I'm an explorer!

129

That's me on the left and my sis on the right. I was maybe 8 or 9. Skinny! 

I grew up loving exercise.

Okay wait. That is wrong. Let me rephrase that.

I grew up loving to explore.

I can remember being very young, may be 9 or 10? and I would get up at 6am on Saturday, make myself a bullseye (egg in a window, bird in a nest - you know, a piece of bread with an egg fried in the center), and watch the morning cartoons on the tv:  Electrawoman and Dynagirl, Thundercats, Voltron (my favorite was when the spaceships were cats),  Superfriends (with the Wonder Twins of course)... the list could go on, but after cartoon time, I would put on my tennis shoes or my sandals, or my boots, sometimes I'd kiss my mom (who would be up by then with her cigarette and coke) on the cheek and go on a 'walk'. My mother never asked where I was going and knew I wouldn't be home for four or five or even six hours. I was going off to explore. I don't know how she did it - my mother worried about everything. But I guess we lived in a small town and my family lived in a very close community, and she felt safe that nothing would happen to me. As I walked out the playroom door, I would hear her say, "Be home for dinner!" and off I would go.

My walks took hours. I never knew where I was going. Sometimes I'd go behind the community clubhouse and see where that led me, or I'd take the path behind the Cooper's house and go into the woods. I would walk and look at trees and rocks and streams. Sometimes, I'd go to the abandoned tree house in the woods, or sometimes I'd go to the pond down the road. One time, just for the heck of it, I walked all the way into town! Then I called my dad to bring the truck and come and pick me up. Granville, the way I walked, was about six miles from my house. It doesn't seem like much now, but then it was really far away! Sometimes, I would walk in the other direction. Just to explore. Just to see what I could find. I would call my dad from the craziest places, and he would get in the truck and come and pick me up. No cell phones, so I'd have to find a pay phone or ask a stranger if I could use their phone to call my mom. Sometimes I'd have to call collect. Worst case, I'd have to walk home, although I'd try to find a shorter route! Almost always, my mom would answer the phone, I'd tell her where I was and she'd locate my dad and twenty or thirty minutes later he'd pick me up. We'd talk in the truck all the way home. He was never once angry or upset. Sometimes he'd ask how I ended up where I ended up, but since he was the one that had first taken me on long walks at seven or eight years old, he never scolded me for exploring. Some of my best memories are my long walks with my dad.

For me, growing up, Saturday afternoons and Sunday afternoons were times to explore. It didn't really matter the weather, I was out there finding that abandoned building, sneaking into locked houses that were for sale (I have this weird thing where sometimes doors just open for me. Wasted talent!), watching frogs in the pond, finding rocks or cool leaves. The world was my treasure and I just wanted to find out everything I could about it. I explored my world like that until I was 13 or 14, I think.

I don't remember why I stopped exploring. School got harder. I went from not caring that I didn't have a lot of friends, to really wishing I had a lot of friends. I gained a tremendous amount of weight when I turned 15. I was put on a bunch of hormones and steroids which didn't help the situation any. But somewhere in my mid-teens exploring shifted to exercise. To regimented movement. And it didn't take long for me to realize I hated exercise. Maybe the switch happened when I tried out for the track team, someone made fun of my slow running and I quit. Or in gym class when I was afraid to embarrass myself and the gym teacher told me if I wasn't so fat I wouldn't be embarrassed. I don't know. Maybe it was the neighbor boys' endless teasing. Maybe it was the chaos at home, but the net result was that I quit exploring.

And maybe that is the crux of it. I started to see exercise as harmful, not as fun or adventurous. Gym class was an opportunity for others to tease and for me to demonstrate just how uncoordinated I truly was. No one said, "Hey, exercise doesn't mean you have to be able to hit a ball perfectly! Go love what you love! Go swim! Go explore! That is exercise!" I just gave up on moving. And for 30 years I have seen exercise as torture.

Until recently. Until last summer. Until I started running. I didn't love running. But I loved moving. I started to remember how I enjoyed being outside. How I enjoyed exploring. Don't get me wrong, those first months of running were exercise and they were not an adventure! But as I moved, I think I woke up my muscle memory. I started to think about moving not as torture, but as fun. Part of it was seeing my daughter play lacrosse as well. Seeing the girls on the field move in such grace reminded me of the things that made me feel graceful. Swimming, exploring. I think that is why I kept running even when I knew something was wrong with my knee. I was terrified if I stopped running, this fire I was developing for movement would go out. That once my knee started to heal, I wouldn't have the motivation to go back to moving.

Turns out I was wrong. Maybe it was the walk with my friend Lori when I realized I could go much farther than I thought I could. That no one was going to tease or be mean. For 30 years I had held on in my head to what kids in school had said about me - I was fat, ugly, not good at sports, etc. and used it as an excuse to abstain from exercising. Those old recordings in my head faded. I started to hear new ones - or maybe in my case, older ones. The ones that said movement was adventure!

It helped that I had motivation. I took on being a full-time mom. The relationship I thought would last, ended. Somewhere in that mix, I started to get to know my Self again. I unlocked my heart and found that I missed exploring. Not just exercising, but exploring everything about me! Looking in to see what was there. Turns out, exploring showed me that I hadn't always hated my body. In fact, there was a time when I was comfortable in my own body. There was a time when my body didn't feel like my enemy. And I started to embrace my own joy.

That translated into coming to see exercise not as torture, but release! I don't get to explore much right now, seeing as I'm not really allowed yet to go for long walks or bike rides. But going to the YMCA 4 or 5 times a week, putting on my headphones, escaping into my workout mix, singing along in my head, closing my eyes...  I could care LESS if anyone thinks I am weird on my machine sweating until I can barely open my eyes for the salt, exercise has become fun! When I close my eyes I think about all the things I want to do. I think about the people I love. I think about places I want to explore: Africa, or Greece, or Mexico, or Hawaii, or a thousand places! Or even exploring my own back yard. No longer is exercise torture. It is hard work, but I have tapped into that part of myself that remembers how much I love to explore.

I'm remembering what passion feels like. What being alive feels like. What loving myself and the world feels like. In the process of making friends with my body and loving my body and remembering that I am a woman who likes to explore, things have changed.

Exploring my true self and embracing her has made all the difference.

Peace,

MaryKate

Those Weirdos are your Tribe!!

118

I learned this week, again, what family means. And what it doesn't mean. It was another hard lesson that I seem to continually draw into my life.

Michael J Fox once said,  "Family is not an important thing. It's everything."

I realized this week how true that is.

Family has very little to do with blood. Although in my case, I am incredibly fortunate to have such a wonderful and supportive sister and father and extended family. I am also amazed at what a tremendous daughter I have now in my life.

What I was reminded of this week, is that family is a space in your heart. It is feeling safe. It is feeling loved. It is fighting. It is knowing you can tell the truth - even if your truth is wrong - and be loved. It is knowing when things get difficult, you have someone who loves you and will stick with you. It is crying under the kitchen table and having your dad not know what to do - and having your mom say, "Just let her cry honey. There isn't anything you can do, but let her cry. She'll be okay."

I am so loved. And I can't believe every single day how big my family is. I move through my life trying to emulate what it is to love and as a result, the people I choose to have in my life love me - and if they don't? Then I guess it is better that those people get weeded out, however that happens.

Because in the end, my family are the people that stand by me. They are the people who work through the hard stuff. They are the people I come home to. And it isn't always easy. Families have fights. Families struggle. Families have financial difficulties and personality conflicts. My daughter once said about her brother, "I don't care if we sometimes don't get along, I got his back." And I think that is what it means to be a family.

And maybe family is a poor choice of words. Because there are many unhealthy families in the world. Many families who punish each other instead of supporting each other. Maybe, like the quote below, the best word is tribe:

And sometimes, people I think are part of my 'tribe' or my family, turn out not to be. They choose to leave. They choose to not want to work through the hard stuff. The complications. They don't think working through the challenge is worth it. And that is okay. I have had that same experience where I know working through the struggle isn't what is in the cards. Sometimes you have to make the difficult choice of walking away. It hurts and it is complicated but that is when those who do want to be part of your tribe become even more valuable.

I just know that for me, true family isn't about blood. It is about love. It is about honesty. It is about finding people that honor my heart and journey - and want to share their journey with me. It is about people who are as happy to be part of my life as I am happy to be part of theirs.

So, if you are part of my tribe -  and if you read my blog consider yourself part of my life - then thank you. And know I love you. And when you are done reading, remember to appreciate the people in your tribe. Call your partner,or mom or dad or best friend or sister or brother or son or daughter or niece or nephew or or or...

Because as I have been reminded again this week, there is nothing more valuable than family. Nothing. And there is nothing more valuable than telling the tribe you love, how much you love them.

Peace,

MaryKate

The Good Daughter

82/100

I'm struggling today with the concept of what it means to be a 'good daughter'. More than anything, I want to do the 'right' thing, although I know that in life, 'right' is purely perspective. I realize my struggle with making choices is often determined by my issues with perfection and with struggling between self care and being selfish.

My dad is going into surgery again today. He didn't do so well last surgery. This surgery is to remove the rest of his thyroid. I flew back to Seattle on Thursday and was just settling back in when dad called me upset on Friday to tell me they found cancer in the tumor they removed last week. I? Felt sort of numb. He told me what the doctor had said and also told me the doctor would be calling on Saturday afternoon to talk to me. After I hung up I called my sister. I couldn't get her on the phone so I started looking up plane tickets. I had planned on flying out on Sunday to be with him for his surgery on Monday (today, actually right now as I write this). Dad told me not to go. He told me he was fine. He told me he didn't think I needed to go when I had just flown home. I didn't care, I felt like the "RIGHT" thing, the "GOOD" thing to do was to be there. Isn't that what a good daughter would do?

I stopped looking for plane tickets for a moment and I sat and looked at my house. It was a disaster (still is actually). All I could think about was how tired I was. I want to state for the record... I am not a very good caretaker. I am a good manager, I am a good  cook. I am very loving, but I am not a very good caretaker. Plus? I hadn't had sleep for almost two weeks. Or spotty sleep at best. The thought of getting on that plane and flying back across the country felt overwhelming. I felt like any capacity I had to be a good caretaker was empty. But not going? Felt horrible. It felt like I was failing as a daughter. I already feel like I am failing for being so far away, now dad was about to face surgery again (after not doing so well after the last surgery) and all I could think about was how much I didn't want to get back on a plane? I kept thinking about all the 'stuff' in my office from the week I wasn't there. All the lesson plans I needed to read through all the progress reports I needed to write. And mostly? I just thought about how exhausted I was. And then? I felt bad for thinking about me. Dad is the one going through surgery. Why should I be feeling bad, what were my issues in the face of dad's upcoming surgery? SELFISH SELFISH SELFISH.

I spoke to my sister a little while later. She and I talked about my wanting to go out to Ohio and her feelings about why it wasn't necessary and why it was okay to be staying here and not flying back. And while I was relieved on many levels I still had that voice in my head that said "A good daughter would be there."

I spoke with dad's doctor Saturday morning. He explained that the surgery should be an easy one and that dad should recover pretty quickly. Assuming his heart and kidneys function okay, he should be home by Thursday of this week. His doctor is wonderful and I already wrote about how I admire and respect him, and the doc said that treatment wasn't difficult and iodine radiation was a two day process - not like chemo or other more drastic forms of cancer treatment, Most thyroid cancer cells retain this ability to absorb and concentrate iodine. This provides a perfect "chemotherapy" strategy. Radioactive Iodine is given to the patient with thyroid cancer after their cancer has been removed. If there are any normal thyroid cells or thyroid cancer cells remain in the patient's body (and any thyroid cancer cells retaining this ability to absorb iodine), then these cells will absorb and concentrate the radioactive "poisonous" iodine. Since all other cells of our bodies cannot absorb the toxic iodine, they are unharmed. The thyroid cancer cells, however, will concentrate the poison within themselves and the radioactivity destroys the cell from within. No sickness. No hair loss. No nausea. No diarrhea. No pain. 

I feel better about the treatment and the prognosis after talking to the doctor, and I feel like getting healthy myself (continuing my triathlon workouts, eating better, etc.) is one of the best things I can do right now... but as I sit in my office during my lunch time, writing this while dad's surgery is taking place, I realize taking care of myself is important... but I still feel bad I am not in Ohio. And I suppose that is just part and parcel for this sort of thing.

I think recognizing my guilt and not denying it, but not letting it run my life is important. It is part of getting healthy. I'm not sure I am doing the 'right' thing by not going to Ohio, but what I know? Is that continuing to see things in a RIGHT vs. WRONG or GOOD daughter vs. BAD daughter duality is not healthy. Life seems to come in shades of grey and as I learn to let go of punishing myself for what I perceive to be 'bad' I am gaining more confidence and self awareness about who I am and letting go of that image of 'perfection' to become the healthy, amazing person everyone but me seems to recognize. *smile*

Peace,
MaryKate

Something's Wrong...

69/100

When I was in high school, there was only one thing I truly ever wanted. Well, besides a boyfriend and to like myself. More than anything I wanted to be in our show choir. I had zero self confidence and I could be difficult to get along with. I had a few good friends, but mostly the other kids were okay to me, or they were horribly cruel. Either way, the one thing I always thought I had going for me, was my singing voice. I could sing two and a half octaves. I had clear pitch. I had (and I would like to say, still have) talent. And more than anything, I wanted to be in show choir. Somehow I felt that if I was in show choir I would be 'okay'. It would somehow make me feel like I belonged somewhere. It would make me part of a group of people I admired. I think it made me think I would be special. Anyhow, I auditioned with the idea that it was a forgone conclusion. I auditioned knowing there really wasn't anyone with a better voice or better attitude for show choir. I was a Gleek before anyone even knew what Gleek meant!

My audition was awesome. I hit every note, smiled, showed my enthusiasm. I pretty much worshipped the woman I was auditioning for... and at that time, I still believed that life was fair. I had talent, therefore I would make it. When she posted the list of people who made the show choir and my name wasn't on it? I was... well... crushed is kind of an understatement. I went to her office, determined to be 'okay' with it. I asked her why. And? She said all kinds of platitudes. She fed me lines like, "You don't blend very well. Your voice is too loud." I didn't understand. I was first alto. I HAD TALENT. Damn it. But I started sobbing. I couldn't stop - and I had this vague feeling that something was wrong. That something wasn't true. That I was being lied to.

As I am a teacher now, it must have been so hard for her to watch me cry like that. I want to think that anyhow. I want to still think that about her. I don't want to think that her image was more important than the devastated child in front of her.

I went home. My dad knew how excited I had been about show choir. He asked me how it went. I started crying again. I told him I didn't make it. I told him what she had said. And in a moment that changed my life forever, he gently, but clearly said, "Honey, it has nothing to do with your voice. You didn't get in because you are fat."

"NO!" I screamed. "She isn't like that!! She TOLD me it was because of my voice!" I screamed at him that he just didn't understand. I think I accused him of lying. My dad realized it was a losing argument and just said in that wonderful but slightly condescending voice, "Okay, honey."

But I knew he was right. It was like a lightbulb exploded in my head. I went back to school the next day and watched the rehearsals for show choir and pretended everything was fine. But I knew something was wrong. I knew I had been lied to. I was never able to shake that feeling. I'm not sure I ever really got past it. It has given me a pretty high bullshit meter. Ask my students, they'll tell you. They often *think* I buy their stories about dogs and homework, but they know and *I* know... BS is BS.

Today, when I start to feel that "something is wrong" feeling, I've learned to trust that on some level I  know something isn't right. I'm probably being lied to or more accurately, either I am being inauthentic or someone around me is. Something doesn't 'feel' right. The problem isn't recognizing something is wrong, the problem is figuring out exactly what that 'wrong' piece is. Part of the problem is that often the lying isn't intentional. The other person perhaps believes what he or she is saying. But the net result is that feeling that 'something is off base. Something is wrong..."

Without going into too much private detail, toward the end of my previous relationship, I had that feeling. I couldn't put my finger on what was 'wrong' but I knew something was.  I was crying a lot, I was frustrated. I was in therapy. I had all these pieces but none of them gelled. I had the frame of the puzzle but no box to guide me in putting together the image. Then, one day my best friend, in one succinct sentence said more or less to me, "MK, what you are describing isn't friendship, it's dating!" and all the issues going on in my situation became clear. It was the reality I didn't want to see. That the person I was with was dating... but it wasn't *me*. The same thing happened the next time I got into a relationship. I was sooo invested and then I had another one of those... 'something is wrong' feelings. This time? I had, without the feedback from friend or father, a shining moment of clarity that I could not doubt or look back on. It was only a month later when I was proved correct and the relationship ended.

It seems like once I establish that something is wrong then have that 'ah-ha' moment, I can't pretend I don't see. It is clear and it is a light bulb moment from which I can't turn back. The stark truth. Unsweetned. Bitter. Unavoidable.

I'm having one of those moments in my life again. A feeling that something is 'wrong'. I both dread the moment of knowing and ache for it to show up. That moment when I can't look back and pretend I don't know what's wrong. But I don't know what is worse - knowing that I am about to have one of those moments, or when the moment actually arrives and I say to myself... "oohhhh... crap. That hurts, but now I know the truth of it. THAT's what I am feeling!"

As painful as that moment in high school was, it forged who I am. It taught me to trust that 'something is wrong' feeling. To figure out how to slice through the bullshit to find the authentic self and the (often painful) truth of things. I still lie to myself at times. I think we all do. But as hard as the truth is to hear, I have learned to honor it and respect it - even when it isn't what I want to do.

Honoring my truth is healthy, even when it hurts. Trusting that voice (even when I'd rather ignore it and hide under the covers of my new, comfy bed) takes courage. I'm glad I have people in my life that hold me up and remind me that healthy? Isn't always easy.

Peace,

MaryKate

A letter to my goddaughter...

26/100

My Dearest Madalyn,

I just spoke with your mom. She told me you lost a tooth today and you two had the 'talk'. You know, the one where you two talked about how there was no Tooth Fairy, or Santa Claus, or Easter Bunny. Your mom said you two cried, even though you already knew. That you took the jar down from the shelf, put your tooth in it, shook it a little to see the 'fairy dust' your mom used to sprinkle on your bed and said, "Mom, let's not tell dad. It makes him so happy to think I still believe. I love his smile when I discover my gifts. Oh, and, can I help next time Grant loses a tooth?" Your mom said you were amazed at how many people went into making that magic seem real...

I can't even tell you how proud I am of you. Seeing how much it means to your dad and wanting to let him hold on to that joy even if it's just a little longer? Is a pretty grown up thing to do. I know it can be really hard, that moment when you grow up enough to know there is no Santa. I so clearly remember the day *I* found out. I was at my grandmother's house. My dad and I were on a walk. I was ten, just like you. For some reason I asked him if the Easter Bunny was real. For a moment he stopped walking and just looked at me. He sighed a little and we started walking again. I'm pretty sure he paused because it is almost as hard for a grown up tell a child there is no Santa, as it is for a child to find out. My dad looked at me and I will never forget what he said. He said, "Honey, Santa and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy all live in the land of Imagination. It's a good place and I hope you never stop visiting there."

I didn't really understand my dad when that happened, Mads. I was kind of confused that everyone had lied to me, but I was sooo curious as well. The land of Imagination? What is that? Where is it? How do I find it? I have spent my life seeking the answers to those questions, Madalyn. And you know what I discovered? That while the Easter Bunny, and Santa don't live in our world, that the world of Imagination my dad told me about? Is the most magical world of all. It's the world of dreams, creativity, beauty, passion and hope. 

Madalyn, magic is more than just the Easter Bunny and Santa and the Tooth Fairy. True magic comes when you believe in your imagination. When you trust in your dreams. When you see beauty and magic all around you. I hope with all my heart you remember something. It is something I forget sometimes but maybe you'll remember it better than I. That 'something' is the ability to see magic in every moment of your life. Not the Harry Potter kind, (although that magic is really cool) but the magic of life itself. The magic of seeing each day as the beautiful miracle it is. As the chance it is for you to make your mark on the world. To leave this planet a little better than how you found it. This world is full of mystery and without imagination? You might just miss it all.

No doubt, in school, you will learn all the scientific reasons why the sun comes up and the moon shines. All the logical reasons why the sky is blue and the snow is cold when it comes down. But just because that snow is cold Madalyn, is no reason not to go outside and let it  melt upon your tongue. Because those moments are true magic. The best magic. The magic, that when you take the time to look for it, is all around you every single moment. The magic of parents that love you. The magic of having a brother to share your life with (even when he irritates you sometimes). The magic of having 2(!) boys sit by you at the lunch table. The magic of having friends and a godmother and family who completely adore you. The magic of being part of this world - the magic of being human. 

Magic thrives when you take a moment to appreciate it; when you see that spark of beauty and mystery. And maybe the magic I'm speaking of isn't the 'all-around-the-world-in-one-night-delivering presents' kind, but the story of Santa brings out the magic of the human spirit. It reminds people of the importance of compassion and the value of reaching out and touching the lives of the less fortunate. While Santa may not be real, the legacy of the legend is. 

Magic is in the air, the trees, the water, the stars and most of all, magic is in the heart, Madalyn. And no one can take that away from you. Hold on to thinking miracles and magic are possible! Should you ever forget? I'll be here and I'll remind you. 

No matter what your life brings you, I hope you hold onto that magic and don't lose sight of how it feels to smell a flower, laugh at otters and dance under the stars. I promise if you hold on to your imagination, Madalyn, you'll have the only key you'll ever need to unlock the doorway to The Great Mystery awaiting you. 

With my heart,

MK

ps. Writing this letter Madalyn has helped me touch back into the magic in my own life. For that, I can not thank you enough. Know you and your family are in my thoughts every single day. I can't wait to see you at Christmas. After all, we have cookies to bake (and this year? Perhaps you can help Santa' when he comes!)

"Hey MK, It's Good to See You Back"


17/100


Over the last few months I've had people say to me "Hey MK, it's good to see you back". Both to my face and said about me when I am not in the room. 


Every time I hear it I pause. They aren't referring to me having come to visit, or being in the same room. Nor are they referring to my back as opposed to my front. What they are hinting at is something more elusive... harder to define. They are talking about part of my personality that has shown up off and on for my whole life. 


When I enter into a relationship, (and I don't mean a friendship), that involves emotional (and physical) intimacy... I seem to lose myself. That personality in me that is creative, passionate, funny, independent, unique, curious and even joyful seems to take a backseat to the anxious, nervous, over-analyzing, overly-careful, stressed and controlling personality lurking in the corner. I become less able to trust myself. I lose my 'magic'. I lose that part of myself that often is the part that is the most lovable. 


I grew up being afraid to be vulnerable. It made it difficult for me to keep friends. Worse, it made it hard for me to be honest with others and thus when I did make a friend, I usually lost them pretty quickly. It wasn't really until college and meeting a few wonderful people that put up with me as I learned how to be a friend, that I actually started to trust people enough to be vulnerable and therefore 'friend' material.


And as a friend? I rock. No, really. I do. I'm kind, loving, patient, giving and while at times maybe a little self centered, I often just need a gentle nudge to remember something.  In general, I will jump on the chance to be a part of your life. I'm not a good 'high maintenance' friend. If you need someone that will be there ALL the time, I'm probably not your girl. But if you want someone who is going to love you, be honest with you, cheer you on and let you hang with her while she is on her journey? That's me.


Except in relationships. Somehow I falter. I stumble. I get needy. I get anxious. My ability to trust and be vulnerable skips town. I can be desperate, clingy and I lose a lot of the confidence that makes me who I am. 


I do best in relationships where I am appreciated. Yet I seem to have a great knack for choosing relationships where that is not the case. I used to think I needed validation, but that isn't the best word. It isn't validation I am seeking but appreciation. I can't stress how important it is to appreciate others. Every time I cook a meal for my dad, even ones I don't like so much, he tells me how wonderful it is that I cooked for him. I once wrote: 

After every meal I cook for my dad, he tells me how good it is, how much he enjoys it and how he appreciates our time together. You know, it isn't hard to say those things to someone and it means so much to the one on the receiving end. Being kind to another isn't "enabling low self esteem", being kind nourishes connection and enhances love.

I find appreciation in my friendships and in my family. I realize now that I won't settle for less in a relationship. This could mean I am alone for a while. I used to think I had to be 'in a relationship' to prove that I was okay and (dare I say it?) 'normal'. I  now realize it isn't about being normal, it is about being healthy. If being myself and being healthy means being alone for a while? So be it. I'm good with that. If it means sharing my life with someone who appreciates me and has no problem telling me that? I'm gonna see that as a big, healthy, "SCORE!!!"

Peace,


MaryKate

Tripping the Pet-fantastic
4/100

This morning while making my breakfast, I looked out the window and the color of a stump for a moment reminded me of my cat. Not my current cat, but the cat who first stole my heart - Rubio. The moment passed quickly and I realized what I had done and chuckled to myself. I remembered the day he was born. I had just graduated from college and was about to head to grad school. His mother had been a stray that had wormed her fat bellied, yellow-eyed, squishy-faced mug into my life. I had named her Mukata (meaning 'owl' in some obscure language as I recall...). One day, when I walked into my tiny apartment, Mookie was giving birth in the corner next to the couch. The floor was bloody and she was crying out, I didn't realize what was wrong until I walked over and saw all the kittens. I named them after Shakespeare characters, Romeo (he was adorable), Desdemonda (she was gray with marbled circles on her), Hamlet (who was always confused) and Rubio (who wasn't named after a Shakespeare character, but a cute boy I met in Mexico...)

Mookie's end was tragic... she accidentally drown chasing a raccoon into a pool she couldn't jump out of. The reason I bring it up? Is because of my mother's response. My mother who seldom cried, seldom expressed overt tenderness? Had deeply connected with Mookie. My mom would sit and do puzzles for hours. Mookie would sit on the table with her, keeping her company. She'd sleep above my mom's head on the couch and never demand more of my mother, than my mother was physically or emotionally able to give. When Mookie died, my mother looked at me and said, "Don't ever bring another animal into this house." And I knew, beyond a doubt how deeply my mother was grieving the loss of her pet.

I still miss Rubio. And even though I now have the "Princess" and love her tremendously... there is a place in my heart where Rubio lives and will always live.

I'm not going to make a blanket statement here, but oh wait... yes I am. Pets change lives. Or, pets can change lives. One of the healthiest things I did after my divorce, was get a pet. When I got married I gave up the cat I had adopted at the time. Due to allergies and such, I certainly (although foolishly) did it willingly thinking it would be no big deal to me. But it turned out to be one of those 'painful learning experiences' I've had a few of...  I felt lonely and like something important was missing in my life. Even when my marriage was going well, I wanted a dog or an 'allergy free cat' or *something*. And while I didn't end up getting one, I realize now how deeply pets matter to me. They connect me to my heart and speak deeply to the ability for me to be devoted. They are such bundles of drama, but they are also bundles of warm snuggles on the couch, purrs in the evening, and alarm clocks in the morning. I adore the new addition to my family and I realize how devoted I have become to my little 4 legged monster. This morning, and well... every morning she gets under my feet. Tripping me all the way to the kitchen... for her? love = food. I have a pet with weight issues. This does not surprise me. *chuckle*

Pets give us the opportunity to love. To fill our lives. To connect on a deep level with another being. We don't have to understand their language (although I am CLEAR what the 'I'm hungry' meow sounds like) but we connect with them anyhow.I remember the first cat we had in our family. My father, from the depth of his lungs scolded us "There will be NO cat in this house it is an OUTSIDE cat!" It took two weeks for that cat to be following him everywhere and sleeping on his lap at night. Pets? Are just like that I suppose.

From my kitchen window I can see horses at the farm next door. These horses are show horses. They are absolutely magnificent. And I see the people that pet them, and love them and I think about so many of my students who show horses. Their admiration for their animals truly goes beyond 'pet' and into the realm of 'partner'. They learn to read each other's language: horse to man, man to horse. It is a beautiful and graceful dance they do together.

For so long, I used food to fulfill an empty space in my soul. And while I'd love to say getting a pet will help you lose weight, I don't know that's true. But having a pet that I love and that loves me? Makes walking away from that brownie, just a wee bit easier...

So give your pet a hug today if you have one... if you don't? Consider adopting a pet  from the shelter or pound, I did. If you have room in your life, giving a pet a forever home? Is a gift that can and likely will change your life... I know it changed mine.

Peace,
MaryKate