Here's to the best of you - What I learned this week

It's a simple lesson and something that I've heard a thousand times - if you look for the best or worst in anything, you will find it.

Generally, I consider myself a positive person. But just like anyone, I can be wickedly judgmental and very eager to pull the trigger on people I know and people I don't know.

I realized this week that I've been going astray. I was thinking about someone I'm friends with on my Facebook page. We do not see eye to eye on the issue of guns and gun control, and I believe she is just as passionate about her view as I am about mine. Often I post anti-gun control feeds and anti-Obama remarks. She ignores them all. She does, however, repost, comment and like my posts about saving abused animals, dogs who save people, etc. She, in essence, accepts our differences (which could be viewed by her as the worst in me) and focuses on the things we have in common (which could be viewed by her as the best in me), and I love her for that.

I am not sure what made me think about this so much this past week. I realized that we often tend to view anything we don't have in common with something as 'negative' because someone isn't doing something the way we would do it. I have generally lost my acceptance of people who aren't like me somewhere along the way, and I'm trying to get it back.

It's not that I don't give her or anyone else the same respect she gives me by ignoring things that are of no use to comment on. It's that I do feel that I needlessly judge people who do things differently than me sometimes without ever stopping to think that maybe their way is working for them. Without ever respecting the fact that it's this person's journey, not mine; this person's struggle, not mine; and hopefully someday this person's triumph in whatever struggle they are enduring.

I want to get back to loving people and accepting them for who they are, whoever that may be. Sadly, what once came naturally is going to be a conscious effort. But I believe it's worth it.

Thanks to everyone who accepts me for who I am. Much love to all. :)

Managing Cats and People - What I Learned This Week

Bandit cuddling in a blanket someone made for Jackson.

No matter how much you may want to beat them sometimes, cats generally respond better to positive reinforcement. Bandit looks like a real sweetheart in this picture, but pictures can be deceiving. The problem with Bandit is he's a dominant pet and he's a jealous pet. Often I see him swatting at Bailey's butt when he's passing through but since Bailey doesn't seem to notice it's not a big deal. What is a big deal, apparently, is that Bailey sleeps in our room with us at night, which is where Bandit used to sleep. Apparently it doesn't matter that Bandit could still sleep on the bed with us since Bailey is on the floor. All that matters is Bailey is in there and Bandit wants to be in there, but not if Bailey's going to be in there. His way of letting us know he's not pleased is by peeing or pooping on the hardwood floor downstairs, or both. This is not the first time we've had this issue with Bandit, and I've learned from past experience that the best way to get him to stop is not to yell at him, smack his ass, confine him to the gym, bath him or shave him (although that doesn't stop us from doing those things). Does anyone know what the best way to get a cat to listen to you is? Positive reinforcement. So, what I have to do to get him to stop is take him to his litter box every day when I get home from work, wait until he pees and poops in there, then bring him upstairs and make a big deal over him and give him a treat. I keep doing this for a few days and he will stop. Or at least he did last time when he was mad at us for taking a vacation. Let's hope it works again because Brian is not amused with this and keeps threatening to find him another home.

Managing people is not much different than managing cats. They're aloof. They're disinterested. They often think they are better than they actually are. They want to know what's in it for them without ever caring about what they can do for you. And if they think anyone is stepping on their toes, look out. They may not poop on the floor in protest, but they have their ways of making it known they are not happy. A lot of time being a manager is spent getting the employee to do what you want them to do (taking them to the litter box to shit) and stroking their egos when they do a good job (fussing over them giving them a nice kitty treat). One of the hard parts about management is figuring out what kind of kitty treat each person likes. Each one is different and none of them are as easy to figure out as I thought. Working with people is so different as a manager than it is as a co-worker.

The month of March owes us nothing. I used to think of it as a month of hope. Next year, if I haven't moved somewhere warmer yet, I will remember that it's a month of transition, and I should just expect it to suck only slightly less than February did. It's nice that the daylight hours are longer. And that's all.

Quality people will tolerate a rant once in a while. This week's FB rant was PMS-induced. But apparently my friends didn't mind. Which brings me to my next point...

Keep quality people in your life and weed out the rest. You deal with a-holes at work because they pay you to. You deal with a-holes on the road because you don't have a choice. Same with public places like the grocery store. You're dealing with a-holes all the time just because you have to. Why would you make them part of your leisure time where you get to choose who you spend time with? I spent too many years just hoping everyone would like me and putting myself out there to get walked on if someone wanted to. At some point, I realized I have no time for that. I would rather be alone than spend time with people who drain me. I would rather see good friends a few times a year than have lots of shoddy people in my life. The way I see it, I'm a good person and I deserve to have good people around me. If you're reading this, you're one of them.

It's not worth it to get mad about the people you're sharing the roads with. "Wow, that guy really dazzled me with his driving skills today," said no one, ever. Yet every day it seems like someone wants to show you how fast they can drive in undesirable conditions, how loud they can rev their engines, how quickly they can cut someone off only to slam on their brakes, the list goes on and on and on. You can let it get you mad and stress yourself out by tailgating the offending driver, gesturing to the driver, or whatever, or you can just sit back and enjoy the music in your car, take in the sky and whatever beauty is around you and enjoy your commute. Other drivers are always going to be idiots. There is nothing you can do to change it. You may as well focus your energy on something positive.

Do what makes you happy. Doing things to make other people happy will never make you happy. Figure out what you really want and do it. Yes, you are worth it. Don't believe that voice in your head that tells you anything different.

How does a story begin? One page at a time.

Thinking about the new scenario for the next book in the Jessica Summer series as I'm finishing up the paranormal book. I have the backdrop, the characters, a vague idea of what's going to happen and nothing more. 

Often I start by writing out a page or two that will be in the middle of the book if it doesn't get cut altogether. The starting page or two helps me to get to know the characters a little better and how they interact with one another. From there, I sketch out a beginning, a middle and an ending, adding and deleting characters and scenes as I go.

You will probably not see the finished product for about a year. But here's the start. I thought it would be fun to take you along on this journey.

I wasn’t expecting to see him here. Him being here means that he was thinking about me. Him being here means that he was interested in my success. Him being here means that he cares.

I’m not sure I want him to care. As far as I know, I can’t handle Joe Costa caring about me. It would change everything.

He offers me a half grin, his eyes fixed on me, hand hanging on the front pocket of his jeans.

“Hey.”

I lift my chin ever so slightly. “Hey.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I was just in the neighborhood…”

“Right.” Everything about this moment feels awkward.

“I thought maybe you could use a hand.” He glances around. “But it looks like you have everything under control.”

“I think so.”

“Place looks good.”

“Thank you.”

“Logan coming by tonight?”

“Not tonight. He’s out with his friends, so…”

Joe nods. And then I get the look. You know that look you get right before someone is about to pull you into his arms and…. I wait, daring to look into his eyes, my breath stilled.

“So I guess I should go.”

“Unless you want to stay.” I shuffle my feet, my hands in my back pockets. “I mean, for coffee or something.”

“I could stay. But not for coffee.”

Backing up, I gesture toward my living area and Joe steps further into my apartment. Joe Costa in my apartment, sitting on my couch in my living room.

I stand at a distance, unsure of myself. “If not coffee, then…”

“I don’t like you being with Logan. The guy’s a jerk and he doesn’t deserve you.”

I shrug. “What would you suggest I do?”

“Get rid of him. Go solo for a little while. Find someone better.”

“Someone like you?” I am hard-pressed to stop my temper. “Someone who throws me a bone every once in a while but isn’t really interested in me? Someone who will talk the talk from here to eternity and back but never act on anything? Someone who can’t commit to an evening let alone the thought of any kind of a relationship…”

“I should leave.” He stands to leave, taking a few steps toward the door.

“Of course you should. You should leave and I should end it with Logan for no apparent reason.”

He stops in his tracks, whirling around. There is something in his eyes. Anger. Determination. Frustration. I can’t decide what it is before he grabs my wrists, pushing me against the wall. Without a word, he crushes his lips against mine. His hands are on my waist, his body hovering before mine.

Even as he pulls away, I want more. His eyes are searching just for a moment before I close the gap, my lips touching his, my body now against the length of him. He is solid. Hard and muscular. Strong. Agonizing.

“Lauren, stop,” he murmurs against my lips. “Stop.”

I look up at him, my eyes wide.

“I shouldn’t have come here.” He backs away from me further. “Bad decision. I’m sorry.”

“Why do you do things like this, Joe? Show up at my place and tell me that I should end it with Logan? Kiss me and then leave?”

“You want me to stay and do what? You want me to kiss you again? Here’s the problem with that. If I kiss you again, I’m going to want more. And if I get what I want if I kiss you again, things are going to be really awkward between us.”

I consider this for a moment, but probably not long enough. “If you spent the night here, Joe…”

He puts up a hand. “I’m not going to. I’m not going to do anything other than apologize and leave.”

“You are the most frustrating person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t make it any better.”

“Maybe not. The fact that you don’t want to accept my apology doesn’t make me any less sorry.” He thinks for a moment. “OK. Maybe not sorry. I can’t say I’m sorry that I kissed you. I am sorry because kissing you was selfish and disrespectful. I’m going to leave. Have a good night, Lauren.”

He walks toward the door, murmuring another apology as he grabs the handle and lets himself out. My life with Joe Costa just got a little more complicated.

Dogs in the Clouds

This may sound crazy but I swear it's true. Ever since Sammy died, I see dogs in the clouds. And every time I see a dog in the cloud, I think of it as a message from her.

It didn't start until a few weeks after we had to put Sammy down. I would be out walking, or driving to or from work and see it there, plain as day, from the ears to the tail, along with all four paws. Every time I would see it, it was only there for no more than 30 seconds before it would dissipate into an object of no particular shape.

Eventually, the images became two dogs playing with each other. I am not sure if this happened after we got Bailey or if the timing was just random, but every time I saw one dog in the clouds, I would look for the second one playing with the first one because it was there every time.

One day I mentioned this to my hair stylist and she suggested that I should try to take a picture of it when it happens again. After that conversation, it didn't happen again for a long time. I thought maybe I had seen the last of it, that Sammy had gone off into doggy heaven, her job to let us know that she was OK fulfilled. I accepted that, but I was still disappointed to think I would never get a message from Sammy again.

A few nights ago when we were in the hot tub, though, I did see it again. Once again, from the pointy ears to the tip of the tail, there was a cloud in the sky that looked like a dog. I pointed it out to Brian and he saw it too. I remembered about the second dog that was always present with the first dog and looked a little to the left, where, sure as the sun rises every morning, there was another cloud resembling a dog. This one had its rear legs straightened, tail curling upwards and front legs bent as if in a playing stance. I pointed that one out to Brian as well and he said, "Yeah, I see both of them. It doesn't really get any clearer than that."

"Sammy's back," I told him. "She always sends these messages in the clouds."

Maybe we are crazy. But I remember when Christoper Reeve died, his wife, who had spent so many years his faithful companion caring for him after his accident, looked out her bedroom window that night and saw an awesome display of shooting stars. She said you can choose to believe things like this can be explained scientifically or you can believe that it truly is loved ones communicating to us from beyond. She said she chose to believe the latter.

So do I, Mrs. Reeve. So do I.

Sammy Alley

Every day I take my dog for a walk, and we head down Sammy Alley. Sammy Alley is the unofficial name of the narrow passage about a block from our house. We named it that because toward the end of her life, it was all the further Sammy could make it on her walks.

Bailey is of course much quicker and much more curious about his stroll down this lane every day. He knows when we reach the intersection of the sidewalk and the alley, we take the alley, and he leads me down the path, his ears perking up when he sees a bunny, head cocking as he stops to sniff some flowers. It’s near the beginning of the walk, so Bailey is always ahead of me on Sammy Alley, unlike the end of the walk where he has to work a little harder to keep up with me.

It’s kind of strange to have a dog walking way ahead of me down this stretch of street. Sammy was always lagging behind, hobbling along, her arthritis clearly bothering her to the point where people who crossed our paths would comment on the “old girl” doing the best she could to get her daily exercise.

At the beginning of Sammy Alley is an unkempt tiny yard belonging to one of our neighbors. Two cats live at that house and we always look to see if they are outside when we take our walks. Most of the time they are. They have a little cat door and they can come and go as they please. The curious thing about these cats is that I’ve never seen them out of their little yard. One of them is always on the bench and the other is always on the sidewalk. Sometimes it’s just one of them, and the striped one is out more than the calico, but they never leave the yard. I smile and say hello and if they acknowledge me at all, it’s only to give me an annoyed look and send me on my way.

Halfway down there is a pumpkin patch. I’ve been watching the pumpkins grow all year. This part of the alley is never at a loss for bunnies. It is here that I have been able to practice teaching Bailey not to chase bunnies. I never had to think about that with Sammy. She wasn’t interested in chasing bunnies. She was just trying to get around the block.

Three-quarters of the way down is a garage and more bunnies and at the end of the lane there is an overly rambunctious Irish Setter who invariably runs to the end of his fence, jumping and barking at Bailey, just like he did with Sammy. Both of my dogs always responded by eyeing the dog, tails wagging.

Today as Bailey and I were nearing the end of Sammy Alley, I stopped and took a picture. It is the perfect picture of Sammy Alley on a cool autumn afternoon, the sun shining brightly from heaven onto a world that’s about to go into another season.

I didn’t know it on all those walks that I took with Sammy, but it is right here in this location that I learned to love dogs. I never really wanted to walk her every day but I felt it was my duty on the evenings Brian was otherwise occupied with golf. Somewhere in all that pulling and coaxing her around the block, somewhere on those walks where she would just decide she was no longer going to walk and instead she was going to sit down right where she was and let us get the wagon for her, somewhere in all that waiting for her as she plodded along, I fell in love with Sammy. She will always be the dog that turned me into a dog lover and made me realize something I was missing all my life.

As I stood there and snapped a picture of it today with Bailey by my side looking up at me almost like he was smiling, I knew he would never really know the significance of the alley we just walked through. But he will know the end result for the rest of his life. Every day he will know that I love him. Every day I will be thankful that I rescued him from a life of neglect and abuse and brought him into a home filled with love. And we both have Sammy to thank for that.

Maybe someday everyone in the neighborhood will know this little lane as Sammy Alley and the legend could live on years after we are gone. But for now, I’m OK with knowing it my heart and thinking of her every time my dog turns down the lane at the beginning of our walk.

The Problem With Being Bold...

I walked into a beauty store in Altoona tonight looking for eye makeup and foundation. Before I could get to the aisle I was looking for, a woman asked me if I needed help with anything. I told her no, thank you, I was here for something specific and started over to the aisle containing my makeup of choice. She followed me and said that I should buy this other product because I have I have a lot of pink.

I blinked.

“Pink in my eyes?” It’s allergy season. Who knows?

“Pink in your face.”

I’m sure I gave her a look, but I followed her over to the tiny tube of $30 liquid foundation she was trying to sell me. She squirted some out on the back of my hand and told me to rub it in. I humored her and told her I would keep it in mind before walking over to get the makeup I was there to buy.

What was wrong with this conversation? I had just finished a 45-minute workout, thrown a tee shirt on over my tank top and run out to the store. Why did she see so much pink in my face? Well, I think you can probably figure that out, but she couldn’t because she just assumed she knew what she was talking about.

It’s a big mistake to assume you know what you’re talking about. Sometimes it really makes you look foolish, like the lady at the beauty store tonight.

There was another time when I was at a conference and the subject of my cats came up. This woman who was super-abrasive and acted like a complete know-it-all from the minute I met her looked at the pictures of them on my smart phone, rolled her eyes and said, “Ugh! I hate Siamese cats. They meow too much from morning until night. I hate that. Do yours meow all the time?”

I smiled, giving her much the same look I gave the woman at the store tonight. “Not really.”

Why? Because they’re not Siamese. They are Ragdolls. All three of them. Yes, two of them are seal point. Yes, they have blue eyes. But beyond that, they look nothing like Siamese cats. Siamese have bigger ears and a more angled chin than my cats do. But she was so sure of herself I didn’t say anything to burst her bubble and walked away thinking she was really kind of an idiot.

Now, I’m not saying that I haven’t been that idiot many times over. I’m sure my husband could tell you plenty of stories about that, like the time I so confidently walked up to my cousin’s house after my mom asked me if I was sure that was the right house. I told her of course I was sure this was the right house. After all, I have been here before and you have not. I walked up to the door and knocked and some Greek woman who spoke no English answered. I said, “Um, is Cari here?” She called for her grand-daughter who did speak English. I asked if this was the right address and she said no, it’s one house down. Great. Now I had to go back to the van and announce that in fact this wasn’t the right house, a story I’m sure they will never let me forget. :)

My point is that maybe as I get older and see this in myself and others I will get wiser. Maybe I will learn to keep my mouth shut if I don’t know what I’m talking about.  The more I see how foolish it can make you look, the more I will keep it in mind anytime I assume I know something.

I’m going to try. The alternative of looking unintentionally foolish is much worse.

(Intentionally foolish is fine. But those are other stories for other times.) :)

I was sure the answer would be YES…

When I was in high school, it was a fate worse than death if the boy I liked actually found out I liked him. Identifying to anyone the person I had a crush on meant they were within a small inner circle of friends that I trusted. It was understood that I would observe my crush from a distance, analyze his every move, blush bright red if he even looked at me, then go home and write about him for hours in my journal.

I was a crazy stalker.

Seriously, there are volumes and volumes of pages written about the boys I liked in high school. The scary thing is, I knew next to nothing about any of them. Whatever I didn’t know, I would just make up based on not-so-casual observation and half-conversations I would hear about him.

Mostly I was like this because back then I had no confidence in myself. But I was young and awkward and stupid but one day I grew up and all of that changed.

I remember when I was about 27 there was a guy I thought was pretty cute. He was a friend of a friend and I will call him Alex for the purposes of this blog. One New Year’s Eve, I was invited to a party Alex was attending and he basically spent the entire evening talking to me, then walked me to my car in the wee hours of the morning, carrying some of my things out to the car for me. I felt pretty certain there was a spark there, and even more certain when he invited me to his super bowl party a few weeks later. Again we spent most of the day talking, so it was a no-brainer to me that he would be calling me and asking me out at some point after that.

I waited a week. Then two. Then I decided I was just going to call him. I knew what they said about guys liking girls with confidence, but that’s not why I did it. I did it because I thought he was too shy to call me and I really wanted to go out with him. Once I made up my mind, I really didn’t hesitate. I picked up the phone and called. He answered the phone and I went through the usual small talk before asking him if he wanted to get together sometime and go out to a movie or something.

I was confident in my delivery because I really thought there was no way he was going to say no. But that’s exactly what he said. Well, it wasn’t exactly a no, but it was some equally dismissive response, like he would let me know sometime or maybe he would give me a call. Of course he never did. I knew a blow-off when I got one and that’s exactly what he was doing.

I crumbled up his phone number and threw it away. The next day I was slightly embarrassed when I had to tell my best friend how the conversation panned out, but that was pretty much the end of any conversation with or about Alex.

Within a month of my conversation with Alex, I was dating the man I would eventually marry, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But I was thinking about how people react when they don’t get the date they thought they were going to get. How many people just forget about it and almost forget that it ever happened? How many people allow something like that to really hurt their self-esteem? How many continue to pursue the person, possibly becoming someone they’re not or just trying over and over again to prove to themselves they can get the person they wanted?

I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but I started thinking about it as I was thinking about some of the characters in the Jessica Summer Series. Those of you who have read “Love, Emily” know that Jillian was crazy about Adam to the point of literally being crazy about Adam.

I don’t think I would ever go to extremes for a guy who rejected me even once. What about you? Have you been more persistent than me (but less persistent than Jillian) and what were the results? Did you get the guy and live happily ever after? Did you get the guy and realize he wasn’t someone who was worth fighting for to begin with? Did you continue to pursue and never get the guy? Or did you just take no for answer the first time and move on to someone amazing?

I’m curious to know how other people have handled rejections from the opposite sex. If you are so inclined to comment, don’t worry, I promise I won’t write you into any of my stories without your permission!