Next Stop - College

I spent the last 3 days in Boise, ID, with a bunch of incoming freshmen and their parents. We were there for Orientation. I've attended college, 2 in fact, and I went to graduate school. What could I possibly need to know about this experience? It wasn't even my experience. Can't I just drop him off in August, send care packages every week, and pick him up again in December?

Just like with every other new thing I've done, I learned a lot. 

I learned that my son can pick excellent restaurants! After a very simple travel afternoon, Dylan guided us to Bardenay Restaurant and Distillery. What do they distill? Gin of course! My kid knows how to take care of his mama. 

And on our last night, we indulged in bison burgers and fries. Boise Fry Co., lets you choose your potato (I had purple), the cut, and the sauces. Blueberry ketchup is really good.

Our days were spent listening to Boise faculty and staff. The students heard about all of the opportunities to get involved; the parents got a dose of tough love about how our involvement was going to change. Reality struck when we learned that our students were choosing classes without any input from us. 

I learned that some things don't change. After Dylan got his copy of the course catalog, all he wanted to do was find a quiet corner and study it. He wanted to make the RIGHT decision about every single class. He wanted to take 15 credits so that he could graduate in 4 years. He wanted to make sure that his schedule would accommodate rugby practice. As I've done through high school, all I had to do was sit back and wait for the questions. When they didn't come, because he figured it out himself, I knew that the August drop off would be harder for me than it would be for him.

I learned that when we move out of our comfort zone, good things can happen. While my kid was making friends, I was too. Typically, in these large groups, I find a way to be alone. But for some reason, I took my cue from the students and joined in the experience. I met some wonderful, interesting folks, exchanged contact info and know that we'll stay connected. 

And I remembered that when traveling to new places, the best thing to do is wander. Dylan stayed one night in the dorm, so I had a whole evening to myself. I explored the city a little, then wondered how long it would take to get 'away'. In about 5 minutes, I found myself in open space, on a dirt road, hiking trails, heaven. 

The next night, Dylan and I took a different route and found ourselves at Table Rock.

But maybe the biggest thing I learned is that while Dylan is starting his new adventure, I can start my own.

Fish Fry

Today, I miss Wisconsin. It's Friday and I think every true Wisconsinite knows, that can mean only one thing: Friday Night Fish Fry.

When I was a kid, we'd pile into the cars - my grandma's huge Buick, Grampa's station wagon (seats in the way back facing each other), one lucky kid got to ride with my dad on his motorcycle but it was never a girl because we had to wear dresses to make my Grammie happy - and head to the restaurant. The Colonial Inn was a favorite. Google tells me it either doesn't exist, or hasn't changed enough to have a website!

Anyway, there was always a huge table full of family. The cousins from California were always visiting. Or maybe it was the other side of the family, in which case Michigan was represented. Either way, it was a magical time; in exchange for best-behavior, we kids got in on the adult conversations. I kept my ears open and my mouth shut, because while I didn't know what it all meant, I knew it was important.

Until I remembered the fountain. It was set into the wall, chock full of trinkets. I was sure those things had been placed there with intention, not just something someone picked up at the Fair, but something with meaning, some kind of message from the world beyond small-town Wisconsin and all of its claustrophobia.

The bread course arrived with the Brandy Old Fashioneds. My sister, the oldest kid in the tribe, got a Shirley Temple; as usual, I tried to blend into the woodwork; all that attention interfered with my daydreams.

The women fussed over the kids, tucking napkins into laps, trying to get the young ones to stay seated; all in an attempt to impress, maybe appease, the matriarch. Grammie expected us all to be on our best behavior. She'd insisted that we bring cardigans. The air conditioned restaurant might be too cold, we'd get sick and ruin the rest of our summer vacation.

But she didn't realize that nothing could ruin those long lazy days on the water. We woke up every morning, put on our swim suits and... swam, played tennis, swam, sailed, water skied, swam, sunburned every inch of our bikini-clad bodies, ran barefoot through pine needles, swam some more, hunted for turtles, tipped the canoe on purpose... when we finally stopped for lunch, there was tuna salad and blueberry muffins. To this day, I can't eat tuna salad without cut-in-half grapes and those little, perfectly baked muffins. The afternoons were slower, and as we grew up, nap-time turned into playing cards turned into waiting for the boys to drive by in the ski boat.

The Fish Frys held steady. But the restaurant changed. My grandparents joined the country club and it got serious - ties and sport coats for the men, nylons (in that heat?) for the women. As teens, my sister and I got really good at checking our watches without anyone noticing. Friday night. Where was the party? Who was driving? Come on, hurry up and finish those potato pancakes.

And then we moved away, my grandparents passed, the California cousins didn't go back and Friday nights are just Friday nights.

Today, I miss Wisconsin.

Try It!

Trying something new. It's supposed to be good for our brains.

Gordon is learning how to kayak. The class is officially called 'Introduction to Sprint Kayak Racing'. He's loving it. Now he wants to do Stand-up Paddleboarding, or something like that.

I watched him for awhile on Saturday and after I got over how beautiful and quiet it is on the Petaluma River, I marveled at his ability to start from scratch. When I asked him about it later, he admitted that he was worried that he'd be terrible at it and that he'd get frustrated and want to quit. But he had some immediate success, so that kept him going through the 3 times (of course he counted) he tipped.

Dylan is taking his first class at the Junior College. I was more nervous for him than he was. When he was a toddler, we'd have to be the first to arrive at the park for playgroups so that he could get the lay of the land before his friends showed up. Then in grade school, he'd only try something new if his best friend was right there with him. Later, he really surprised me when he decided to play rugby. Not only did he not know a single person on the team, but he had to travel to a different high school to even join in.

I know this 'try new things' attitude is something they've learned. Because I'm a shy person, I didn't want my kids to by shy. I wanted them to have confidence and be leaders and say 'yes' more often than 'no'.

I'd always made the safe choices. Until I was 22 and went to Europe by myself. I got off the plane without hotel reservations and no real plan for the whole summer. I liked the adventure so much that the next year, I left for Tunisia - didn't return for a year. Those experiences shaped me.

Today, as I watch my boys adventure and experience, I realize that it's time for me to jump in again. And what will it be?

A Regular Dog

Rolling in the grass!

Tristan was wandering the streets with major injuries. At first, everyone thought he had a broken leg, but it turned out to be a severely infected wound to his elbow, caused by a bite. He was covered in lacerations, from bite wounds. His ears were closed because of scarring from old, poorly healed infections, and a new infection, caused by dog bites. There was no doubt that this dog had been used as a bait dog, to train other dogs to fight.

Tristan is estimated to be 10 years old. Imagine 10 years of that life.

Smiling

I've deliberately closed my eyes to the dog fighting world. While I've fostered a few puppies who could maybe, perhaps have been involved as bait dogs, I didn't dwell on it and I didn't seek more information. I just couldn't process that this could happen to a dog. That there are people in this world so cruel. I know, naive and cowardly of me.

So, when I was asked, very kindly and gently if I had it in my heart to help Tristan, I hesitated. What could this mean? What was I getting myself into? What was I exposing my family to? But rather than research what dog fighting was all about, I reviewed the science behind dog behavior and training.

Dogs live in the moment and give you what you expect. Those two basic pieces allowed me to say 'yes'. I didn't know if I could provide the right environment, or devise and implement a rehab plan, but I did know that I could let Tristan rest and heal, while expecting him to be a regular dog.

A dog and his boy

By the time I met Tristan, he'd been at the vet for 2 weeks. They did a great job of taking care of his immediate needs with drains and tubes and bandages and surgeries. He was still fragile and looking ragged, but had improved from his original condition.

The first thing he did when he saw me, a complete stranger, was smile and give me a tentative half-body wag. I returned the language and I got the full-body version! With that, I knew I could make it work. I didn't have to fake treating him like a regular dog, because he WAS a regular dog.

I'm not going to show you photos of his original condition. He will never be that again. Today, he is healthy and happy and loved and ready for anything that comes his way. It's my job to make sure all that is positive and good.

Process vs Product

I am making this lace scarf. The yarn is very thin, the needles are tiny, the pattern is picky. I've had the kit for 3 years and just ignored it. Bigger, faster, easier projects always won out.

But when I needed a new project, this one jumped at me. It was all there, ready to go, I didn't have to find a pattern, match it up with yarn from my stash, find the right sized needles.

And now, I'm committed to this scarf which will be lovely when it's finished and will feel like a real accomplishment...when it's finished and will contribute to my deteriorating eyesight...when it's finished!

Finishing projects has never been my forte. I knit to the end, but then the pieces lie around, waiting to be sewn together into whatever garment the pattern promised. I've unraveled entire projects just to reuse the yarn and avoid sewing up.

So, it's not the end that interests me, it's the process. I love the technical, repetitive, meditative, mechanical process of creating the individual stitches that together become something so different from the ball of yarn it started out as.

When my kids attended Montessori preschool, I was introduced to this idea that the process was as important as the product. In this society, we tend to focus on the end result, moving quickly through the steps because the thing at the end is the prize.

When I foster, I know the end goal is to adopt this pet into a home. But that's bittersweet since I have to say good-bye. I've learned to enjoy my piece of it, which is the pet's process of healing from injury, or raising a litter, or learning to be a family member again.

Through time and with gentle guidance, they emerge and blossom. I can only hope for the same outcome with this scarf.

Tristan is Hot

It's sooooooo.....hot. I waited all day for the fog to roll in and cool off this heatbox that I call a house. I've been sitting at the computer all day, working, fan blowing directly on me and I can still feel the trickle of sweat roll down my back.

The dogs lounge and slug around, moving from one bed to the couch to the cool hardwood floor. Why the black cat curls up in a tight ball on the fuzzy dog bed is beyond me, but most of what he does is a mystery. Par for the course.

And then there's Tristan. He greets me with a huge smile and a full body wag. He pounces on the ball and flings it in the air, hops around while it bounces and pretends that he can't catch it, watching me out of the corner of his eye. I can't help but grin as big as him.

Then he bounds back to my side and leans in for a scratch and a pat and a smooch. He's just happy to be alive. Not a care in the world about the mercury level. He's got a toy and his human and he's all good.

Nat'l Donut Day

How can National Donut Day coincide with the anniversary of D-Day?
Another shooting? During graduation 'season'.
Save one dog, 10 others are killed.

I can't reconcile these things. Sometimes, there's just too much coming at me for me to make sense of any one piece.

So I try to focus on what I CAN do.

But am I doing enough? Is there a way to partition off another part of the house/yard to accommodate another foster?

Are my boys eating enough vegetables? Getting the exercise they need? Resting and enjoying their summer break before they start the grind of school in a few very short months?

And so it goes.

Today, I will... I'm just not sure what I'll do. Or what I'll focus on. I have a feeling it's going to one of those days full of contradictions that won't make sense in the moment, but will be clear after the fact. One of these days.