The Great Do-Over

Take a minute and think about one of life's great questions: If you could do one thing over, what would it be? Would it be a decision you made about a job, a house, a child, or a conversation about marriage or divorce? Would it be a day, or merely an instant in time? Over the past week, I've pondered this question over and over and for some reason mapped out the trajectory my life would have taken if I had done just one big thing differently ... where I'd be living today; what job I'd be working; how many kids I would've had; and the list goes on and on. The fact of the matter is that I love my life as it is now, so I wouldn't necessarily change its trajectory, but I would "do-over" an instant in time that occurred last week, but changed my life dramatically.
Last Monday was a regular day for me, in and out of the house, going back and forth between my writing/editing work and my house/farm work. Around 1:00 I decided to go outside and spray paint a silly fixture for our kitchen, so I let my two little dogs out. As I did my painting I looked over to the west and saw my Cairn Terrier, Pearl, gazing up at me, watching. Next I heard the mail man's SUV pull up. I called after Pearl, but she wasn't around. I called and called but she didn't come. I looked out at the road and saw the mail man pulling away and then I heard that sound. You know what sound I'm talking about. Can't even write it because I sob when I think about it.
Pearl was the great dog love of my life and she'll never be forgotten. If I could do one instant over, it would be that instead of going back to my work when I glanced over and saw her sitting there, I would have gone over and scooped her up, looked into her coal eyes, and told her how cute she was, just like I did practically every hour of every day, as crazy as that makes me sound.
Thank you to our friend, Matt Stallbaumer, for the beautiful painting of Pearl shown here, which he did in just a few days. It will hang proudly and prominently at home and will always remind me of her, and to love often and freely, even if it makes us incredibly vulnerable to pain.     

Pearl the Squirrel

A couple of months ago, I got the best Christmas present ever ... Pearl, the Cairn Terrier. I haven't had my very own dog since I was in high school, so I can't tell you how much this little girl means to me.
Me and the mister had talked about "one day" getting a dog, but with so much going on--the move, impending winter and utter lack of daylight--I had put the idea on hiatus. But back in December, I took a road trip to Chicago with my sweetie's daughter (that's a whole 'nother post!), and as I was driving home, I got a text message from him with a picture of "Bailey" who looked like a sweet, fluffy rat--she was about that size! He had driven several hours to the breeder's farm and bought the dog as an early present for us. But hmmm ... that name. Bailey? Not so much. So I began racking my brain trying to come up with something more fitting. Whenever I'm trying to name something, I start trying on everything for size: "Des Moines Next 5 Exits." Des? Desi? McDonald's. Mac? Maggie? You get the idea. So, as the Roxy Music song "Mother of Pearl" came on my stereo and I was singing "Mother of Pearl ... I wouldn't trade you for another girl ..." I thought "that's IT!" Pearl. Loves it.
So now, as she grows more and more into the Toto dog she is (look at her picture below in my previous post--my, how she's grown!), she picks up a new nickname every day: Pearl the Squirrel (shortened to just "Squirrel" mostly), Pearly Squirrely, Munchie (short for Munchkin), Pearl Girl, and the list goes on. Nickname potential is a very important thing to consider when picking a name for a dog, I've learned!

It's OK To Love Your Life

Each year around now, I turn contemplative, as the date dictates I should. Back when I was editing magazines, I'd write an editorial that outlined everything I had learned that year, and the goals I had for the following year. It was an exercise in humility ... did I do enough this year? Will my readers be sufficiently impressed? Are my goals lofty enough for next year? Ugh.

The year 2009 has been a tumultuous one for me. Virtually nothing is the same in my life today as it was a year ago. And I mean big stuff ... husband, home, job, pets, friends. As one new friend cogently stated "life circumstances changed." Indeed. But I'm not writing today to whine about all my self-induced change (because that's what it was) or lament about relics of the past. My message today is that I love my life; and it's OK for you to love yours as well.

I experienced a little epiphany the other day. As I sat on the floor playing with my early Christmas present from my sweetie, a 10-week-old Cairn Terrier puppy I named Pearl, I felt a twinge of guilt. At the moment just prior to that, amidst Pearl's puppy growling and air-twirling, I felt sheer and total bliss, utter happiness. My conscience said to me ... "shouldn't you be doing something that makes you miserable, like cleaning toilets, or 'querying' editors about writing assignments?" I texted my sweetie and asked: "What's up with that? Catholic guilt or something?" Why must I feel guilty about being truly happy, for once in a long, long time? The answer is that I don't. So it's true ... I don't have a high-powered office job anymore; I take care of a few dozen animals every day on this farm; I cook supper from scratch every night; I knit and sew the things we need like potholders, curtains and wash cloths; I clean, organize and do laundry; I cheer when I see dead rodents that the dogs or cats have killed outside (and sometimes inside!); and I wait with anticipation for my sweetie to get home from the office every night because ... I love this new life we've created together. (And I love him more than words can express.) For me, it's a life full of inquiry; so much more than when I sat in an office chair every day and was assigned the tasks of creating 5-year plans, performance evaluations, competitive analyses, and the like. Each day is different--I never know what I'll find when I step outside the door and into the barnyard--and by my own choosing. 

I was chatting with MaryJane Butters on the phone last week and I shared my "epiphany" with her. She seconded my conclusion and said "yes, why can't we just sit and play with a puppy if we want to, or grandchildren" or whatever for that matter. It's OK to love your life exactly as it is, this day. Embrace those moments of clarity, silence the inner chatter, and revel in the bliss of a puppy's gentle yip or a grandbaby's smile. We don't have to feel guilty or busy ourselves with other, "more important" work because ... there simply isn't any.