In Praise of Pets

We got our dog, Pauley, by accident. For some reason, P.C. thought I really wanted a dog and I thought he really wanted a dog...so we got a dog. We didn't realize this until about a year after we'd gotten Pauley.

Owning Pauley can be a real hassle sometimes. Even though she is paper trained, we don't feel comfortable leaving her for more than a workday by herself, since she in only allowed in one bedroom while we're away. Since we live far from our jobs, this means that we have to make sure one of us gets home at a reasonable time, which is sometimes hard to manage.

And she can really be a brat, too. The list of Pauley's wrongdoings could fill a lot of space. Chewed kitchen cabinets ... chewed sandals ... broken sunglasses ... the pile where we throw socks to sort after she runs around the house with them in her mouth ... her crazy desire to eat other dogs' and cats' poop when we take a walk outside. Throw in the vet bills, and that's that.

But as I sit here, typing away while Pauley is curled up on my lap, I know that it is all worth it. The love of a dog is so unconditional. Pauley doesn't care how much I weigh, whether or not I take a shower that day, or what kind of mood I'm in. She just wants to love me.

My first dog, a black lab named Veedal, was one of the best pets ever. She would lie still while my six-year-old self would lift up her upper lip to look at her teeth. One time, I made a pile of Golden Books (about six inches high) in an attempt to keep her in my room for the night, and she wouldn't step over it and leave until my mom moved the piles.

When I lived in Virginia, I lived in a wonderful carriage house in the backyard of a beautiful old home. The owners of the house had a dog, Annie, and a cat, Godfrey. Godfrey and I had a special connection. He would come into the carriage house many nights to visit. If he was there overnight and he had to go to the bathroom (I didn't have a litter box for him), he would gently tap me on the nose to wake me. He never had an accident in my house--even after I accidentally locked him in the house when I went to work. One night, I was feeling particularly sad, listening to Joni Mitchell and feeling sorry for myself. Godfrey climbed up into my arms and onto my chest. I picked him up and started to dance with him to the music. I will never forget that--being comforted by a sweet kitty while "A Case of You" played in the CD player.

There is no better feeling in the world than the feeling of being loved by a pet. Thank goodness for misunderstandings between husbands and wives--at least this time.

Why Moving 3,000 Miles Away Really Stinks Sometimes

I wrote in an earlier post about my friend Missy and her new daughter, Siena (her beautiful face is at right). Missy and I talked this morning, and we were both feeling a little homesick for each other.

It made me remember the reason I thought about not packing up my stuff and moving out to California in 2003. Simply put, I cherished the relationships I had in Baltimore, and I feared losing them.

Luckily, my relationship with Missy has remained very intact. But it stinks to be away from her, especially at times like these--times we talked about as kids, when actually getting married and having kids seemed like a lifetime away.

Other relationships haven't been as successful. I've lost touch with a few people, mainly because our lives have continued in different directions and we weren't able to devote the time we needed in order to keep our connections strong. And that has to be okay--it's just how life goes sometimes. Life moves on.

But it's a tradeoff, you know? Leaving Baltimore has resulted in an even stronger connection with my sister, a beautiful relationship with her daughter, and the unexpected joy of finding someone to share my life with.

But today I'd really like to be seeing Siena in person.

And sometimes, when I'm feeling homesick, I'd just like to be back in Missy's house in 1985, listening to Duran Duran and dreaming about her future as Mrs. Paul McCartney (who is playing on the radio right now, fyi) and my future as Mrs. Sting.

Onward!

I met Amy Farber through my job (she's an alumna of the school where I work), but over the past year and a half, I have really come to cherish her as a friend and an inspiration.

Amy was diagnosed with lymphangioleiomyomatosis (LAM for short) in April of 2005. LAM is a fatal lung disease that strikes women in their childbearing years. Right now, there is no cure for LAM, but Amy, who is a public health advocate, is dedicating her life to finding a cure for this disease. (Visit www.lamtreatmentalliance.org to read about Amy, and to make a donation to her cause if you are able.) She is an amazing woman. She has mobilized doctors, raised money, and inspired lots of people to help. I keep her picture on the bulletin board above my desk at work as a reminder of what a truly brave woman looks like.

Amy ends all of her emails with one simple word: "Onward!" It's a reminder that we should continue to cycle forward and stop worrying about the past.

I bring up Amy because I was feeling pretty cruddy today and was going to write a post about it: my caffeine withdrawal symptoms, my craziness as a result of all the hormones I am taking, my general state of tiredness. But while I was in the middle of writing my post, for some reason, I thought of Amy. I thought of Amy and all that she is up against--and how she is so supportive of me and my fertility journey in the middle of her own fight. And how she would look at me right now and say, "Onward!" Onward, indeed. Thanks, Amy, for the kick in the rear I needed today to stop feeling sorry for myself and keep on keepin' on. Onward!

I Am So Thankful

I've always enjoyed the tradition of Thanksgiving. I love the idea of a day where you sit back and say thanks for all of life's blessings, big and small. Here's my list for this year, in no particular order.

I am thankful for my husband, who brings me down to earth when my mind goes into space.

I am thankful for my dog, who knows how to comfort me at all times (except, of course, when she ignores me when I ask her to "come!")

I am thankful for my family, especially the ones I would have chosen as friends even if they hadn't been related to me (special shout-out to my sister here!).

I am thankful for my job.

I am thankful for the roof over my head, even when everything doesn't work perfectly.

I am thankful for modern medicine, which is giving me another crack at trying to start a family with P.C.

I am thankful for my friends.

I am thankful for Project Runway, The Office, As the World Turns, and American Idol, for giving me a way to give my brain a vacation for a little while.

I am thankful for my health.

I am thankful for my niece, Miriam, who inspired me to come to California and start a new life.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Missy and Her New Chapter

Missy has been my very best friend for what seems like forever. We met on the first day of seventh grade (in 1982) and have been like sisters ever since. Her parents are my surrogate parents, and vice versa. And we complement each other well. It's hard to put into words what she means to me.

I remember when I was going through my divorce from my first husband. She lived about an hour and a half away. She would call me every weekend to make sure I was doing okay. And if I wasn't, she'd get into her car and drive the 75+ miles to see me. Every single time. (I should point out that she did suggest that I not marry Andrew, and even though I did anyway, she stuck by me as a bridesmaid. And she never said "I told you so" after he left. When I met P.C., I told him that Missy was the ultimate test; if she disapproved, he was outta there. :-))

Today, Missy became a mommy for the first time. She and her husband, Hans (who has been around for 16 of our 24 years together!), welcomed sweet Siena Rose into this world this morning. It is so incredible to know that she's a mom. And she's going to be a great one. And Hans will be a terrific dad. Siena is very, very lucky. Here's to a wonderful, full, beautiful, happy life for her!

A Message for My 36th Birthday

This is the second year I've written a post to celebrate my birthday. This year, several people wrote to tell me I should start a blog. So, here goes, with the original message.

I’ve been worrying a lot lately. The latest worries surround my clothes dryer, which is currently making a grinding noise in the motor, and the freezer, which didn’t freeze the bottle of water I put into it last night. The worry list also includes other things in my house (like the emergency bathroom remodel that seems like it will go on forever), the health of my family members and friends (especially the ones expecting babies!), the health of my dog (which was further emphasized by the news that friends of mine had to put their dog to sleep), whether or not the next round of fertility treatments will work, the state of the world, my job, the ringing in my ears that started last week…and the list goes on and on.

I came by this habit very honestly. My beloved grandmother, Bubby, who I consider my third parent because she played a very significant role in raising me and my sister, is one of the most talented worriers I’ve ever known. Even at almost-age 92 and spending almost all of her time at home in her chair, she still calls me when she sees that there are big rainstorms in California and she hates when any of us have to get on a plane to come to Baltimore because it might be dangerous.

This morning, on my way into work, I was thinking to myself, “Why do I worry so much?” I think it is because worrying gives the illusion of control to things I can’t control. If I worry about them, at least I’m doing something to satisfy my need to control the situation! A friend of mine told me earlier in the week that control is just an illusion—that you really can’t control anything except the most basic things, and that even those things can go wrong. (For example, I can cross the street, looking both ways to make sure traffic is clear, and still get hit by a speeding car. Silly, yes, but true.)

For some reason, when I went into the freezer this morning to discover my half-frozen bottle of water, it finally hit me: This is just a thing. Life will continue whether my freezer works or not, so why get consumed with when the repair guy will show up? And does it really matter when my bathroom is finished? And, while we’re on the subject, does worrying about whether the next round of fertility treatments will work actually help them to work? Or will worrying about my job help get the work done? Speaking of my grandmother—about 25 years ago (at age 11 or so!) I started thinking about her dying, and it consumed me for days. Finally, an adult said to me, “Worrying about this will take away time you could actually be spending with your grandmother and enjoying her.” Last week, I had the rare pleasure of watching the Baltimore Ravens game on television with her. (For the record, she is a very knowledgeable sports fan.) What a blessing. Imagine how I wouldn’t have enjoyed it if I’d been worrying about her dying for the past 25 years!

(Also, in the “I come by it honestly” department: When my sister was born, my grandmother told my mother that she didn’t want to come around too much so my sister wouldn’t get too attached to her [so that when she died, she wouldn’t miss her as much]. 38 years later, it makes me sad to think about my life without my grandmother as such a crucial part of my childhood. And it makes me laugh to know how closely I think like my grandmother!)

Luckily, I am married to P.C., who has the uncanny ability to bring me down to earth when my brain starts spinning out of control. I know there are days when he looks at me like I’m totally insane, but he is always so wonderful about things, tells it to me like it is, and always makes me feel better—sometimes just by stating the obvious (“Jill, it’s a bathroom.”). What an angel he is and an amazing part of my life.

So, here’s what I’m thinking about worrying these days: there is no point. Life is a series of chapters, and all we can do is our best to get through them with positive thought and energy, and find the sweetness at every stage. Don’t get me wrong—there are plenty of things that deserve worry—like catastrophes (of which the bathroom floor is not one!).

Speaking of “finding the sweetness”: One sweet spot that has been with me through the years in the collection of wonderful friendships I have with so many interesting, supportive, funny, delightful people. Over the years, I’ve “collected” so many wonderful folks—high school friends, college friends, online friends, friends from the various places in which I’ve lived, friends of friends, coworkers, baseball moms, Fleetwood Mac fans (and non-fans!), newfound soul mates in the fertility journey, and, of course, the amazing friendship I have with my husband. I am so lucky to have all of you. And I know that, no matter what the pages in each chapter may read, that it is all part of a bigger journey, and I need to cherish every step. There is no point in being negative about the world when life is full of so many beautiful blessings.

As I said in my message last year, “I hope you will count your blessings when you can. I know I will try to do that more … Here’s to another year of “’blessed days.’”