And then there were THREE: Broö

     March 2013 finds the bf and I living in a nice (little) apartment in Houston, Texas, far away from our beloved green hills and mountains in Tennessee. We have been here since the beginning of January and it has been nice so far, though it has been getting increasingly warm, bordering on hot, which has me worried! I'm not one for the oppressive heat and humidity that smothers the city like a hot woolen blanket in the summer months. The bf and I have actually spent the past 2 summers here (or rather I visited him for a month or so each summer) and it was brutal---my plan then was to never go outside unless I was at the pool, since I am prone to fainting and general crankiness in the heat, but that just won't work for us this summer since WE GOT A DOG! :D

It has been a long time coming, but we finally got a dog. We still want a frenchie like crazy, but considering the heat here (bad news for brachycephalic dogs), the cost of potential breed specific surgeries (palette reduction for proper breathing), and the simple fact that there are just way too many good dogs being put down in shelters in part from over-breeding, we chose to adopt.



Since we knew we wanted a doberman, we went through the Houston Area Doberman Rescue (HADR) and highly recommend them. The gentle giant we ended up with is a sweet 8 year old, weighing in at 90 pounds, who lived with the same family his whole life. He is blessedly well mannered and has obviously been well cared for his entire life. He came to the rescue from a 78-year old lady who needed to have back surgery and worried she wouldn't be able to care for him properly during her long recovery. I'm sure it was incredibly painful for her to part with him, especially since he was her departed husband's baby, and the rescue passed on to us an entire garbage bag she had brought with him, full of dog-sized fleece blankets, nail clippers, toothbrushes, shampoo and even beef-flavored toothpaste. We couldn't fathom what all the blankets were for, since he already had a dog bed, but it turns out that he gets cold at night when we turn the air conditioning on, as he must have when he was with his first owner, and he curls up into a tight little ball! I love dragging the dog bed into the bedroom at night as he sleepily follows me and plops down, curling into that little ball, and gives me a heavy-lidded look as I tuck one of his old blankets around him.

Broö likes peanut butter. A lot.

He is really a joy to have and we are so happy to be his new family! We're still learning all his little quirks and getting used to having this furbaby invade every aspect of our relationship :P

OH! And his name is Broö, pronounced "brew" like a beer. It really has no meaning in particular, we just thought it fit him.

Not enjoying mom and dad getting up at 5 am for work

Broö always floods the apt when he drinks water--it gets everywhere. Even on his own face.

Us at the dog park. We live in a small apt, so we go a couple times a day to run around and socialize!

I wish I could throw further, he gets visibly frustrated with my poor throwing! (This photo is for show only and is not an indication of how I throw/hold the ball ;)

Annoying but necessary PSA:

If you're looking to add a furry new member to your own family, I strongly urge you to adopt. I don't want to rant about the crises that are going on with over-breeding and the overflow of unwanted animals at shelters, but if you are unfamiliar with these issues they merit some research on your part. There are presently a whole host of serious health problems cropping up in "purebred" dogs as they are manically bred (inbred, more often than not) more and more for exaggerated characteristics (excessive wrinkles, short legs, curly tail, smushed face, etc), without regard for the viability of those characteristics or the general health of the dog. This is a well-documented problem that is being disregarded by many breeders, so do your research!! If you have your heart set on a certain breed, consider going through a breed-specific rescue (which is what we did).

I know these articles and videos are lengthy, but I had no idea this problem even existed until I happened across the first BBC piece the other day. The rest of the research I've done online corroborates with what they reported.

• This is the original BBC piece, Pedigree Dogs Exposed, from 2008 I believe

• BBC produced a follow-up video, called Pedigree Dogs Exposed 3 Years Later, which you can also find online

• Although from 2007, this paper will give you a good idea of the problems surrounding the Kennel Clubs and breed standards if you prefer text over video

I don't wish to sound as if I'm preaching from a high-horse (I'm just going to combine those two idioms), but these are some issues that sound quite frivolous (breed standards? who cares?) and yet are truly important when it comes to alleviating the suffering (both human and animal) that is occurring without our knowledge. I'm going to stop adding paragraphs to this now, but do your research and know what you're getting into. Don't think that just because someone is offering AKC registered dogs that they are a good breeder or that they have healthy dogs. Do your research! Or better yet, (much better) adopt!!! :)

  

Cocoon Love

I find that some days, instead of driving through a haze of wayward thoughts and ambient music, I really relish my drive home from work. It's on those days when the sun has already set, and the busy cars that clog the road during the day have already trickled home and out of my way. The web of thin, 2-way streets that I follow home is something else entirely at night with the windows down and the warm breeze disappating all errant thoughts. I am a ball of headlight as I blow down the dark streets, the trees arching up and over me, a lush cocoon of dark arms enfolding my car and me. Occasionally I catch glimpses of the sky, a few intrepid stars peeking through light-polluted skies, peering at me through gaps in my leaf-cocoon. If only my trip was longer, and I less hungry, I would spend more time absorbing the tranquility that all but emanates from this warm darkness. It permeates me as I drive home, fleeting but welcome, ameliorating all worries but those of lead-footed deer in proximity enjoying the same night as I.

On Goodbyes

I lost a friend this week. Today was her funeral, or rather, celebration of life.

         Donned in the only black clothing in my suitcase, I reflect on how I will miss her presence. I was not there, though. At the funeral. Instead, I am writing from a plane headed back to Tennessee after saying goodbye (for now) to my love in Texas. As usual, I was dreading saying goodbye to him, even for such a short time (our last goodbye from the Houston airport was for 6 months) and I was complaining that as many times as I've had to bid farewell to people I love, it never, ever gets easier. Not in the slightest. I was also frustrated (and complaining) about not being able to get an earlier flight to make it home in time for the celebration of life. 

          It wasn't until I was sitting and waiting for my flight, mentally complaining to myself, that I realized that saying goodbye is a privilege. I've been fortunate enough in my life that in time, almost all of my goodbyes have been followed by hellos. Yet I still dread them. Every time I have moved abroad, I told people I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye, but I'm a huge liar in this department. So I snuck away like the evasive goodbye-hater I am. When I say goodbye to someone, I think about all the things I will miss about them while we're apart. It makes my heart hurt, so I selfishly avoid it. It sounds trivial perhaps, but this has been a big shift in perspective for me, to look at this parting ritual as a privilege and not an unpleasant but required social custom. I wanted to be there today, at her funeral, to pay my respects. I wanted to be there, to mourn with others who are grieving the same loss. I wanted to be there to show support to her family and her loved ones, my presence a meager attempt to show them how many people loved this wonderful girl. Most importantly though, or perhaps tied with the last desire, I wanted a chance to say goodbye. I haven't been home or to work since it happened, and it almost doesn't feel real. I wanted to be by her, though her body may be only a vacant vessel now, to mourn the hole she will leave in innumerable hearts and the empty space that we will all feel at work. I'm looking out the window of the plane right now, gazing across the dark profile of clouds, admiring the most striking and boldly-pigmented sunset I have ever laid eyes on. It's so fitting it almost seems corny. I wanted to be there today to say goodbye to the smiling girl in the funky necklaces. However, goodbyes never seem to cooperate with me, so this seems as good a place as any to say goodbye, miles closer to where heaven is said to be, surrounded by a radiant sky and beautiful, dark silhouettes.

The Notebook

Today I was rooting around in my desk and found the notebook that was my constant companion during my stint living in Santiago, Chile. It is torn to pieces, the binding broken and exposed, but it contains everything. Hundreds of new (Chilean) Spanish words that I was absorbing as fast as I could, bus schedules, the class schedule at the school where I taught, lesson plans, names of bands the students wanted me to check out, almost a hundred to-do lists, notes on differentiating appropriate uses of my new vocabulary words, the business card of the street comedian who embarrassed the living day-lights out of my friends and I and sold our kisses for tips. Everything. Or almost.
       I had intended to write while I was there. I am known to send some epically long but entertaining emails while abroad, and I love studying people and their culture and trying to explain how I see the world. This notebook contains almost no writings though. Truthfully, I was rather unhappy in Santiago. I felt stifled and that it wasn't where I was supposed to be. This isn't to say that there weren't moments of joy and small successes, great friendships and lots of laughs during my time living there, but I regard it as a whole as sort of a personal failure. It is something I have trouble reflecting on or talking about. This is why I did not write during my time there. The only two writings I have are from my backpacking trip north, once I had left the city behind, living out of a backpack for a month. The following entry was scrawled at the end of my notebook from one of my favorite South American cities, San Pedro de Atacama (Chile).

Dec. 15, 2011

I'm really liking San Pedro. My first impression was terror---flat expanses of dull gravel with crumbly hills and mountains in the distance. It got dustier as we approached the outskirts of town until we were dropped off at a tiny bus station/office made of what looked like remnants of wooden pallets. The town looked small, empty and dusty, and the lack of green had me on edge. When we arrived to our hostel, we were relieved to see that it wasn't as poor and basic as our first impression had led us to believe. In fact, it might be the cleanest hostel I've been in and has a wonderful authentic South American feel to it. It is on the outskirts of town tho, and although the inside is very nice, the neighboring structures are poor and dusty. The people seem to be doing just fine. The center of town was such a delight. I know most travelers aim to avoid other travelers, and shun all that is "touristy," but San Pedro is such an important jumping off point for many travelers and I was delighted to venture into town the first night to discover all the other foreigners (mostly non-North Americans actually) strolling the main street, Caracoles. The street is entirely travel agencies, artesianal and souvenir shops, over-priced restaurants and money exchanges, but it has such a nice vibe. The days here are hot and the sun is strong, but the mornings and evenings are so fresh and crisp. The stars at night are bright like back home and I never tire of looking at mountains in the near distance. 

     Although the town is hot and dusty, there are so many stunning things within easy reach. Multi-colored mountains of solid rock and gravel and hardy yet colorful shrubs and grasses surround lagoons of the most unnaturally bright blue-green water, with flamingos and vicuña no less. Not too far from there you stumble upon a valley of volcanic rock and dry adobe in the most fantastic shapes, so dry and barren as to resemble the surface of the moon. Upon following this valley further and up, you can reach a lookout that provides a stunning view of yet more fantastically shaped rock and gravel mountains sprouting from a surprisingly fertile and green strip of life spreading across the view.

     Whether out and about, gasping from the altitude and unearthly and contradictory landscapes within reach, or hanging out with the brilliant and interesting mochileros [backpackers] also staying in the hostel, listening to the strong wind tear at the corners and uneven surfaces of the buildings, it is a good place to be. 

~ 

San Pedro--Walking from the center of town towards the hostal

The roof of our hostel. Even in Santiago many roofs look like this

The hostel

The hostel again

The beginning of Caracoles, with the volcano Licancabur in the distance

La niña del hostal

One of the lagunas altiplánicas

The view after trekking through the dry adobe canyon, the fertile strip fell into shadow

The ever-present pastel hues

Right on the border of Chile and Bolivia

This is technically Bolivia, but it is merely a hop skip and a jump from San Pedro

Accidentally Insane Yoga

     After at least a 5 year hiatus from my sporadic yoga attending "routine," I decided to make the best of my day off yesterday and attend a "restorative yoga class" at my gym. It took me a few tries to locate the class but once I did, I sought out the instructor to say hi and that I was new and to inquire as to the difficulty of the class. Unfortunately, the first thing he says is to the effect of "yeah, this class is advanced and very difficult. I know it says restorative yoga online, I've been trying to get them to change that for years. You're welcome to come and just do as much as you can, don't feel shy to just get up and leave if it's not for you."
     Let me tell you, I was not prepared for this class. It was insane. I had never done much besides beginners or intermediate yoga at best, but I really pushed myself during this class and did the best I could. Still, there were definitely things I didn't even attempt for fear of injuring/embarrassing myself. After class, the instructor came over and asked how I liked it. I mentioned the advanced poses (seriously, insane) that I wasn't prepared for, and he asked if I was a dancer, because "you're pretty flexible." I took it as a giant compliment, but tried my hardest not to laugh (too heartily, that is) in his face. It was a huge reminder that people are far from what they appear, because I am about as far from a dancer as one can get. But he is not what I expected either, because as a past-middle-aged, non-buff man he didn't appear fit, limber, young or frankly hip enough to do this, this, this, or this from appearances alone. I didn't manage to do any of the propped up poses except for the Crow Pose, but I can nearly get my foot behind my head and today I am really, really reeeeeally wishing I hadn't. On top of that, I was feeling so motivated after class that I popped into the weights section for a quick workout. Oh dear lord, I woke up feeling pretty sore this morning and it has only gotten increasingly apparent how painful "just stretching" can make you feel. For the most part, it is that good kind of hurt from a solid, new workout, but I haven't felt sore like this in quite some time. I think I'm enjoying it, but I'm not sure. I bet I'll have a more defined opinion tomorrow ;) In the meantime, I'm pretty sure I need to find myself an actual restorative yoga class!

Bizarre art by my favorite artist, Andy Kehoe

All Turns To Brilliance, Andy Kehoe
(forgive me for posting without permission, but you have to see these) 

On The Banks of Broken Worlds, Andy Kehoe

Continuing along the lines of the last post, I wanted to share the work of another artist I admire. His name is Andy Kehoe and not only is his artwork reason enough to know his name, but if you browse through his website or take a gander at his blog (Tall Tales of Depravity) you'll find that the guy is absolutely odd and completely hilarious. He throws frivolously ridiculous sentences into otherwise perfectly normal descriptions. Or he just jumps in with ridiculous right from the beginning. Take, for example, the first few sentences of his autobiography: (courtesy of his website)

Andy Kehoe was the son of a sea merchant that was killed by pirates when he was just three years old. His father barely had time to throw his son overboard before the cargo ship that usually carried pickles and kittens to Spain, carried the burning corpses of his father and all his closest friends to the bottom of the ocean.

What?! That's not the whole story and that's not even the only self explanation he offers. In fact, it's only one of three. I strongly recommend the rest if the above tickles your fancy in the least.

As for his art, it entirely stuns me when I look at it. Seriously, do yourself a favor and browse through his portfolio. It has such a distinctive feel to it as a whole---creepy...yet not unpleasant. Take a look and see what you think. I'm having trouble putting what it makes me feel into words! The aesthetic just really appeals to me, and feels very much like a modernized version of art in the Pacific Northwest Native American tradition (think highly stylized animal forms, particularly faces, in yellow, black, brown and sometimes red). Mix that with a heavy dose of Where The Wild Things Are (whose author, Maurice Sendak, died recently) and you have Andy Kehoe.

Hope you enjoy.

UPDATE 6/26: Here's one more picture. I just can't stop obsessing with these paintings! I think this one is new, it's called Mutual Enchantment.

Ben Ozburn: Photographer

This handsome guy drinking a beer is my dear friend Ben Ozburn. He is an immensely talented photographer and has most recently been documenting the natural beauty in Scotland. Photos from his recent posts have just taken my breath away and I wanted to share them! Take a peek at his photographs--I particularly like the boat ones from the Red Castle post, scroll down a bit for those.

As for myself, I'm still a bit sick and working/attending medical interpreter training classes so nothing new to report on the furniture front. I actually think the sinus infection was probably due to the 10+ hours I spent stupidly power-sanding the super secret (and formerly super dusty) project in a badly ventilated garage stall without a mask. Needless to say I have learned my lesson! Safety first, unless it's reeeeeally inconvenient. Just kidding, I never want to feel this sick again. I picked up a SARS mask or w/e they're called at the dr's office so I'll have that for future sanding endeavors :)

Have a lovely week

Making Sunshine

So today I'm home from work with strep throat, which means I'm not making money and I'm not able to devote my day to projects either. Boo. One thing that has brightened my day is these wonderful flowers I bought at work a few days ago!

What better way to tell yourself "I love you" than buying yourself your favorite flowers? Such a simple way to brighten your own day.

It's a brand new day

I got lots of love to give away

It don't matter if it's raining

Nothing can [faze] me

I make my own sunshine 

If you think you can break me

Baby you're crazy

I make my own sunshine  

               Alyssa Bonagura "I Make My Own Sunshine" 

It's a sappy, happy, driving-with-sunglasses-on-and-the-windows-down kind of song that you sandwich in right between Corinne Bailey Rae's "Girl Put Your Records On" and something by Colbie Caillat. Haha I would be judging myself so hard too right now if I didn't enjoy singing these songs in the car as much as I do. However, I don't want the sunny, bubbly music to overtake the message. I think it's really important for the modern woman (and really everybody, for that matter) to take responsibility for her own happiness and remember that self-reliance and strength of character are the two best qualities she can cultivate in herself and encourage in her friends. It's so effortlessly and unconsciously that we get wrapped up in other people's lives that we forget that when everything boils down, we're the one driving. It's blindingly simple but also something I need to remind myself of frequently---so many things and especially people in my life bring me abundant happy moments and endless warm fuzzy feelings, but incorporating those into my happiness and not letting them entirely define my contentment and well-being is my responsibility. That's not to say I don't rely on anyone, but I remind myself that nobody is obligated to make sure I'm always a happy camper. It's something I forget, it's something my friends forget, and it's something that I fear young women don't consider often enough. A few popular novels that have been circulating, Twilight for one, horrify me with their depiction of a modern woman. I won't deny that I like the Twilight series as a very guilty pleasure, but Bella really is a horrible role model. When the time comes that my little sisters get caught up with the challenges that come their way, or more likely than not, boys, I'm going to remind them of all these things. And boy are they are going to kill me if they read this. Anyway, enough thinking. This is just what happens when I'm stuck on bedrest. Maybe I'll eat some ice cream and sneak down to the "studio"...

Enjoy your holiday! 


P.S. Don't discount the video on account of the supremely annoying misspelling of faze (phase? really?)