tinahdee

Some days are just so introspective. Have you ever noticed that introspection does not lend itself to happy-go-lucky moods? When a friend dies, it makes me reflect on life, the fleeting nature of it and the many injustices and ironies in this world. That’s how it was for me yesterday.

It helps to run to something that comforts – but so many things offer a cold comfort that betrays me later. Only by running to something larger than myself can I be truly comforted. I find that larger thing when I run to the creative. Sitting at my table and making things connects me to my maker and I can find peace.

I’m still feeling introspective, but it is tempered with perspective.

Fall seven times, stand up eight

This is the second part of my story about an unusual Sunday. Click here for the first part.

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The above is a map of the swamp area where we searched for Elby.

So, where was I? Oh yes.. it was getting dark and Darin was headed back to the wilderness park with Ian and Mackenzie in tow, and a small stack of “lost dog” flyers in hand.  The trip was mostly silent, peppered from time to time with the usual questions from Ian about whatever happened to pop into his head. Darin’s knee was still throbbing and driving didn’t make it any better. When they arrived at the park, he delegated the job of posting flyers to Ian and Mackenzie. They put them up at the entrance on the north and south side of the road and inside the gate on the bulletin board, then drove to the little neighborhood and put up a couple there.

Not wanting to give up yet, Darin decided to swing back by the park one more time just to see if maybe Elby had appeared by some stroke of magic or fate. The park ranger was closing up for the night, and much to the dismay of the kids and Darin, had taken down the flyers. The kids were furious, wondering how or why the ranger would be so cruel. Darin shrugged and explained that it was government property, and they probably didn’t want that kind of stuff littering the area. Standard operating procedure – nothing personal.

The sun set behind the cypress trees and the gates to the park were locked, and once again, the van was pointed in the direction of home, missing one very dear occupant. All the way back, God’s ears and the ranger’s must have been burning as complaint after vocal complaint was lodged and duly noted, and the gloom settled in. Elby was either dead or alone, out there in the cold, dark swamp.

The prospect of a hot bath still didn’t sound all that appealing to Darin even though he was exhausted and in pain. It was going to be a long night at the Gasperson house – and then tomorrow there would be the matter of an empty dog crate and abandoned favorite blanket to deal with. When he pulled up in the driveway, he was deep in thought about the dreary prospects ahead of him, and the surprise stab of grief he felt at the loss of what had to be the most troublesome dog he’d ever owned. It must have been a curious sight then, to see me come running out the door, jumping and flailing my arms in a most improprietous way for a dignified middle-aged woman.

It must have been, judging by the way they were looking at me. Even as I opened the car door and started explaining myself, it took a few moments for my words to penetrate their dark mood. “What took you so long to get back?!…You left your phone here, I couldn’t call you…. the ranger called…. they have Elby…. he’s alive!! He’s ok!” The bewilderment on their faces was a picture I’ll always remember.

“But… the ranger took the flyers down….” And it dawned on them the real reason why. I brought Darin the phone so he wouldn’t have to hurt his knee jumping down from the van, and he called Ranger Jerry. Another ranger found Elby earlier in the day and thought maybe he was one of the hunting dogs from a hog hunt that happened that morning. She took Elby to Jerry’s house at the neighboring Flat Woods park, and when she went to close down the parks that evening, saw the flyers, recognized the dog in the picture,  and called me. I’m sure she must have seen the van with Darin and the kids (probably glaring at her), just before she dialed my number.

So there was yet another trip out to the wilderness park, and like the first trip early in the morning, it was a happy one, full of anticipation and hope. The ranger’s wife brought Elby out on a leash, and when he saw Darin he just about pulled the woman off her feet in his effort to get to his “dad”.

That night, we treated Elby like royalty. He was bathed in our brand new shower (the one that none of us has even used yet), lavished with affection, doted on, and allowed to lay (on his blanket) on the new living room carpet. He must have been thinking that he’d died and gone to doggy heaven (after a particularly rough afternoon in swamp purgatory). He behaved perfectly the whole evening, and slept soundly in his crate with no whining or trying to dig out.

The next day, Elby was back to his normal aggravating self. I think I even threatened once or twice to take him back out to the river swamp. He just laughed at me. We’ll see who has the last laugh.

Yesterday turned out to be a very interesting day. It began not so different than other weekend mornings – I got up early to make coffee; Darin decided to take Ian, our oldest son, to the wilderness park by the Hillsborough River. I’m usually the one who takes this boy or that to the river, so in that way the morning was special.

Darin grabbed his coffee and they hopped in the van to leave, the three of them (Elby, our 2 year old boxer mix, loves going to the river and so we take him pretty much every time we go.) I didn’t expect them back soon; I knew that with dad leading the charge, the expedition may go far and wide. Much farther and wider than it would with me as the leader. So I thought nothing of it when noontime came and went with no sign of them. I was supposed to be out in my workshop making jewelry, but I was instead “doing things” on the computer, looking with intent at the pile of laundry, and generally procrastinating. I was just getting ready to make my way out there, when I heard Darin walking down the hall. “Well hello there!” I greeted him with a smile – but looking at the expression on his face, immediately I knew something was wrong.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he said. The first thing I thought of was Ian – something horrible had happened to him – but before I could verbalize that thought I saw my son as he walked up behind his father. “It’s Elby, he didn’t come back with us.” They had seen deer, lots of them, and Elby had taken off into the swamp after them. The first time he came back, but the second time, he just disappeared.

Darin and Ian had spent the next few hours sloshing through the cypress swamps calling for Elby, but there was no sign of him anywhere. He was wearing a waterproof training collar, but there was no response. It was as if he had vanished. Darin had hurt his knee and both he and Ian were muddy and tired, but they were going back out again to look for Elby some more.

After a minute of processing all this, I grabbed my socks and shoes and headed out the door with them. The wilderness park is acres and acres of heavily wooded swamp that normally this time of year would be dry and easier to traverse; but with all the rain we’ve had the river is swollen and ven the driest part of the surrounding area is saturated and uncertain. Ian and I were to take the main path after I dropped Darin off at the firebreak about 1/4 of a mile across the park. He was going to trek through the thickest part of the wilds and swamp to see if he could find Elby. We thought the worst – Elby is such a people dog and not really independent at all. He’d never want to be separated from his family.  He must have been injured, or simply lost his way and been unable to hear Darin and Ian calling him – now where was he though?

The main path proved fruitless – Ian and I could only go so far before the swamp waters were too deep to cross. We cut over in a loop and made our own trail from dry patch to dry patch, sometimes connecting them with short hops through the water, calling out all along the way, “Elby come!” I knew that if he could have heard us he would have obeyed. We were losing what little hope we had started with.

Our improvised trail finally took us back to the entrance of the park. Before long, Darin emerged from his journey, limping and downcast. We had tried and failed. But at least we had tried. Not wanting to finally leave and close the door on possibilities, we drove through the nearest neighborhood in hopes that he had been drawn to humanity and we’d see him romping with some children in a stranger’s backyard, or chasing an unfortunate cat down the middle of the road. Finally we made our way home to break the news to the younger ones: no Elby.

It’s not that I missed the dog all that much. All the trouble he had been. If you knew Elby, you’d understand. But to be the bearer of heartbreak to my children – to see my “strong and silent” youngest boy break down sobbing – well, that was just a bit too much for me to take. I think Elby’s disappearance and our ensuing emotional reaction to it caught us all a little by surprise. Darin’s knee was throbbing and he could hardly walk, so I drew a hot bath for him to soak in. But he couldn’t relax – not five minutes went by and he was out of the bath, asking me to make some “lost dog” flyers. He had no peace. He felt as though he was letting Elby down. And he was going back. “Kenzie will want to go with you,” I said. I printed out the flyers, and once again, Darin, Ian, and now Kenzie, headed out for the eleven mile trip. It was close to dark now.

Elby at one year

It’s getting late, and I’m running out of energy to finish this story. So rather than hasten to the end, I’m going to continue tomorrow.

I wonder why they call it a wedding ring. After all, you don’t wear it only on your wedding day, like your wedding dress. A wedding ring is something that many people never ever take off. They should call it a marriage ring. Right?

The picture below is my marriage ring. It used to be my wedding ring. It was your average domed band made of gold – I think we got our rings at JC Penney or Sears. We were definitely looking for budget friendly stuff. Nothing original about that.

But of course many years later, I have learned how to do stuff to metal and make jewelry out of it. And one day, I took my wedding ring and made it into my marriage ring. I put it on the steel mandrel and hammered it all over, creating facets and tool marks on it. Instead of a plain jane standard issue wedding ring, I now had a one of a kind marriage ring. It represents to me all the things we have weathered together in our 17 years of marriage. Each blow of the hammer makes the ring more beautiful, just like our marriage. Every difficulty we have faced has made our relationship what it is today – a beautiful work of art.

Aw, gee whiz. I said I was going to blog every day, and then yesterday – my second day – I didn’t blog. A site outage (ok, my site was suspended by the host because I forgot to pay the bill) derailed my good intentions, and by the time the site was back up it was well into the afternoon. I had every intention of sitting down and writing, but other things were more urgent by then. You know – hunting down and making dinner, unwinding, refreshing my Etsy listings… everything but blogging. And then my husband Darin came home and he really is more important than blogging.

No blogging yesterday.

And I don’t know if you’re anything like me, but I experience this phenomena in other areas of my life too. (Exercising comes to mind.)  The important takes a back seat to the urgent all too often. I have a mental list of important things and I give mental lip service to the fact that these things need attention. Here’s my current list:

• My husband
• My kids at home
• My health (physical and mental)
• My true identity (being who I am)
• My adult kids
• My extended family
• My circle of friends

The reason I am committing to blogging every day is because I believe that writing is a true expression of myself. When I don’t do it, I am denying who I am, and I often stop writing when I am trying to hide something (usually subconsciously) because I know that when I write on a regular basis it is an open window to my heart. Can’t hide in front of an open window. There’s no glare to blind the observer, and the wind comes in to carry the perfume of my attitude out into the open.

That’s really important to me. So today I did it (almost) first. And as the days go by, I’ll work on keep this important thing as one of the first things I do each day. I’m looking forward to the insights.

Have you ever heard someone say that? It’s in reference to stuffing something inside you – something you’re trying to avoid or deny or hide or run from instead of dealing with.  The harder you stuff it, the more like it is to “come out sideways” as some form of alternate expression.

I think that’s why I make jewelry. It’s my writing, coming out sideways.

I’ve been writing since I could hold a crayon. It’s just what I do. Over the last five years of my life I have been writing less and less. Between mid life crises and dealing with the emotional rollercoaster of adult children leaving the nest, coupled with some serious dysfunction issues from my childhood, I’ve been stuffing the writing.

You see, writing opens a channel from the depths of my heart and puts the contents therein on display to myself and to the world (should I choose to share my words that way). And sometimes, it’s just too hard to look and see what’s in there. There’s something in there that even to this day I am afraid to identify and face. And I know that the more I write, the closer I get to staring that thing down, whatever it is, face to face.

A couple of years ago, in the zenith of my despair, I put away a few things that were just too painful to carry. One of those things was writing. For all the joy and insight it brought to me and I daresay to at least one other person, the corresponding threat of pain was too risky. I didn’t realize at the time that was why I couldn’t do it anymore. But it is very clear to me now.

The jewelry making is the writing, coming out sideways. Hammering and burning and bending the metal is a non-verbal channel to my heart, which makes it easier for me to deal with then the words. The little pieces of body adornment that result are really little pieces of my heart.

One of the ways I can recognize that the jewelry-making is a direct line to my heart, is that I always end up with irrational fear surrounding the things that open up my heart. I start practicing avoidance – I find a dozen other things I need to do first, before I go out to the workshop and start creating.

And I have found a billion things to do now, before sitting down to write the things that are in my heart. Ironically, though, the very reason I find myself writing on this clear cold morning is because I am avoiding my other heart activity – making the jewelry. Funny. But hey, whatever works.

And now, because I have a commitment to the people who have chosen to put their trust in me and express their appreciation of my craft, I’m heading out to the workshop to do something I love very much.

truth