she has been known to “rescue” a fly from a spider’s web to nurse it back to health.  But if an animal is not harming you (no matter how creepy it may be) and is minding its own business, you mind YOUR own business and leave it be.  And if said animal is a pet of yours, it is your job to keep it healthy AND happy.  Besides, spreading happiness feels good.

           

            Some days I see my kids spreading kindness and I feel like the best parent in the world!  At other times, during those bickering-snarling scream-fests, it seems like we have a long way to go.  All I can do is keep trying, modeling and smiling, in hopes that our kids will be good people and do good things.  Like a pocketwatch heirloom passed down to me, I hope to pass something meaningful on to the children in my life. And it ain't likely gonna be money!

Deer in Rut - Human in Heat??

     

It’s that time of year again.  A time to keep an eye on your dogs and children if you live in a town like I do, where roaming deer are as common a sight as scampering squirrels.  Most of the year these large and powerful brown-eyed animals are relatively bashful and will stay out of your way.  But we are entering autumn, the Deer Season of Love.

            The sensible doe is generally not a concern unless she is protecting a vulnerable young’un.   However the larger bucks have by now grown their full tangle of antlers and are itching for some action. When in rut, the overly amorous males don’t take kindly to any interference in their quest for a mate, so when you see one of these horny fellows, you’d better give ‘em a wide berth.  (Did you ever wonder about where the term ‘horny’ may have come from?)  The buck’s sole job for the next three months or so is to convince as many females as possible that they would be a worthy contributor of DNA for their offspring – (“father” is too strong a word for these promiscuous beasts).  They won’t think twice before skewering a barking dog or pinning an inconvenient human to a tree, just ask my Labrador.

            You’ll see two bucks in a face-off, locking horns and showing off for the does.  Some of the females roll their eyes and walk away in boredom.  While others, usually the younger and less experienced, watch this ridiculous display of manhood with excitement.  These bucks must show their alpha status by standing their ground, showing off their impressive rack of antlers and outshining competitors in order to spread their seed among the local herd.  The younger, smaller bucks have to pick their battles.  They mostly let the big boys get the attention while they practice and learn, only occasionally getting lucky with a doe.

            Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?  After all, humans are animals too. 

It all starts in middle school, when boys’ antlers are merely nubs.  The young male humans constantly try to out-obnoxious each other to gain attention.  The more adolescent girls that giggle or run away, they figure, the better – at least they got their attention.  Then in high school the boys’ horns are more visible as they try to outperform one another in organized sports.  Donning grass-stained uniforms, they strut around with shoulders thrown back in their attempt to get the girls to notice and blush, and accept a ride home in their beat-up jalopy.  Of course the level of “hotness” of the car the boy drives has direct correlation to number of rides accepted – maybe the car is the human version of antlers?

Stop by any tavern in any college town and you will witness quite a display of humans in rut.  Often the young men are boisterous and loud, competing in pool games and dart throwing competitions.  The young females will be sprinkled throughout the room, discreetly watching the display and weighing the pros and cons of each alpha male.

If your trip down memory lane doesn’t jibe with the above dating scene, remember the example of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.  He wasn’t allowed to play in the reindeer games, but he eventually found his voice and stood up for equality and acceptance…and he got the girl in the end!  There is more than one path to romance and love, and fortunately for humans it is common for the nice guy to get the girl in the end.

Luckily for humans, we tend to be monogamous and mate for life, and therefore spend only a short period of our lives acting like fools to win love.  Once we have our mate it merely takes a little kindness and affection to snuggle up with our loved one.  The poor deer have to go through the dreaded dating scene every autumn for their entire lives in order to get lucky!

So if you are one of the lucky ones, take some time during this crisp and cool season for some kindess, affection and a snuggle.  In the meantime, keep your dogs on leash and an eye on your adventurous children!

(On a similar note, enjoy an account of a fourth grade class receiving a sex-ed lesson from some amorous deer:  http://isfulloflife.blogspot.com/2013/04/deer-mating.html)

DISCLAIMER:  I am merely a nature lover, not a scientist.  All statements made about any species are simply my own uneducated observations mingled with a smidge of research on Wikipedia.  Never take my words as Truth!!!   

A Sense of Time

            I grew up in a house full of clocks.  No, really.  My parents never saw a clock they didn’t love.  However they only brought home the most interesting or quirky.  Kind of like a clock orphanage.

            Just about every wall in every room had at least one time piece clinging to it.  Not a single one of those clocks contained a battery or electric wire (until the Atomic Clock arrived after we had all grown up).  That means that they are all powered by springs, cogs, gears and pendulums.  In other words, REAL clocks, with beautiful wooden cases and unique faces adorned with numbers in curlicue script or bold roman numerals.  Clocks that ticked at different tempos and volume. 

A visitor to the house might jump from their seat at noon when all the clocks clanged the announcement of a new hour at once.  The Westminster chime of the grandfather clock was regal and slow, like a King marching into the hall.  I can remember patiently waiting below the Cuckoo Clock for up to ten minutes, staring at the little hinged doors so I wouldn’t miss a peek at the brightly colored bird when it popped out to chirp off the time.  So often I would get distracted and be looking away at The Moment, and I would have to wait a whole-nother hour to catch a glimpse of the feathered fellow. My favorite little antique mantel clock banged out the hour like a rapid-fire machine gun, and the chime would be over before you could start counting.

            Every Sunday morning, Dad, in his robe and slippers, would first set his wind-up watch to the standard time.  Then he would move from room to room, cranking, pulling and adjusting each of the pieces.  Dad is tall, but he would use a step stool to safely reach the old ship’s clock above the kitchen door.   On Sundays the freshly wound clocks would chime within a few seconds of each other, but as the week went on their old workings and worn out springs might slow down or speed up time and by Saturday the chimes would spread out over ten minutes.  We always had to estimate the exact time by taking an average of what we saw and heard.  Exact time is overrated.

Dad became pals with one of the few clockworks repairmen in the area.  His sign read The Clock Doctor.  He always had at least one of our time-pieces in his shop for repair or adjustment.  I loved to go with Dad to pick up a newly rehabilitated wall clock, or to drop off the old Grandfather (clock, of course).  While the old guys chatted, I would wander around the dusty, cluttered shop admiring the tiny tools and intricate innards, down to the tiniest pocket watch.  I had a dream of once becoming a time-piece repair person myself.

Our Clock Doctor passed away, and his craft, I’m afraid, is on its deathbed.  Of course there will always be clock fanciers who demand the real thing, and a few true professionals that are expert in the craft of clockworks.  But when you look around you will see mostly fake clocks run by battery or wire.  You can tell by looking at the face.  If there are no key holes for winding, chains with weights or pendulums swinging, you’re looking at a fake.  And use your ears.  Are they ticking?  Chiming doesn’t count because those cheaters can have electronic hourly chimes.

Nowadays people seem more concerned with exact time than the beauty of gracefully passing time.  Digital clocks that are on every other building downtown scream the time down to the minute, and urge you to Hurry!  Hurry, don’t be late!

When was the last time you wound the watch on your wrist (or have you ever)?  Do you even HAVE a watch on your wrist?  The tech generation uses their phones as time-pieces.  My running cohorts are still likely to have time strapped to their wrists, but as of late these watches are much more than that.  The runner’s wrist is often adorned with GPS, beeping every mile traveled,  giving pace per mile, altitude gain, and frankly, taking the simple joy out of getting lost in the woods on your own two feet.

You won’t see anything on my wrist.  I didn’t make a conscious choice - the band broke and I was too lazy to fix the digital timer.  I have found that I’m rather comfortable without it.  I have a decent sense of time.  I know how long most things are going to take and I simply make time for them.  Having grown up with the constant rhythmic cacophony of ticking coming from every room, and the clanging of chimes down to the quarter hour, I think I must be ticking inside by now. 

It is true that my heart beats at about 60 beats per minute when at rest.  Maybe if I look inside my chest I will find springs, cogs and a pendulum marking my time.

Life Lessons from my Dog

     Dogs are the best people.  Of course I love my people, too.  But whenever I find myself admiring a quality in a human friend or loved one, the trait is almost always one that comes natural to a dog.  Think about all of the negative qualities that dogs lack – spitefulness, gossip, vengefulness, plain old selfishness.  There are more, but I prefer to walk on the sunny side of the street. 

Here are just a dozen of the countless lessons for a happy life that I have learned from my beloved labrador, Riley.  (Be thankful that I'm stopping at 12, because I could go on extolling her virtues into the triple digits!)

1.     Don’t be afraid to show enthusiasm.  Wag your tail, jump up and down and bark at least once a day.

2.     You’re never too old to play with toys.

3.     Celebrate the little things.  Be it an extra cookie, spilled milk to lick off of the floor, or a quick belly rub – it is all good

4.     Smile, and others will smile right back at ya, guaranteed!

5.     It never hurts to ask.  Even without words, you never know what a simple waggle and a grin can get you.

6.     Nap.  Often.  I don’t know who came up with the phrase “cat nap” because my Riley out-naps our felines daily.

7.     Loyalty above all else.  Always stand up for your loved ones, whether you’re fending off a chattering squirrel or the menacing and dangerous raccoon (or the threatening human).  Just put your hackles up and show some teeth - that ought to do it.

8.     Be a good listener.  Sometimes it will get you treats.

9.     Kindness and praise always work better than a scolding.

10.  Take a new and different path once in a while – you don’t know what treasure you might find.

11.  Stop to smell the roses, and the grass and the tree trunks and the rocks and fire hydrants – you don’t want to miss ANYTHING!

12.  The best thing in life is a good companion.

I love my dog.

First Day of Fall

            It’s almost as if Mother Nature glanced at the kitchen calendar and realized, “Crap!  Fall is supposed to start today!”  So she ordered up a big ol’ wet and stormy blow for the Pacific Northwest to make sure we knew about it.  And now limbs are down, the ground is soggy and the sky is countless shades of gray (WAY more than 50, for sure).

            The unenlightened (code for non-locals) assume that gray and wet is a constant state of being in these parts, but we have a big secret.  Our little corner of the country enjoys brilliant bright summers complete with sparkling blue skies and waters, indescribable sunrises and sunsets, and more green than you can imagine.

            The problem for sun worshippers comes when fall arrives.  Autumn rings in the 9 month long season of gray.  It is a myth that Seattle and the surrounding neighborhood are washed in a constant sheet of rain.  When you look at precipitation charts, we get far less rain than parts of the country that are associated with sun.  Atlanta, GA, Houston TX and even New York City get 10 more inches of rain annually than Seattle.  Our rainfall is almost exactly the same as Dallas Texas, believe it or not.  Why our rainy reputation?  Because here in The PNW the wetness comes in a slow dribble interrupted by periods of dark rainless clouds with the occasional sideways, turbulent spray.

            Before you start feeling sorry for us during our season of moss, you need to understand we like it this way.  Never is there a time period when the weather is too hot, too cold, too dry or too wet for us to enjoy our incredibly beautiful landscape.  Mountains are climbed, waters are paddled, sailed and surfed, and fresh air is consumed in abundance.  Today we enjoyed a drippy post-storm walk in the woods, and were reminded of how the rain still falls in the woods after a storm has passed, as big drops slowly roll off of leaves from trees above and splatter onto your head and face in huge blops.

            Contrary to popular belief we don’t have to bid Mr. Sun adieu for the entire period (equal to the gestation of a human being.)  The sun WILL appear, but much like a brightly wrapped package, it will surprise us, and for a moment we will rejoice and find excuses to spend more time outdoors to bask in its warmth and glory.  We will enjoy the occasional and short-lived gifts of blue sky with warm glow, and even the rare and coveted Snow Day – when roads and schools close and we all congregate in the streets for some old fashioned sledding.

            I’m not going to mourn the loss of summer.  I welcome this season of busy squirrels, fully horned bucks looking for love (leash your dogs – those big horned deer do NOT like their dates interrupted by vigilant mutts…just ask my labrador) and endless shades of green, gray and earthtones. 

I say, Bring it on!

Why Humans Should be Marsupials

(in 500 words, more or less)

            Our babies come out not quite ready for the human world.  Let’s face it, their first tiny cries scream, “Put me back!  Put me back, NOW!”  In fact, I’m pretty sure those little pink wiggly creatures are practically a different species for the first three or four months of their post-womb existence.  And I think I know why.

            We humans are supposed to be marsupials. Yep, those mammals from down-under have it all figured out, and we could learn a lesson or two from them.  The main thing that makes a marsupial a marsupial is that nifty little flesh-pocket that the females have, ingeniously outfitted with natural body heat, the rhythm of Mom’s heartbeat and an endless source of milk.

            For all of us who have had our own children, we know that the tiny infant’s needs are quite simple:  Milk, sleep, human warmth and more milk.  Soothed by the voices of family, the baby gets stronger by the day until after twelve or so weeks, she is ready to interact with the bigger environment, grab at things and try sitting up.  That’s when she’s ready to leave the pouch.

            Every day you see parents imitating kangaroos without even knowing it.  Go to the nearest family hangout (children’s museum, playground) and you’ll see several Mommas with human-made cloth contraptions strapped to their chests with a tiny human inside.  Baby is secure, warm and close to the milk-wagon.

            I have been ranting about this for years, and THEN I came across a super-interesting theory* about human gestation that totally blew my mind!  Get this – they said that way back in the time of dinosaurs - okay, not really, humans weren’t around then – but way back in time before we can even imagine what life was like, our human ancestors likely didn’t give birth until around 12 months of gestation!!  There were two main factors that shortened our pregnancies to 9 months.  First of all, we got up off of all fours and gravity started making it more difficult for our bodies to hold onto that baby for so long.  Also we started getting smarter, and therefore our brains (and skulls) grew bigger.  So if we waited a whole year to have our babies, we would never be able to squeeze their fat little heads through our pelvis!

            If we were marsupials we would have the best of both worlds.  We’d give birth to reasonably sized offspring, and then our babies could grow their brains for a few more weeks in the comfort and safety of their mom’s flesh-pocket.  Now, I’m not trying to instigate a new plastic surgery trend of skin grafts stretched across our abdomens, although that would make bikini season rather interesting.  I guess we’ll just keep doing our best to imitate the marsupials with fabric baby-slings, front-packs and other things strapped to our chests and make the best of our slightly inferior pouchless human bodies.

*This is where I would cite where to find that theory, but since my mind is like a steel trap-door, that information escaped me long ago.  If you know, you're welcome to share.