Father's Day....by Lisa

Many of us have mixed feelings about one or both parents, and for some reason that seems to resonate more with me on Father’s Day. I’m the oldest child, and that gave me the privilege of having time alone with my parents when I was little. This turned out to be especially valuable even after my sister was born, because I still got time alone with my dad while he entertained me and mom was home with the baby. I was a real daddy’s girl—my dad could do no wrong. My mom later said, “You always doted on him.” I think she said it in an eye-rolling kind of way. In those days my dad took me to the demolition derby, fishing in the creek, and walking in the hills behind our house. He scolded me when I intentionally stepped on a ladybug. We often went from our home in Pennsylvania to visit his parents in upstate New York, which I loved. We would go fishing in the creek or try to catch the big catfish that lived under the bridge on their gravel road. Seems like we have always spent a lot of time together in the car. After my parents divorce, my mom moved us 150 miles away to the shelter of her parents, so we had to go back and forth to see dad. One summer he took us on us on a month-long camping trip out west, it was one of the trips of a lifetime. He bought a trailer (not a pop-up but a real hard-sided camper) with shower and kitchen, and we drove all the way to the west coast and back. It was a trip filled with lots of driving (and I was only 14 so couldn’t help), and photography. Know what happens when you take 2 kids on vacation and give them each a camera? You get lots and lots of pictures of all the same things. I still have those pictures and the trip was 1978. The colors have faded a lot, but the memories I hope to always have. We fed peanuts to birds in the Rocky Mountains, where there was snow on the ground and we were wearing shorts. My sister toured the grand canyon on horseback. The heat didn’t work in the camper so we warmed our feet on cold mountain mornings by turning on the oven and resting our feet on the open oven door (don’t try this at home). My dad grew a beard (mostly reddish with some gray), and I guess we went to Laundromats but I don’t really remember that part.

Once when I was maybe 5 years old, I almost drowned. We were visiting my mom’s family near Lake Michigan, and my dad and I had ended up at a public beach. We hadn’t brought swim gear but he let me splash in the surf a little since it was hot. I kept going farther and farther out, and I didn’t know how to swim, and soon the waves picked me up and I couldn’t touch bottom. I could see boats farther out, but couldn’t turn around to try to flag my dad down for help. I was swallowing water and thought I would be carried away. My dad suddenly came charging into the water and pulled me out, realizing I couldn’t help myself. I could and spit and sputtered until I could catch my breath on the sand.

My dad built me a dresser and bed frame out of wood, and it’s really beautiful. He also made me a jewelry box—he’s very handy and could probably build a house from the ground up with his bare hands and some tools. He fixed up a ’67 camaro for me when I was in high school, which made me the envy of many of the boys. I do get mesmerized whenever I see a muscle car, new or old, in traffic, probably thanks to my dad. He taught me how to catch nightcrawlers during a rainstorm, how to check the oil and tire pressure and trans fluid levels on a car, and how to tie my shoes. And he practiced counting change with me a lot. It’s because of him that I love nature and the outdoors, and anything made of wood, and things made of glass (he’s a ceramic engineer).

As an engineer, my dad worked mostly in factories in small towns. Factories that were noisy, hot, cold, and probably not the cleanest. As a manager, he at times had to cross picket lines of angry workers in order to do their jobs to try to keep the business afloat. He helped me a lot financially to get through college, which was very important to him and to me because I had a child long before I finished college. One day as I drove to work, I came around the bend and saw the big, beautifully landscaped complex, and I was struck by how his work in those noisy, hot, cold, and dangerous factories, and his provision for me, gave me the tools to work in a place that is clean, safe, and beautiful, where I make more money than he would have ever imagined. I was in my 30’s, and I called him that day to thank him and to let him know that his desire for his daughter to have something better had indeed been fulfilled. I wanted him to know I appreciated it and had been a good steward of what he too had worked for.

My dad is in his 70s now, and is pretty healthy except for that little bit of prostate cancer. In my mind and in my heart though, he is still a lanky 30 year old with dark hair, running across the back yard playing kickball, 2 against 1, with me and my sister. 

The Animal Shelter....by Lisa

I discovered a new form of inexpensive entertainment—going to the animal shelter. There’s one not far from where I live, a really nice one that doesn’t smell bad, that is clean and bustling with busy volunteers—you know, the people wearing sweaty t-shirts and shorts, with sweaty brows and chapped hands, who do so much for so little recognition. They are the ones who stop mopping long enough to tell you that Tiger is a really good dog, sweet with people, good with other dogs, and would make a great pet. The ones who spend hot summer days walking a series of dogs, both hoping that a forever home will be found before time runs out. And time does run out for some, because space is limited and the influx of pets needing new homes never really goes out, they just keep coming in, seeking shelter, solace, and another chance. There’s Dweezel, the foxhound/pit bull mix, with the white body and brown head, who doesn’t bark or jump when you talk to him. Then there’s Cuddles, with her big ears, who drinks and drinks and drinks and then has to pee and pee and pee, so she needs a special family that will limit her water so she can have a better quality of life. And there’s Ella, the pretty and docile Rottweiler. Where I live, there are a few breeds that aren’t allowed—breeds that are frequently seen in the shelter. The usual list of supposed hooligans: German Shepherds, Chows, Pit Bulls, Rottweilers, and Doberman Pincers. Sadly, for the most part, these breeds can make good family pets. And when they are mixed breeds, say Shepherd and Lab, they are great—loyal, loving, friendly, smart. Some weeks there are many young pit bulls. They sit and look at you with their wrinkled foreheads, their quiet seriousness beckoning you to love them. The next weekend they are gone—I’m not sure if they found homes. Did I tell you they have cats? Tiny crying kittens by the litter, grey tabbies, orange tabbies, white cats, black and white cats, long haired and short haired cats. Some days, many of the cats have freshly shaved bellies with brand new scars, so that they can’t create more needy kittens. Visitors and volunteers make them purr with contentment. Won’t you take just one home? Actually, two would be a big help, and they will keep each other company. I like Jenny, she’s 8 months old and has a new scar on her belly. She has short hair and big green eyes, and she loves to be held. Maybe Gabby could get used to having a cat around. Well, if you can’t take a pet home, can you at least leave a few dollars behind to help with their food and vet bills? Here’s a link to Petfinder, in case you need to open that little empty space in your heart and home where love expands to include one more creature.  http://www.petfinder.com/index.html

No Wahooman....by Jodi

I remember when we had just one shih tzu and we decided a girl might be the next one. We loaded up the car and went to Westminister to look. There was an asian woman with a dish towel over the dogs face while she brushed him. If that wasn't scary enough there was a big boy staring at us and told my 6th grade son, he liked his titties! He handed me this tiny 6 week old black and white puppy that was supposed to be a shih tzu puppy. I whispered to Dan and Travis this was not a shih tzu puppy! Needless to say, we left. They were scary people and we didn't want scary dogs!

One day Dan said there was a girl shih tzu who needed a home on Craig's List. She was 7 months old and the people would bring the dog to our house, she could stay the weekend. We all were home and they brought her over, she ran through the house, she was beautiful. Wrigley ignored her at first, then he jumped up on to the bed and started barking at her. It was so funny, after he barked at her they were friends forever. She didn't sleep with that Mommy but has slept in our bed with us since day 1. She came named Sidney and that is how we got her. She was free on Craig's List, what a bargain!

We had Wrigley and Sidney for awhile and they happily lived with us. They played dinosaur, barking and growling together. I kept telling Dan we needed another one. I survived my stroke the year before and I could be home with him. One day I was teaching class and he sent me a picture of a shih tzu puppy! He asked me to look at him on Saturday morning, we went, he was cute but too big and appeared to be attached to the boy. We got in the car and he showed me a picture of more adorable shih tzu puppies. I agreed we needed to look at them. We went to Rolling Hills and there were 2 males. The one was brown, black and white. He was tiny, a bird could have carried him away! He weighed 1.8 pounds and we bought him. We named him Boone and we loved him. Wrigley and Boone get along famously but Boone and Sidney are still getting acquainted. Slowly buy surely, they make daily contact. Wrigley is laid back and likes his belly and ears rubbed, he loves the spa, he adores his mama! Sidney is Dan's dog, she sticks out her little pink tongue and Dan rubs her back. Boone is like a bunny, he darts around, he loves to play outdoors and he does this adorable little thing with his paws so that looks like he is praying!

I can't believe we have 3 shih tzus! I tell Dan that it isn't a farm unless we have 5 or more...LOL. We love the ones we're with types, we all cuddle with them all. They get their tummies rubbed, they get their cookies and they shred up all the tissues they can shred! We love our shih tzus! They are cuddly and very lovable! Everyone has his own personality! We love our doggies.

No Wahooman, you may not have Boonie! ;)  

A Fresh Start....by Jodi

The last time I moved was 5 years ago, from Long Beach to La Palma in California. We moved from Los Angeles County to Orange County. In that time a lot of things have happened...I married Dan, Travis went from elementary school to high school, we have 3 shih tzus, I changed jobs and I had a little thing called a stroke, yeah, a few things have changed! More good things than bad things but changes without a doubt.

We now live in the OC, ya' know, the Orange County Housewives, I resemble them in no way, shape or form. My friends have been known to call me Jo, here and there, that's all. I never thought I would but I do enjoy living here. It's very quiet, the people are very friendly and they have everything you need in the OC. When I lived in Long Beach, I thought it was the be all, end all, but it's not. I love the LBC but I seldom go there, it's easier to get around here and it is more wide open and less crowded. The LBC has even more things there but the OC is a simpler and less hectic way to live.

I grew up in Merrillville, Indiana. It's just about 50 miles south of downtown Chicago. I tell people, it was a great place to grow up, it was at that. We had snow, Friday night football games, the "big city" and a cool mall. I have "gone back" to that area to live, twice, as an adult. Needless to say, it didn't work. I stayed about a year, both times and then had to leave, to keep my sanity. I am a California girl, as difficult as it is to admit!

For the first time, I left when I was 19, came to California for vacation and cashed in my round trip ticket within 3 days. I tell people that I followed a boy here, which I did. I followed my high school sweetheart, we went on to live in New Orleans and Chicago and now I have lived in California longer than I lived anywhere else. It's where I grew up, had my child, went to school, got divorced and re-married here. I gave birth to a native and I married a native, both rarities in southern California. I think about living other places, for some reason Tennessee beckons me there and I think about moving "home" again, but I know my "boys" love this state and won't ever leave. Why should they? It's got beautiful weather almost everyday, you can surf and ski in the same day (I do neither) and we are very progressive in our thinking and way of life. It is close to perfection for most, those who don't like it, haven't really seen the real side of it. Maybe they might be a little jealous? Who really knows? But, why leave? The earthquakes, the cost of living, the government and the way of life can really be too much sometimes. Look at the OC housewives and their lives, look at Hollywood or the traffic.

Everything I want or need can be found pretty close to me. We are between Los Angeles and San Diego, we hurt for nothing. Shopping, education, medical, government, it's all here. In Chicago, I long for the tall buildings, great museums and the lakefront and in the French Quarter of New Orleans I miss the uptown trolley, Cafe Du Monde and the jazz. Everyplace has its something, I miss people, places and things each day but when I'm away from California, I miss things too, it's a vicious circle.

I have rented a moving truck a few times, I used to joke that my sofa lived more places than most Americans. I used to think about driving a semi-truck, Californians will understand when I tell them I have thought about calling Debbie Dootson more than once. I've rented a storage container here and there, once for over a year. I have borrowed and paid for plenty of moving boxes and bought my fair share of newsprint to wrap things in. I probably could have bought a newspaper business by now.

It's a pain to move but it can always be erased. Enjoy the fresh start, Wahooman!

Moving…Along, Up, Forward....by Lisa

I’m moving soon, so I’ve got moving on the brain. I’m moving to a bigger space, and I’m really looking forward to it. Almost 2 years in 1000 sq feet has been pretty cramped and I can’t get my crafts out and leave them out; I’ve missed that. Can’t wait for the holidays so I can use those cookie molds to make some paper molds instead—fewer calories, less filling!  My place is currently an obstacle course of furniture that’s too big and boxes that are too numerous to count. I can’t wait for the view of the lake, and the sound of the fountain at night.

I’ve lived in this area for 27 years, having moved to Cincinnati right before my son was born. I was born in Pennsylvania, then lived in different parts of Indiana before going to Purdue, then moved to Cincinnati, and I’ve been here ever since. I feel like a native, know how the natives talk, but sometimes I am outed by someone from “The Region” who knows the dialect. I’ve lived near UC, in a 3^rd floor apartment full of old-world charm (translation: total dive) in a neighborhood full of diversity, and I’ve lived in a nice house in the mostly-white and boring suburbs. It’s nice here, a nice place to raise a family. My children were both born here, at the same hospital, 11 years apart.

Moving makes me think of fond memories of places I’ve lived before. Like the years in Pennsylvania when I was little, and we had a live Christmas tree, and the cat climbed the tree! That was hilarious, although I’m sure my parents didn’t think so at the time. At that house was the sandbox my dad built for me, and sometimes in the summer, when my younger sister had to go to bed earlier than me, I was allowed to put WATER in the sandbox. That was living! My dad would hold me up so I could see into the bird nest in the blue spruce tree he had planted in the yard. And I would take pictures with his old Brownie camera—I still have those pictures, maybe the album would be called “Fast times on Elizabeth Road,” lol. When we lived in Bluffton, we would walk “uptown” in the summer, and buy candy at the dime store. Is there such a thing as a dime store anymore? We learned to bait our own fishhooks with live worms, and catch nightcrawlers during a late night rainstorm. Have you ever done that? It’s pouring down rain, and you’re trying to hold an umbrella and a flashlight and grab the nightcrawler before he goes back down into the ground, and you have to squeeze him until he gives up the fight so you can pull him out and put him in your bucket. There was the spring when the window wells were filled with toads of all sizes, and the time the cat brought home a live baby rabbit. I remember my great-grandmother feeding a baby rabbit with a dropper at my grandparents home in upstate New York. We caught tadpoles from the creek in an empty pop can and put them in my aquarium, and let them go in the river when they became frogs. I sound like an outdoor girl, huh? I am at heart, I love the animals and plants, and creeks and rivers and oceans, and mountains and clouds and sky.  

So I’m moving again, moving my stuff around one more time, for a little more breathing room. In the meantime, I think I’ll go walk around the lake.