Shyla’s Story

My husband and I purchased a black Labrador Retriever a few months after we were married. I am a dog lover, and I grew up with dogs and knew I wanted more of them in my life. So, a year or two later, I felt my heart was big enough to add another pup to our mix.

In came Shyla. A Siberian Husky that my husband thought was going to be attached to him as much as our lab was attached to me. Boy, did she prove him wrong.

Shyla was a force from day one. She wouldn’t stay in the crate to transport her home. It wasn’t a sad, confused whine that she gave, but instead a demanding yelp. And she kept trying to chew the door. We thought she would hurt herself, so I had to sit her on my lap for the two-hour drive home.

She came into the house and immediately became the pesky little sister to our lab, Primo. She chewed his ears when he was napping and bit his feet as he walked by. If we were to verbally discipline her, she would talk back at us. It was so cute to me that I would allow her to get away with more than I should and fuss at her just so she would howl. She was quick and could slide under the bed or the dining room table to get away from us when we would try to get her for something bad she did.

On a few occasions, we came home to her having torn up the garbage while still locked in her cage. It. Was. Crazy. To this day, we have no idea how she was able to pull that amazing feat. We had to stop her nighttime crate training because she would not stop whining the entire time. No exaggeration. But she did better once we allowed her to sleep under our bed where she slept for many years until we got a new frame that she couldn’t fit under anymore.

Unlike Primo, who always wanted to be where we were, Shyla was a loner and very independent. If the family was upstairs, she’d stay downstairs. If we were downstairs, she’d go to another room. She would cuddle with us sometimes but only on her terms and for the length of time she allotted. Because she was so distant, I always said she had a stank attitude, which led to her nickname: “Skank”, which was softened to “Skankerdoodle”. She answered to either one along with “Little Girl” — something I’d call her when she was in trouble. Almost everyone called her “Shy Shy” and I would sing to her the lyrics of the popular song by Kajagoogoo on the occasions when she would let me snuggle her face.

Shyla actually liked the cooler weather and when we had our daughter, she pulled her on her sled in the snow. That was the only intimate activity those two had together, because Shyla couldn’t seem to stand our daughter any other time. lol

Shyla was hardly ever sick most of her life, but unfortunately developed arthritis in both of her hips and right shoulder and her liver started to fail. Some days we would have to carry up the stairs. We held out as long as we could to keep her functioning and enjoying some quality of life, but we had to put her down last week.

Even at the end, Shyla showed her ornery side. All her life, she couldn’t stand for anyone to touch her paws. If you walked by and accidentally hit her foot, she’d be up and out. She became hard of hearing at the end so, to get her attention we’d tap her paw. She hated it, but it was effective to get her up to go to the bathroom. After the vet administered the sedative on her final day, they returned to see how well it had taken affect. To do that, they would pinch her fat pads. No matter how long they waited, Shyla kept kicking those feet anytime they were touched. As a family, we had to laugh because it was so indicative of her personality and all that she displayed since our first day with her: Always a force to be reckoned with.

She was loved and will be sorely missed!

Roads Less Traveled

Image from homeadvisor.com

I guess I could Google and find out why some neighborhoods don’t put sidewalks in anymore. But finding the answer won’t really end my fussing about the increased lack of them.

Even in the development where I live, only one side of the street has sidewalks. Whose bright idea was that? When I’m walking the dogs, we have to backtrack and visit the same piss points. That’s not very exciting for the pups.

This is on my mind because I would like to visit with my aunt this Friday and take her some lunch. She just had some dental work done and wants some company. But I’d also like to get a workout in. My busy schedule won’t allow for both, so I thought it’d be great to combine the two. The whole killing of birds with stones and what not. But the roads between my home and hers cut through some very industrious areas. You know, housing developments smacked right dab into an area with an Enterprise Parkway where there’s a City Hall, a quarry and a distribution center. Very busy with Mac trucks and personnel. I’d also have to ride along 5 and 6 lane roads with high traffic. The distance would make for some good cardio, but the lack of sidewalks increases the danger to my life.

So, I’m irritated.

Anytime I’d like to ride, I have to attach the bike rack on the truck, load the bike on it and drive 15 minutes to get to the towpath. Don’t get me wrong — the towpath has some beautiful scenery and it’s a very intricate web of trails that you can hop on or off in different cities. It is recognized as one of the best park systems nationally. But sometimes you just don’t want the hustle and bustle to get to it. You just want to leave the house and be back in half an hour with your workout all done. Not have an extra 30-minute commute to and from the path.

When I was young, I rode my bike everywhere. To my cousin’s house, to the playground, the beverage store, Randall Mall, and to the library. (Never rode it to school though. Why was that? Was it not cool enough, maybe?) And I was able to do this, because there were sidewalks that lead to all of these places. Sure, there was the occasional area where you had to be cautious because the sidewalk would run out. But after a few hundred yards, it would resume again.

Why is this no longer the case? Am I the only one who is annoyed by this? I can’t be. There have to be children in my neighborhood and in the ones I pass, that are bored only going up and down their driveways for a bike-riding good time. Pet owners also have to feel blase’ about their monotonous trek with nowhere to walk their dogs.

There must be a monetary reason attached to this sidewalk free design. I can’t think of any aesthetic reason. But why do the developers agree to this? It’s the home owners who will ultimately pay for them so why not let us have them?

I won’t be researching this answer or anything. Just wanted to vent about it. But just know that I have been upset about it for a while and that anger was refreshed today because I’m yet again not able to hop on my bike and just ride.

Communication Barricades

Image from highwaysignals.com

I see a lot of Tik Tok and Instagram reels of parents struggling to engage their kids in conversation. I’m sure you’ve seen them. One has a boy telling his dad about his day. The story is taking so long that the dad is able to wash the dishes, vacuum, eat dinner, walk the dog and put in a load of laundry while trying to feign interest.

Or the one where the little girl is “umm-ing” and “uhh-ing” so much while talking, that the mom ends up closing the bedroom door in the girl’s face because she lost patience waiting for her to get the story out.

I’ve seen one recently where a dad picks up his son after school and asks how his day was. The boy gives a one-word response of: “fine”. But when it’s time for him to go to bed after his nighttime story, he’s all words and explanations on his day’s activities. Of course, by this point, the dad is ready for sleep but has to sit there and listen now that his son is ready to talk.

A few months back during the colder weather, my daughter came to me with a story about her position as car guard at her school. (I don’t actually know what this assignment was titled, but “car guard” is good enough for now. ha) This was her chore for a week and with this role, she had to wait outside and escort the elementary kids into the building and offer them some hot chocolate before class.

After the second or third day of this assignment, she came home with stories of some little boy who didn’t want the hot chocolate and how cute he was and how he was sweet enough to look for her and would only hold her hand to be walked into class.

I don’t know who this kid was, nor did I care. I had no interest in what character was on his backpack or if he had the typical runny nose that is a staple of all toddlers. But I sat and asked all those questions and more to fabricate interest in my daughter’s story. I asked how they warm up the beverage and regulate the temperature, so no one gets burned. I asked how many cups she drinks before heading to her own class. I found out she walks at least 5 kids to their classroom before the bell rings and that only one of them thanked her.

Again, I know all of this — not because I cared — but because I wanted to take an interest in what was interesting to her.

That Friday, I planned ahead and thought of the questions I would ask her once she got home about the little boy and the hot chocolate. I would now find out if he changed his mind and finally took a cup. I was going to find out if the teachers drink the hot chocolate and if they add marshmallows. And I planned to learn her rating of this particular assignment against the others that she has to perform.

Lo and behold, the little heifer shut me down with my first question. I asked who makes the hot chocolate and her response was nothing short of an “I don’t know, and I don’t care”. She did not literally say this, but her attitude, body language and the gist of the response she gave was pretty close to it. Needless to say, the conversation lost all elements of peace and comradery.

Image from CBC.ca

But isn’t that just it? Trying to talk with and connect with these kids is like tossing a ball to someone whose back is turned to you. Either they want to talk, and you don’t or vice versa. When, oh when do we sync up?

I don’t think kids even recognize this communication struggle we have with them. It’s another “don’t know, don’t care” situation, I suppose.

smh

A Bottle of Your Finest …

It is no surprise to be asked to “bring a bottle of something” to a house party. I have not only been asked to do so but have also been the one to do the requesting. When I host one of these events, I will usually open whatever the guest brings that same night. But if we don’t get around to that bottle for any reason, it is either taken by myself to my next invited gathering or used for some other shindig at my home.

About 6 months ago, I was asked to bring a wine to a friend’s house for dinner. I knew exactly which bottle and brand I was going to take. A nice red blend that I love. I am not a regular red wine drinker — I tend to lean more towards the white variety. But I have found a good taste in this particular bottle that has become my “go to” whenever asked to bring something along. I find that more folks like reds over whites and this particular recipe seems to please the palette of both.

The bottle I took to this gathering was not opened while I was there. It was no big deal, as we had tastings of imported scotches and tequilas on this particular night. I did wonder why they even asked me to bring anything when they had a drink menu already planned for the evening, but it was no big deal at all. They provided so much food and drink that my averagely costed bottle was pennies compared to all that I ate and drank.

Fast forward a few months and we are again invited to this friend’s home. We are again asked to bring something to drink. This time I bring a white. Nothing major. Just something I had a taste for. We get to the party, and it turns out to be more of a vodka and gin night. But this time, I actually see my host place my bottle of white on a built-in shelf she has in her kitchen cabinetry. Lo and behold, it was rested literally next to the red blend I had taken with me months before.

So, we just get a call for another house party coming up in a few weeks. The same host has asked us to bring a bottle of something. My first thought was that I didn’t understand why they’d ask me for more when they already have a museum of my previous bring alongs. Why not just open one of the bottles they have there already? And why do you keep asking me to bring something if you have no plans of using it? Am I just building your wine collection? Are you using me to fill the slots you had custom built into your cabinets? Why not just ask for a monetary contribution for the food or make it a potluck and have me bring cake? O something that will for sure be consumed?

I realize I have to check myself. The positives for sure outweigh any negative ideas I have over the situation. I mean, I have friends who keep requesting my company. I only have to pay $17.99 for a night of new drinks and good food for me and my family. And I don’t have to cook.

I guess what I should learn from this is to maybe bring Bourbon or Rum to a party and leave the wines on the shelf.

Empathetic Wishes

I have sickle cell trait. I tried to express to my husband what the pain feels like during a recent crisis. I explained that it is a dull ache that has a certain rhythm (that does not correspond to my heartbeat), with a few sharp pangs thrown in for good measure. You can’t pinpoint the pain because it takes over the entire limb. Massaging helps until the acetaminophen or ibuprofen kicks in.

Although I explained things with what I thought was vocabular precision, he was still asking questions trying to get a better understanding of what I was going through. Which led me to reply: “I wish I could transfer this to you so you could understand.”

Now, there was no anger nor ill will attached to this statement. It was purely for the explanation of the situation. However, this transaction got me to wondering, just what emotion or feeling would I actually want to put on my hubby (or anyone) for them to comprehend what I was going through?

I knew right away that I would want him to feel my emotions behind being a mom: the stress I feel of raising my kid but feeling like a failure. His reply was sweet: that he would want me to feel the joy he feels. Although, he didn’t know from which source this joy would come — just that I could feel his happiness when he has it.

So, I went on a mission and started asking around. I wanted to know what feelings and/or emotions folks would wish on another person so that they could empathize with them. Here are a few of the answers:

Image from Slideshare

* My annoyance when she interrupts me watching tv *The daily stress of being a mom to two toddlers *The strong desire to do good for others *My orgasm. I want my wife to experience mine, so she’ll want to have sex more often *My depression *The joy of flying business class *The buzz off a glass of Blue Moon with an orange slice *The pain of feeling unloved *The joy of a fun-filled weekend after a long week *The ecstatic feeling of walking onto the beach on the first day of vacation *My anxiety *My leg pain on my doctor so she can know who to refer me to for help *The stress of running the household since my husband became disabled *The comfort of hearing a song that precisely captures the way I feel *The peace of walking a trail with no one else but my dog

I was surprised at how happy folks were to share and how quickly they were able to answer. I feel like there is a lot of meaning behind that. Something that can be further explored in the future.

But in the meantime, what is your empathetic wish?

Nothing Beats a Nosebleed

My husband and I were recently invited to a basketball game by a vendor at his job. I am not really a big sports fan, but when I found out the seats were two rows from the floor, I was extra excited to go. I think I have been that close maybe once before. My lack of interest had me always purchasing $10 seats, if I bought any at all! To be honest, I usually only got to a game if the tickets were free.

The $10 tickets got you in the same section as the free ones, at the highest level of the arena in the “nosebleed seats”. If you jump too high, your hands might hit the ceiling. Your legs ache from all the climbing you have to do to get up there. And there’s usually a bunch of kids; parents trying to show their rugrats a good time without breaking the bank.

The night of the game, I put thought into my outfit. I wore over the knee boots and slim jeans to try and look the part of what I thought the patrons down there would look like rather than my mom jeans and a sweatshirt. I put on a little makeup and actually did my hair. My knees hurt walking down all those steps the same as they had when walking in the opposite direction, but I was still excited to be so close to the action.

I could see the eyebrows of the players, the sweat from their hairlines and even hear them talking with each other. And I knew they would actually be able to hear me when I started to scream my support toward them. After the first basket was made, I was geared to stand up and yell my enjoyment. However, all those around me remained in their seats and gave whispered approval while clapping their hands! For the duration of the game, there was muted applause and conversation from my section and those adjacent to me. It wasn’t until the final quarter when the score was tied and only seconds left in the game, that the crowd in the lower sections started to get pumped and rowdy.

Usually by the fourth quarter, my throat is dry, and my voice is getting raspy. We would have tried to start the wave around the arena at least 4 times with the final one making it more than halfway around. We scream all kinds of nonsense up there because we know no one on the floor can hear anything that we are saying. The shouts usually become words of comradery to the folks around us rather than anything related to the game. We dance to the songs that they play to get the crowd pumped and rap the lyrics over the instrumentals. We sweat up there. We help folks find their dropped phones. We look after their daughter so they can take their son to the bathroom. We become a family.

No such thing down near the floor. Yeah, you heard folks talk about the players and their stats, but not in a way that you could join in and add your two cents. (I don’t know any, but still!) You spoke only with those who rode to the game with you and kept those conversations to a minimum so as not to disturb others. Due to the lack of cheering or jumping up and down, it was cold — causing me to keep my coat on for most of the game. There was no need for slim jeans. The halftime entertainers felt only half the love since no one in the lower sections cheered for their performances.

How. Boring.

I’m not implying that I’ll never sit in such good seats again, but I know I won’t balk at the free tickets either. It might just be that the low ballers know how to party a tad better than the high rollers.

Just saying.

Seeing Double

It is very humbling to be asked if you are the twin of someone you find to be remarkably unattractive.

That is all.

Ex- Extrovert?

Anyone who knows me will say that I am and have always been an extrovert. I can talk with anyone at any time and if you mention a topic, I usually have a story that will go along with it, and I don’t mind telling it to whomever will listen.

My husband loves to take me to his work functions because I can gab with anyone he introduces me to. He doesn’t have to fret about me sitting in a corner alone and can go off and do his own thing for a while with no worries. He’s a full-blown introvert so he wants me at his side at most functions anyhow. So that he won’t have to talk or think of conversations or quips. I’m there to do that for him.

However, as of late, I am finding that this gift, or curse (however you to choose to view it) of being outgoing is starting to take a comfortable backseat. For some reason, I feel like I no longer have the desire nor the energy to muster up conversation with folks. I tend to sit back at gatherings now and watch whatever shenanigans ensue rather than being an active participant in it. (Or better yet, the cause of it lol)

I don’t know what to blame this personality change on. I, at times, wonder if it could be old age. That the ailments and general feeling of fatigue I always have are the reasons I can’t gather energy to be outgoing, talkative and social. Then I think of all the articles I’ve read on how much Covid has affected all of us mentally and physically and emotionally. And I wonder if that has something to do with this new trait I am displaying. The Covid Depression causing a slippery slide into becoming an introvert.

Maybe I will no longer be all extrovert nor become all introvert. Maybe I’m balancing out and maturing to be the perfect Ambivert. A good subtle mixture of both. Some parties will see me drinking, dancing and singing, and being the heartbeat of the event; while others will see me lounging, still with a drink, but just soaking up the surroundings.

If you’re reading this, and you find that you too are becoming an Ex-extrovert, I think we should form a support group. Talk about the changes we’re seeing in ourselves and how we feel about it.

I’d like to be the president.

lol JK

Cartilage Fracture

I have unfortunately been troubled with bad knees for a while. I was diagnosed with Chondromalacia well over 15 years ago. That means that the cartilage behind my patella is non-existent. Because of this, I have to wear knee braces whenever I know I’m going to be doing something extensive. Like box jumps or weighted squats. And sometimes not so extensive — like dancing or walking up the stairs.

I’ve also had to have therapy off and on to strengthen the muscles and tendons around the knee. Using a rainbow of bands around my ankles or hips and core exercises to tighten the tummy. I’ve had to adjust all kinds of workout moves in order to keep the knees calm and happy. All in an attempt to be able to do day to day activities with little pain.

As I’ve gotten older, there have been more and more knee issues presented. Not only with the chondromalacia, but with arthritis and joint narrowing. All of which can cause pain by simply turning to the left or right at any given time. The creaking of my knees as I walk down the steps is louder than any loose boards to be found under the carpeting. The knees click and crunch and pop and the tendons catch on every bone spur that has developed in the joint.

Which leads to my most recent fun find — a cartilage fracture.

As stated, I’ve had to modify most activities to accomodate my known knee pain. So, how I could do any activity to cause a cartilage fx is foreign to me. But, here I am!

But let me tell you why this new knee diagnosis is so upsetting. I have never run track, played basketball, lacrosse, soccer, took ballet, gymnastics or dance, nor have I jumped hurdles. I have absolutely no idea how I have come to have such bad knees. It really upsets me that this is my unexplained plight.

You hear of elderly men having knee surgery because of an old football injury or a woman who used to ski in competitions needing one. Folks who have spent some years engaged in high impact activities. So why do I fit into this? I’ve done nothing of that sort.

I am trying not to let it get me down too much. Especially now with the threat of surgery looming in my future. I will keep moving day by brace and therapy day and see what happens.

But I don’t find it fair.

California King Bath Towel

For whatever reason, when I got married 23+ years ago, I went to a local closeout store and bought a super cheap bathroom bundle set. It had four pink towels with four washcloths wrapped in a pretty bow. It was maybe only 3.99 or something similar. I was excited about the cute packaging of it rather than the actual functionality. I got them as decoration for the spare bathroom in our first home. If I had to say, I think they’d be comparable to 250 thread count sheets. That’s how flimsy these things were.

I remember some time ago while shopping, being surprised when Kohl’s came out with “The Big One” towels. Some places call these Bath Sheets. I felt like these things were ridiculously huge, but my husband is a big guy and loves them. I buy him a “big one” and get the regular size for myself.

Why am I talking about this? I’ll tell you.

A few weeks ago, I stumbled across the old pink towels in the back of a linen closet. I was massively surprised at how little they looked. I tried to wrap one around myself but wasn’t able to make the ends meet! I couldn’t believe it! I compared it to a “regular” towel and was shocked at the size difference. So, I’m sure you can imagine how it looked compared to “the big one”. It could be mistaken for a hand towel!

Just how big are we as a people that our towels have had to be increased in size over the years to cover our bodies? That they had to create a cotton sheet for us to use to dry off? And how much worse is it that I am realizing that “the big one” is starting to look like a welcome size to cover these hips!

Image from americantowels.us