The Unlimited Love of Pets

This week it seems that my social media feeds are full of friends mourning the death of, or remembering fondly, or dealing with an ill or aging beloved pet. 

I too, have had very special "spirit animals" die and I still get tearful thinking about them all these years later. I also have two senior Doberman Pinschers who both have multiple ailments, and I know the heartbreaking goodbyes will be sooner rather than later. These animals are connected to us. They are linked to us in our hearts and spirits. This is why it is so painful to see them suffer, to have them die, and also why the memories of these creatures stay with us forever.

This is Phoebe. She is my mom's dog. Mom died just over seven weeks ago. Phoebe is a 12 year old Golden Doodle who was so bonded to Mom that when Mom left, even for just a short while, Phoebe would wait by the door-unmoving. When Mom was in extra pain, or the hospital with her cancer, Phoebe would get sick too. When Mom was doing okay, Phoebe was okay. They were symbiotic. 

The hope for Mom's death was for her to be able to die at home under the care of Hospice. If this had been able to happen, Phoebe would have been a part of Mom's dying experience. Instead, Mom died in the hospital, and Phoebe was waiting by the door.

The weeks following Mom's death, Phoebe was very depressed. She was listless and looking all around the house for Mom, she suffered intestinal trauma, paced around and slept a lot. These are also signs of human grief. Dad decided that Phoebe should have Mom's pillow-the one item that still really maintained her personal fragrance-Phoebe immediately cuddled down on it, and fell to sleep. 

Not only are we attached to our animal friends, but they are truly and unconditionally attached to us. We feel aching grief at the loss of our special companion, and I know for sure that they can grieve and mourn the loss of their human as well. 

We brought Phoebe to Mom's memorial service last week and she was a grounding point for the entire family, she asked for cuddles, gave kisses and made us smile through our tears. 

I am certain that Phoebe still misses Mom, and her health has been up and down in the past weeks-but she has her pillow and she has Dad, and he has her. 

Dad with Phoebe at Webb Lake

Cancer Notes on a Thursday Morning

Dad. He always gets up in the morning before Mom. He turns on the coffee pot, warms up the house and makes sure there is honey already in her coffee mug because she can no longer squeeze the honey container. When he hears her stirring to get out of bed, he helps her in any way she needs: sometimes she can't sit up; sometimes she needs help standing; sometimes he finds she's already made it into the bathroom and just can't open the damned toothpaste. He has put her first-above everything else. 

Mom is in the hospital right now. Dad and I took her in yesterday after a week of watching a disturbing, rapid decline in overall wellbeing. She has fucking cancer in her central nervous system. She is 71 years old and for the past 10 years has battled a rare form of (incurable but treatable) non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, called Waldenström Macroglobulinimea. Two years ago things shifted dramatically when the cancer cells crossed the blood brain barrier into her cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) forming a crazy-rare mutation called Bing-Neel Syndrome. What research there is on Bing-Neel, points to a two to three year mortality rate from time of diagnosis. Mom is in year two. So, yeah. That's what is happening.

The options are to try what is called an Ommaya Reservoir-a port placed in the skull-for chemotherapy drugs to be distributed directly into the CFS...or to do nothing and eventually connect with Hospice. Yesterday, Mom decided she isn't quite ready for Hospice and wants to try the Ommaya Reservoir technique, which her oncologist says has roughly a 50/50 chance of improving how she feels. Note also that this will not cure the cancer. She still has stuff she wants to do and places she wants to see. She says she's not done hiking or traveling or being with her family. This is phenomenal to me and probably to Dad and my sister too, since she struggles to just walk around the house due to severe cancer-induced neuropathic pain in her legs and bouts of unshakable dizziness. But, this is Mom: determined, pissed off at her body, and wanting more time. 

This morning, Dad and I sit quietly waiting for the sun to rise, drinking our coffee, reading our news feeds, thinking about our day ahead to be spent at the hospital, both of us feeling Mom's absence but not speaking about it so much. I put her coffee mug back in the cupboard, and the honey sits on the counter used only by me. 

Years Gone By, Years Ahead

It has been several years since my last post. I've been wanting to get back to writing, so I'm trying this format out again. A ton of stuff has happened over the years, as I know it has for everyone, so I am not going to try to get you all caught up on events, but instead I'll reflect in future posts.

The new year is here and I decided to skip the resolution tradition. I turn 50 in two years and am feeling pretty introspective. I am dedicating the next 26 months to creating my most healthy, happy, gracious, strong, soulful Self so that I can ring in my half century with full, glorious force.

I am going to continue running (my favorite form of self-care), maybe throw in another half marathon or two; I am going to spend more time being quiet and just listening to what is happening around me; I am going to amp up my nutrition and cool down my drinking (yes, I am serious about that-things are changing as I am getting older, and my body doesn't like the booze so much any more); I am going to lessen my screen time and rekindle my love of books; I am going to say thank you more often and be kinder than what is necessary; I am going to be more intentional with my language and speak deeply and slowly from my heart; I am going to walk away from toxicity and be gentler on my Self; I am going to be more giving and flexible in my relationships; and I am going to try to keep my cynicism in check. On a larger level, I want to do more for animal welfare and for the Earth. Certainly there will be more added to this list as I delve into this leg of my life.

Overall, what I hope for in the second half of my life is to be more spiritually awake and less of an impact on the planet.

As time moves as it does, I find myself amazed at the process of aging. How did this happen? Really, though, where DID the years go? How many sunsets and full moons? How many tears and how much laughter?
Life is so short!
Honestly if we aren't doing things to make ourselves happy now, when will we ever be truly happy?
Later?
What if there is no later?
Now is the option.

Okay, okay. I'm getting all existential, when I want to take life less seriously and just get my groove on in the moment...and I just mostly wanted to wish everyone Happy New Year...thanks for checking in!

xoxo-Shannon

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Bikram Yoga

So, until last night I was a Bikram Yoga virgin. I am currently on a cleanse so I am interested in different forms of detoxifying my bod.  Little did I know how detoxifying this class would really be!  

First, I check in.  Give a hug to my friend who coaxed me to the studio, and she introduces me to our instructor. I then move to a small room with a wall of cubbies where I all stash my stuff and strip down to the most minimal clothing I am comfortable wearing in public-which for this event is a tank top and running shorts.  I head into a dim room, lay my yoga mat and towel out on the floor, and I join the group of 20+ stretching in silence (the group includes the stereotypical, small, hairy guy in a speedo). This room is heated to 102 degrees. 102 degrees. 102 degrees.

It's not bad at first as we start by doing breathing exercises to "warm our throats," but by 20 minutes into increasingly challenging standing postures, when the heat begins to feel like as stuffy 200 degrees instead of a measly 102, I have sweat burning my eyes and pouring down my arms.  Not the kind of sweat I get from running in Oregon, but the kind of sweat you would experience in Houston, Texas in August if you were running a marathon as fast as you can. 

At this juncture, I start thinking of the controversy surrounding Mr. Bikram himself at the moment (be sure to look him up and learn about his current sex scandal), and I begin hating him.  Hating his stupid idea of doing yoga in a ridiculously hot room.  Hating the now-sweaty, hairy guy in speedos. Hating the perma grin on the woman with the yoga-perfect body and a little less sweat than I behind me in the mirror.  Then the instructor allows us to have a sip of water.  My hate lessens and I attempt to refocus.

We do "tree pose."  In this standing posture my foot is supposed to perch on my opposite inner thigh with my arms extended over my head.  Under normal circumstances, this pose is cake for me, but currently my legs and feet are so slippery with sweat that I fall over.  I continue to excel at "fallen tree pose" until we move on to floor postures that bend my runner's knees in ways that they absolutely do not like.  So, I improvise.  

Apparently, Bikram teachers do not like improvisation from students.  At all.  After this discovery, I just sit quietly feeling the sweat stream down my back into my shorts, trying not to pass out until the knee killer poses were finished.
 
I survive the 90 minute workout and actually succeed at most postures. My clothing is as wet as though I had jumped in a lake (which would be amazing at this point).  My towel is like I just pulled it out of the rinse cycle.  My face is red and my skin glowing.  

After I drink about a gallon of water, I sit in my comfortable 40 degree car and evaluate my being. I feel amazing.  Truly cleansed and stretched and internally calm. I then stop by the market to pick up limes and mineral water, and the check out girl tells me I smell like vanilla. (Is she hitting on me?) I laugh and told her I doubt it because I just came from an intense yoga class.  But, I think about it for a second.  I sweated so much of my stinky self out that maybe I really DO smell like vanilla!  Maybe under all of that cheese and bourbon I have a vanilla bean core!  I never would have found my true vanilla-scented self if I hadn’t finally given in to my friend who’s been pestering me for over three years to try Bikram.  This time, apparently, she asked me at the right moment.  I slept better last night than I have in months.  Almost 9 hours.
 
Today I am sore.  Sore hips, sore quads, sore lower back, sore shoulders.  But I feel good: calm still, which is good because cleansing can certainly bring out my inner fire; quite detoxified, both internally and externally; and apprehensively hopeful as I look ahead to my next Bikram class.  And there is still a hint of vanilla floating around...

 Happy New Year!!!

Butter

I love butter.  It is by far my favorite condiment.  I have childhood memories of butter which include watching my two-year-old sister consume most of a stick of butter that was softening on the counter to be added to cookie batter.  I remember being shocked, and then I laughed, and then I promptly told on her.

Another very fond memory that to this day sparks food cravings for me, is when Mom used to give us a snack of saltine crackers spread with butter.  I could have eaten dozens of those if I had been allowed! I have successfully found a gluten free saltine alternative, and yes I do indulge in a "saltines with butter" binge occasionally.  If the crackers are in the house, dammit they are getting buttered.

As the 1980's rolled in, butter in our house was replaced by margarine.  Mom was on a health kick and replaced everything with "low fat" alternatives.  If only the correct nutritional information and long term effects of certain ingredients had been available then, we would have likely remained a butter home.  Eventually the butter did return to the Christopher house, and I moved out into the world to be left to create my own dietary choices.

Over the years, I have become more nutritionally aware. I eat 7-10 servings of vegetables daily.  I consciously avoid refined foods (except for those GF saltines and occasional rice pasta).  I eat fresh, whole foods, cook healthful meals, and I am a gluten-free-lacto-ovo-pescetarian.  Currently, however I am not consuming dairy, and most of my fats come from nuts, seeds, coconut oil and occasional olive oil. And then there is butter. The only dairy product I eat.  Butter from grass-fed, pastured cows is loaded with nutritional benefits, plus it just tastes amazing. 

I keep a half stick of butter on the counter at all times.  If there is a cracker, you know it gets a swipe.  If there is a pumpkin seed, it gets dunked into a soft corner.  I plop it unabashedly onto steamed broccoli.  If there is popcorn, well, I don't put butter on my popcorn, but I have been known to dip a piece of popped goodness into a stick of butter.  Obviously, any food has potential to be a vehicle for butter consumption. 

I enlarged the following picture so you can actually read it.  All interesting info. 

Ancel Keys was a cutting edge scientist who studied dietary fats and their health related effects.  

He put the famous"Mediterranean Diet" together.

He hypothesized that butter was not good for us.  At all.

As you can see, the consumption of butter is a good thing!  Thank God, because, I just don't think I can shake this addiction.  Also, as a woman training for a half marathon, eating specific fats helps keep the joints lubed and the heart pumping, but eating dairy is not optimal for athletic health or performance.  Hence the restriction on cheese.  I have also discovered that cheese makes my stomach unhappy, which makes me a sad runner.  But my love affair with sweet, salty butter does not give me the same grief, so partake, I will.

I will whip this to a close, but I hope I have encouraged you to eat butter guilt free-as I do. 
Spread it.  Dip in it.  Melt it.  Enjoy it.  Lick it off your finger tips!

I suppose I should leave you with a recipe or something... 

                 THIS                                                                                                    THIS

              PLUS







=  delicious snack-happiness

Zeus

 I have a doberman.  Well, I actually have two dobermans, but for now I want to talk about Zeus.  He is a big 3+ year old guy-about 85 pounds-and has a pretty major anxiety disorder.  His past is mostly unknown, as I "rescued" him from an organization that absorbs animals from kill shelters and attempts to find them homes.  It seems he was kenneled for extended time periods-like up to 18 hours a day because his owner worked long hours.  He also displays signs of having been struck by either a hand or an object.  Sigh.  So I came along, and he looked deeply into my eyes and made me fall in love. 


I have always had a thing for bad boys.  Zeus is my latest.  He has been with us for almost a year, and he has taken over our daily routines, the house, and of course our hearts.  Especially mine.  He barks violently at our neighbors through the chain link fence.  Yes, they have officially complained to us about his behavior.  I secretly wish I could bark like that at them.  He attacks off-lead dogs who come to him.  I would do the same, and I have little sympathy for the owners of those dogs who have a vet bill to pay for their lawlessness.  Let me state that Zeus is strictly an on-lead dog.  He has a vest that says "Give Me Space."  Unfortunately, dogs can't read, but somehow I feel better when he is wearing it.

Well, Zeus has become my running partner.  I am currently training for my first half marathon!  It's not for several months, but we ran 7.26 miles the other day which is the farthest distance I've ever run.  Something about having Zeus with me eases the distance.  I talk to him, have to stop for him to occasionally do dog business, and of course have to be on the alert for squirrels, deer and of course other dogs that often make us change our route. 

This is something that Zeus has taught me: to be flexible.  In the past, I have set my goal, and gotten there by the most direct course, in the most efficient manner.  Zeus with his anxiety has given me an opportunity I have never given myself: a change course option.  This is something that has translated to other areas of my life, not just running with the dog.  I have become less rigid and a little more relaxed if I have to alter my plans.  It's a good thing.  It's also kind of funny that it is something I had to learn from my dog.