Rules To Live By

I know I've been gone awhile. I didn't fall off the face of the earth, die in an accident, or lose all my fingers. Damned close though, because I sure feel like I've been run over by a Mack truck and dragged a few miles. I've been moving, as in moving my entire household to a new home. Every muscle, every joint, and every bone in my body hurts. Just a blatant reminder that, as I've pointed out before, by the time you reach a certain age (52, or thereabouts, for me) the body just doesn't do what the mind thinks it can. "Do-it-yourself" isn't always a rational alternative.

You're probably wondering why the hell I didn't hire movers (been asking myself that every morning, as I crawl out of bed to go at it again for six days in a row). Well, the cash just wasn't there on such short notice. I survived, but I'll be putting away a 'moving fund' each month now, so I can pay someone else to move me next time. And with a little luck, I won't have to move for at least a few years.

In the year I've been here, I haven't had enough time to collect a lot of things I no longer want. I got rid of all that when I moved last time. But a three-bedroom house still has a lot of stuff in it! And Lord, I was temped to put even more out for the garbage man. In the end, I couldn't part with any of it, and moved it all. I questioned myself more than once how one person can accumulate so many things, but I rationalized that 52 years is a long time, and some of my sentimentally valued things date back more than 40 years.

Regardless, I logged in eighty miles on two vehicles to move 2.5 miles away. You do the math and figure out how many loads I moved with those two vehicles, and one 8 foot flatbed trailer.

One thing I just have to remark on is 'collections'. I don't collect knickknacks, or valuable items beyond a few small things. I collect clothes and shoes. Specifically, boots. I can't walk in a shoe store and not walk out with a pair of boots, if they have any I like. I counted them this time. I have (brace yourself) 42 pairs of boots; work boots, motorcycle boots, ankle, knee, and thigh high boots, low heel to very high heel boots. And that doesn't include all my other shoes. I had to laugh at the expression on the face of one guy who helped me load my clothes and shoes/boots into my vehicle; all 12 40-gallon garbage bags full. He is a young man, with a wife and young daughter. I told him there are two definite things in life; death and taxes. But there is one more definite thing in life if you're female; shoes and hangers will multiple exponentially with age. Thank God my new master bedroom has two walk-in closets; one for clothes and one for shoes.

It is said that, when you move, you find out which of your friends are truly friends, and which of them are not. The ones who are, will still speak to you after they've helped you move. I know this to be true. If not because of the hard work involved, then because I am not the easiest person to partner with in this kind of work. I'm bull-headed, bossy, and driven, when I take on such a distasteful task. Hey, I have my shortcomings like anyone else, OK?

Last year this time, when I moved from Maine to Florida, my best friend in the whole world took three weeks off from work to help me. He spent a week helping me pack and load the truck (in the snow, no less), loaded my motorcycle in his trailer, and followed me 1600 miles down to Florida with it. Then he spent another 6 hours in the middle of the night helping me unload the truck into a storage unit. He spent several days driving around with me, so I could see the area and where I might want to live. Then he drove back home to Maine. AND, he is still my friend. That's what I'm talking about!




This time around, another friend, local to Tallahassee, spent an entire day helping me move most of the heavy furniture. He's not a very big guy, but certainly stronger than I. His big heart makes up for any physical size. He's still talking to me too. You know who you are, and I love you for it. You ROCK! (Click on the pic to see it animate.)




So, today, when I received another chain email, a Feng Shui list (you know the kind -- one that you must send out to a certain number of people, and in a specified time limit, to avoid bad luck), I decided that it deserved posting. My philosophy doesn't include the kind of hogwash that you must send out email to everyone you know in order to live an honorable life, or to be lucky, but the list below is a good start. And it all starts with the person you see in the mirror each morning. One must endeavor to practice each item in this list, every day, and that will enrich your life, and the others around you. Try it for a month and see what happens.

If you don't, you may or may not have bad luck. But if you do, you might find someone to help you move next time you're faced with doing it yourself.













Rules To Live By (Life's Feng Shui)

1. Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.
2. Marry a man/woman you love to talk to. As you get older, their conversational skills will be as important as any other.
3. Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have or sleep all you want.
4. When you say, 'I love you,' mean it.
5. When you say , 'I'm sorry,' look the person in the eye.
6. Be engaged at least six months before you get married.
7. Believe in love at first sight.
8. Never laugh at anyone's dreams. People who don't have dreams don't have much.
9. Love deeply and passionately. You might get hurt but it's the only way to live life completely.
10. In disagreements, fight fairly. No name calling.
11. Don't judge people by their relatives.
12. Talk slowly but think quickly.
13. When someone asks you a question you don't want to answer, smile and ask, 'Why do you want to know?'
14. Remember that great love and great achievements involve great risk.
15. Say 'bless you' when you hear someone sneeze.
16. When you lose, don't lose the lesson.
17. Remember the three R's: Respect for self; Respect for others; and Responsibility for all your actions.
18. Don't let a little dispute injure a great friendship.
19. When you realize you've made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.
20. Smile when picking up the phone. The caller will hear it in your voice.
21. Spend some time alone.
22. (And my personal addition) Do what makes you happy, but harm no one.

A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart.

And the next time you decide to move, even if it's only a few miles away, like I did, hire some movers and save yourself (and your friends) the aches and pains that will follow you around for days afterward.

Now, if I could only figure out a way to type on my computer while soaking in the bathtub, I'd be set for life. I'll settle for the hot water, some good music, and a glass of wine. Life is good. Time enough to unpack tomorrow.

The Freedom To Be Owned

From time to time, I may write about my other "children", my dogs, in this blog. With my human children grown and gone, they are often my only companions by choice. And sometimes I choose my cage over my bike in favor of taking them along. They are show dogs and hunters, but most importantly, they are unique individuals that I share my life with.

I have dogs. Big dogs. Gordon Setters to be exact. I can't imagine life without my dogs. They never talk back (well sorta), they love you unconditionally, they are great company, and are my best friends. I don't even have to cook for them. How good is that?

Like most people who have dogs, or other animals, they become your "children". Neither of them has a mean bone anywhere in their big bodies. My two boys weigh in around 75 - 85 lbs. And being purebred, and show dogs, both of them are intact males. Yet they are best friends, and never offer any aggression toward each other, or me.

I take them to dog shows on occasion; one of those money-sink hobbies I like to indulge in now and then. But the past two years have been up and down for me. Both financially and personally. So I have not participated in this activity a long while.







And my dogs? Well, they became couch potatoes.

Setters are lovely dogs. They have long feathery fur on their legs, under-belly, long "spaniel" ears, and long flagging tails. Gordon Setters (so named after the Duke of Gordon in Scotland) are black with tan (mahogany) markings, same as a Doberman or Rottweiler. When they are "show-groomed", they are beautiful, eloquent dogs.



However, in the two years of their couch-potato-dom, my two boys didn't get their haircuts regularly, and they looked more like black Wooly Mammoths. Because, what most people don't know is, their coats grow LONG most everywhere; on top of their heads, between their toes, everywhere. They can be a lot of work if you have too much going on in your life and don't keep up.

So recently, my good friend Patricia encouraged me to show them in the upcoming circuit in town. I bathed them, spent hours removing hair, and general trimming. At last, they looked like the two show dogs they are. I was so proud of my work on them that it was a surprise to me when I saw the clock said 3:30 AM when I finished.

The oldest of my two boys, Zorro, is almost seven years of age - that is, seven going on six months. He never grew up mentally. He is the larger of the two, and it isn't a good idea to get between him and one of his toys, as he will gleefully charge you, and use your body for a backboard while grabbing for the toy. He is, literally, a puppy in a very large body. My living room is large, and has no coffee table, or anything else a large dog with a long tail can knock over.

Zorro has been in the show ring many times. This isn't new stuff for him. He has nearly enough points for his AKC championship. I was hoping it would all come back to him and we could just pick up where we left off. Ha! Not likely, as I would find out.

My other boy, Eliot, is coming up on three years of age, and like most Gordon boys, has matured in body, but not yet in mentality. He is a bit mellower than Zorro; not as stubborn, but still a handful. He has very little experience in the show ring, having only been shown once or twice before the age of one year. But he listens and wants to make me happy, so this should be easy....

So, again at the urging of my friend, I made plans to attend a "handling class", where dog owners meet and practice the art of showing your dog. Piece of cake right? The boys look good, and this should be routine stuff. I'm not sure what I expected from my dogs, but I've been to these classes before - in another life - and this should be a good reminder for them. The operative word being "should".

First in was Zorro - the "experienced" one - or so I thought. Zorro is a "talker". If you scold him, he talks to you with a grumbling sound (my reference to talking back, sorta). Not quite a growl, and not a moan, but something in-between. And when I scolded him for jumping around, when he should be standing still, he responded in this normal fashion as though to say, "FORGET YOU, either let me play with all these dogs, or take me home to my couch!". By the time the class was half over, and I was ready to switch over to Eliot, sweat was running down my face, and my arms felt like lead. Not to mention the sidelong glances from the other dog owners.....

So, at half time, I headed out to the car to swap dogs. But Eliot also wasn't of a mind to cooperate either, and as I struggled with putting on Eliot's collar, Zorro jumped back out of the car and proceeded to gallivant unfettered all over the premises, in the pitch black dark of night. Fortunately he didn't discover the gate leading to the road, or I'd have spent the next hour chasing him down. Eliot was also intent on getting past me so he could join in the fun. But I finally managed to get Zorro back in the car, get Eliot out, and rejoin the class.

I had no idea of what to expect from Eliot, but I soon found out. I'd made the mistake of not locking the flexi-lead and he proceeded to take off at a run toward the front door of the building. Thinking himself loose, he hit the end of the 30 foot flexi-lead at a full run. Which didn't faze him, but very nearly dislocated my shoulder.

I'm thinking.... what the hell WAS I thinking??? But, never a quitter, we went in anyway. Eliot spied all the other dogs and proceeded to jump on the nearest one in play, disregarding the leash held firmly in my hand. Shaking my head, I gained control, and we joined the class.

Eliot is known as a "head tipper". What this means is, when you talk to him, he tips his head to the side nearly 45 degrees when he looks at you. He is also a "grinner". If he thinks another human wants to pet him, his whole body wriggles and he grins at you. So I dutifully "stacked" him for inspection, and when the judge/instructor approached, he immediately attempted to curl around her legs and commenced his wriggling-grin. And while this elicits laughs, smiles and affection (which is exactly what he wanted), it would not do for him to behave this way in front of a real judge.

In this large building, there is also an 8 foot long horizontal mirror, so you can see how your dog looks when you put him in a pose. But Eliot had never seen himself in a mirror before. Upon passing it the first time, his reflection startled him, and I almost hit the floor. He got over that, but would move next to me with his head turned watching himself as we passed. Again, more laughs from the by-standers.

Most people have never seen a Gordon Setter, even if they know what one looks like from pictures. And what that class saw of my two boys was probably typical of most Gordons; the happy-go-lucky attitude, their obvious attachment to me - their owner/mom/buddy, and the "Gordon Setter Agenda" - which is never your agenda unless they choose that it should be.

This morning, after the class last night, my entire body aches. The boys are crashed out on their respective couches. I'm thinking, while I sit here and write this, how great I always feel the next morning after an all-day ride on my scooter. And how fun it would be to have a side-car on my bike for the boys, and far less effort when it comes to sharing my time with them. But, my dogs being the other love of my life, they deserve more of me, and so I am reminded that the freedom to indulge in animal ownership (or actually, their right to own me!), is a gift.

And Freedom is never anything you should take for granted in this country. Just ask Zorro and Eliot.