Here's to the pebble in my shoe

(Wouldn't you know it...we're gathered together (once again) for a memorial, a passing on of two people we all loved. Shouldn't we gather more often to celebrate while we're still here on Earth instead of waiting until it's too late? I'm just asking....)


Last Friday at around 5:30 a.m., I woke up knowing I had a full schedule. Work, meeting with a business partner, grocery shopping and some other agenda items I can’t recall at the moment – all of these were waiting for an enthusiastic and sharp-witted person. I’ll admit to the enthusiasm part; after all, I love my job and I’m thrilled to be involved in creating a new business. The grocery shopping was a ho-hum thing but necessary.

Let’s just say, I was going to be busy.

I’ve come to hate the word “busy”. Too many relationships have fallen by the wayside simply because folks have declared themselves to be too “busy” to call, drop by or contact me by any means available. What they’re saying, in essence, is that I am no longer important enough to spare even 300 seconds (that’s five minutes out of the 1,440 in every 24-hour period). Nice. No wonder there are so many fractured families and former friendships in our lives these days.

Oh, and I’m one of the guilty ones.

As I grabbed the purse, laptop and a briefcase Friday morning, I noticed that there was a sharp pebbly-type thing in my shoe. Instead of putting everything down and taking care of the problem, I wiggled my toes to move the annoyance around and headed out.

Work at the office went smoothly that morning, except for the pebble periodically making its presence felt. A toe wiggle and the pain went away. Time to meet with the business partner.

We spent most of the time sitting, talking and typing. She headed out the door first and I followed, with much more on my mind than I arrived with plus one more thing: the pebble was front and center once again. And I was too busy to mess with it. I gritted my teeth and headed for the grocery store.

As I wiggled my toes and perused the aisles, I wondered why I didn’t just take the time to take off my shoe and get rid of the tiny rock. The answer, I guess, was that I’d get to it when I got home. I could stand it until then.

I made it to a few more places before pulling into the driveway. I hauled in the bags, plus everything I’d taken with me that morning. A look at the clock told me I’d been gone over five hours. Not once during that time did I take a few seconds to stop, take off my shoe and shake it. I was too busy.

It’s no fun to admit this, but it wasn’t until a couple of hours later that I took care of the problem. I think I was fighting the pebble throughout the day just to show it who was boss. And now I know.

The story of the pebble in the shoe is real, and it did happen last Friday. But long before that, I could use that analogy to describe relationships that we let fall by the side of the road of life simply because we’re too busy to maintain them. We think the other person will understand; gosh, we have so many commitments! People are counting on us to do this, that and the other for them so, they’re sorry but you’re just going to have to wait until they have time for you in their life again.

But here’s the kicker: what if we wait so long, what if we let our hectic lifestyles kill off what really matters? Will those people still be waiting for you, or will they have turned away for good? You’ve got to know that you can only ignore loved ones for so long before they simply give up and go away for good.

The sad part of this story is that some will read it, see themselves and vow to change. They’ll promise to make that phone call and ask their brother, sister, aunt, niece, uncle, nephew, cousin or friend to lunch but they’ll fall flat on their face as soon as someone or something comes along that simply must have their attention.

Others will read this and not see themselves at all. Or, they’ll think it’s up to the other person to contact them and the inevitable march to a loss of closeness will continue until neither of them care one whit about the other.

As for me, I’ve made a list of those I’ve lost touch with. Thanks in large part to an annoying pebble in my shoe, I know better than to use the excuse of being too busy to ignore the most important part of life: my family and my friends.

Pebbles rock.

Doggone dogs we still love and always will

(Sarah Jane would have loved Cujo and Max and all the other pups we brought into our home and hearts.)


If you’ve owned a few dogs and cats over the years, and some of them have gone on to the Rainbow Bridge, you’ve probably seen a television commercial or two that brings back the memory of your dearly-departed four-legged buddy. We’ve seen a few ads lately that remind us of a couple of our lovable mutts.

One of our favorite dogs was Cujo, our Saint Bernard-mix. What a character she was, and not just because she was afraid of storms and firecrackers.

Hubby loved throwing food in the air just to see Cujo miss it. Sometimes it landed right atop her furry head, and most times she would seem unaware she had a piece of cheese just inches from her mouth. One of us had to pluck the food off her head and feed it to her. It never ceased to be funny.

With Max, our Malamute-mix, we had to be very, very careful. That long nose, sharp eyes and even sharper teeth were a lethal combination to any human hand that ventured too close while holding food. After she sunk her doggy fangs into hubby’s hand twice because he pulled a chocolate candy bar out of her mouth, we resorted to tossing her food from a safe distance for a while but I never gave up. Eventually Max could gently retrieve food from my outstretched hand. I felt like I won a prize.

Sarah the pup is another animal altogether. She is by far the biggest dog we’ve ever had. As she’s walked around the neighborhood, folks stop to talk to her and her master, drivers crane their necks to stare and one time a car full of young ladies yelled out, “Hey! Is that a Marley dog? It is! Hey!” I’m not sure what they expected Sarah to do, but she just kept her steady walking pace while sniffing the ground and trying to ingest whatever she could swallow before getting caught.

The weather has turned nice, so the dog is outside a good part of the day. That allows hubby and I to sit comfortably at the kitchen table and we’re able to eat slowly - our whole meal. Usually the pooch has her heavy head resting on our leg, staring up with sad brown eyes. Once she gets a bite from one of us, she immediately scurries around to beg from the other one. I’m sure we’re breaking some iron-clad rule by feeding the dog at the table but it’s our house, and our rules. Besides, if Sarah is nothing else, she’s loyal to those who let her lick the cold creamy part of a delicious Dilly Bar.

As we watch the TV ads that give us a glimpse at the pets we once had, I find myself wanting to try to replace Cujo and Max. This time, I’d want a dog that isn’t afraid of loud noises, and one who wouldn’t remove a finger or two as we offered food. But if we could have back the same ones we lost, who had the same idiosyncrasies, we’d take them in a heartbeat. After all, those are the dogs who stole our hearts in the first place.

Turning toward home on this Mother's Day

(A wish, a prayer, for those who may be far from home this Mother's Day - plus remembering my mom.)

That special day is the day after tomorrow. But it didn’t take a date on the calendar to remind me that Mother’s Day is this Sunday.

I knew all about it because of the scent of my favorite flowers floating through my open kitchen window. The lilac bush is tall and bursting with lavender blooms, and when I stand quietly, with my eyes closed I can almost see mom in my mind’s eye.

(As an aside, one of the weirdest experiences for me was when I couldn’t picture mom’s face shortly after she died. I was young, just 21, and I was having a severe memory problem. Turns out that’s not a strange thing at all – it happens to a lot of folks.)

That afternoon, after the sun warmed the air before it blew through the open window, I breathed in the memories of that house on Tenney Street with the lilacs just outside the living room windows. Isn’t it strange how a happy recollection can bring tears to your eyes and a lump to your throat?

I smiled as tears trickled down my face. There’s just something about a mom.

Those of us who hold that position too often believe we don’t measure up to what a mother should be. We measure ourselves against other moms we know, along with celebrity mothers. We think we’re too fat, too thin, not bright enough, too strict, too lenient. Some feel they can’t cook or keep a clean home.

I bet mom believed a few of those things about herself. As an adult, I now see that she had low self-esteem issues, yet I miss her something fierce. That means I loved her, no matter her perceived shortcomings. Those things didn’t matter; what mattered most to me were the life lessons she taught without knowing she was doing so.

Sis and I know how to make money stretch, we’re very good cooks and we’re kind to animals. We both fall a trifle short on housecleaning abilities, because most of the time we have other priorities, like putting relationships with family and friends ahead of dusting and washing dishes.

You know, there are some women who are mothers though not in the traditional sense, and I’m not talking about adoption. I have a dear friend whom I like to describe as a “mother to the world.” She has this uncanny ability to run across the poor or needy and she finds some way to brighten their world, to make them feel like they truly do matter. In my opinion, that’s how a mother acts – giving comfort, words of encouragement, and in some cases, finding just the right way to feed a hungry soul, whether it’s with a bouquet of flowers or a new air conditioner on a hot summer day.

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating. I’m thankful that mom taught us the value of the word “no” because if she hadn’t, I know sis and I would have grown up thinking the world owed us whatever we wanted. There are some adults who have been given almost everything they asked for throughout their lives and now they can’t handle making their own way. Moms have a tough time denying their children whatever they want, and I’d bet anything that our mom struggled with that.

Being a parent is so hard sometimes. The worry never stops, arguments happen, and sometimes children will simply walk away from home without a backward glance. But someday that son or daughter may find themselves standing quietly by an open window, the scent of lilacs floating on a spring breeze and their heart will turn toward home.

That, dear reader, will be a very happy Mother’s Day indeed.

The winner is the wolf we feed

(No, this isn't a picture of a wolf, nor is it our beloved Max - though I do have a photo of her around here - this is Windmont Park in Kewanee. It's a peaceful place, and the fountain is pretty. Yup, this is a perfect spot to feed the "good" wolf).

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all.

“One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.

“The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf wins?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

(From: A Motivational Story with Wisdom – Two Wolves Cherokee Wisdom)

A few weeks ago a friend e-mailed me the above message. She didn’t single me out; this was one of those mass missives, the kind I usually delete after reading the first sentence. But to paraphrase a famous line from the movie Jerry Maguire, she had me at the last seven words in the first sentence, so I kept the e-mail and re-read it over the next week or so.

No one wants to admit they harbor anger, envy, jealousy and the rest of the evil thoughts listed. I’ve been guilty of having every one of those awful feelings, and while I’ve dropped most of them, I find that anger and self-pity tend to stick around.

That isn’t to say that joy, peace, love, hope and all the rest of the good guys don’t have a home inside me. They do. It’s just that those other two tend to rear their ugly heads and demand to be fed regularly, and there seems to be an endless supply of, for lack of a better word, food.

Some may think I’m making up this next observation, but I’m not. I shared this quote with at least half a dozen people recently and without exception, each one zeroed in on anger and sorrow. They were angry with someone, almost always a family member, and they felt the sorrow that comes with the inevitable separation from those who once loved them.

The feeding of that wolf comes from the constant thinking and re-thinking of The Incident. It can be a new wound or an old, old one. Sad and angry thoughts intrude during the day and keep us awake at night. Close friends and co-workers often lend a sympathetic ear, thereby giving the wolf even more to eat as details are rehashed until there’s nothing left to say, at least until the next time.

As we shared our wolf stories, a common theme emerged. Anger and sorrow diminished somewhat as we shared what happens when we keep ourselves too busy to think about what brings us down. Taking a keener interest in work, volunteering, going back to school – those things and more have helped to starve the one wolf while nurturing the other.

The men and women around the table that afternoon had found ways to bring peace, hope, serenity and empathy to their lives, and for some of them, it had been too long a time. They laughed easily, and it was a beautiful sound. Though there were no rules among us banning discussion of troubles, no one mentioned anything negative. We went our separate ways, and promised to get together again soon.

I love this piece of wolf wisdom. Heck, I love wolves. Our dog Max looked like a wolf, at least to me, and one of the things about her that impressed me every day of her life was the look in her eyes. Somewhere inside of her, I could see just a hint of what looked like sadness. It was always there, even while her tail was wagging in happy anticipation of a treat or some other wonderful thing. I was never able to relieve Max of that look in her eyes.

I see that expression in the eyes of some of the people closest to me. They’ve been hurt in some way, and no matter how hard someone tries to point out all they have to be thankful for, the wolf inside is hungry and it demands to be fed.

My hope is that you are able to distinguish between the two wolves inside of you. You can pretend that all is well, like far too many people do, or you can follow the wisdom of the old Cherokee.

Life’s too short – feed the Good wolf.