Caleigh O'Shea's Blog, page 12

Gotcha Day #2

Anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart. ~Author unknown

You’ve been here for two years now,
My mischievous little pup.
And surely in all those weeks and months,
You’ve had opportunity to grow up.

What did mama tell you
About stealing papers you can reach,
And promptly tearing them to tiny bits
While waiting for her to screech?

Some Memories Linger

When Memory rings her bell, let all the thoughts run in. ~Emily Dickinson, American poet

Spring semester for symphonic band has started, and we’re practicing for two concerts, one in March and the other in April.

To say this is a busy time would be an understatement.

Typically, our director chooses several pieces, lets us sight-read them, and gives us a chance to weigh in on the merits of adding any (or all) to our program.

I might not appreciate every piece chosen at first, but by the time the concert rolls around, I’ve grown accustomed to them. And often find snatches of tunes noodling through my mind.

Recently, I had to miss one rehearsal because of icy roads, but I was pleasantly surprised the next week when I heard several members practicing snatches of a favorite of mine from way back when.

I knew I’d played it before. Probably in junior high or high school.

I suspect every band around here played it. It was that popular, particularly as a contest piece.

Back then, we were encouraged to sit quietly and listen as other bands performed their contest selections. It was fun, educational, and inspirational to pretend we were the judges. To compare how we did against how they did.

So I knew the melody of this particular piece, but not its name. Or who composed it. Or even on what occasion I’d played it.

In introducing the piece, our current director explained how concert band literature “back in the day” was heavy on clarinets and trumpets, while today’s composers tend to spread the sounds around among all the sections.

Which makes for a different listening experience.

Later, I hummed its familiar eight-bar theme to my son Domer, who said he, too, had played it in school.

Timeless, right?

You’re probably wondering what piece I’m talking about: Toccata for Band by Frank Erickson.

Maybe you played it as a former band member?

I wish I could recall the particulars of when I played it. If only I could go back to the scrapbooks I saved, the ones with the programs from such events.

But that can’t happen because the scrapbooks got trashed in the dismantling of our storage shed some seven years ago.

So I’ll have to satisfy my curiosity with memories. You know, snatches of music, whiffs of certain scents, and touches of a favorite material all have a way of carrying us back to days long ago.

And how cool that I’m getting to make new memories — and collect new programs!

Problem Solved, I Hope

Some people succeed because they are destined to, but most people succeed because they are determined to. ~Author unknown, 1960s

Three bales of straw later (and fingers crossed this works!):

Consequences? Maybe

Wisdom consists of the anticipation of consequences… ~Norman Cousins, American journalist, author, and professor

I Monkey here.

You’re never going to believe what Mama’s been up to now.

I swear, the woman invents chores, when she could be doing something constructive like watching me snooze. Huh!

A little background:

For some odd reason, this has been a WET season. Mostly rain, which pools up into squishy mud around a huge sugar maple in my back yard.

Mama gets huffy every time the weathermen remind us our area is in the middle of a drought, too.

“They should come see this hog trough,” she says.

But they haven’t.

And every time I Monkey go out to patrol the fence line or do my “business,” I can’t help but tromp through that mud. And bring it inside with me … because, why not?

Consequences?

Mama has to hunker on her hands and knees cleaning the floors and carpet, something she fumes mightily about.

(I Monkey might snicker but for the fact that, if I get too muddy, Mama shuts me in my crate until my paws dry. The very idea! She’s even threatened to ban me from using her laptop. Consequences, you know?)

Anyhoo, Mama regularly tells me I’m not to blame for the mud. But neither is she, and controlling the weather is outside her pay grade — whatever that means. Until we find a workable solution, we’re having to make do.

One day, Mama left for a long time. When she came back, she had an armload of stuff to carry outside, all the while ignoring my pleas to accompany her and help out. Huh.

She was out there a long time while I Monkey watched through the window. Even my barks didn’t distract her from the job at hand.

Finally, she announced she was finished and let me outside, too. This is what I saw:

It certainly wasn’t pretty.

Nor was it long-lasting, as a cold front with high winds blew through no sooner than she’d finished.

And it didn’t seem to make her happy. Why, she announced she’d ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes she’d planned on donating to charity, thanks to that gooey mud.

But the fence is merely a Band-aide anyway. It can’t keep me Monkey out. In fact, the next morning, I scented an interloping critter and charged right through it.

You should’a seen Mama’s face, heh heh!

(Whoops, consequences…)

Not All Change is Good

When the winds of change blow, some people build walls and others build windmills. ~Chinese proverb

Perhaps change is the only constant in our world, but at the risk of appearing old, I’ve got to admit: I really miss retail shopping, particularly department stores.

My wistfulness over this societal change struck recently, when my son Domer announced he’d gone shopping for a particularly hard-to-find item of clothing, and one of the places he tried was Kohl’s.

“What’s up with that?” he asked me. “They’ve got Amazon return areas, a whole section for Sephora, and all their regular stuff.”

Hmm. I think that’s called a department store. And they used to be everywhere.

Even my small town had department stores, which operated from the downtown area until the shopping mall was built.

When I was little, we’d go to Chicago a couple of times a year. One of my uncles lived there, and it was great to see him, dine in fancy restaurants, and shop … all in one trip.

The stores were fabulous. Huge buildings with multiple floors connected by an elevator — complete with an attendant who reverently announced things like, “Second floor — children’s wear” and “Fourth floor — men’s attire” and “Sixth floor — housewares.”

How cool was that?!!

But retail has changed. Today, stores with more than one floor usually have escalators, those moving staircases that are the bane of a young mom’s existence.

Ever try wrestling a carriage — with your baby inside, preferably sleeping — onto one of those things, while impatient people bunch up behind you and chafe at the delay?

No wonder so many stores switched to a single floor.

To me, the best shopping is a mall — where you can find almost anything your heart dreams up, all under one roof.

Books, hair accessories, cosmetics, clothing, shoes, music, food — what a wealth of options! Wandering from store to store is a feast for the senses, and it’s easy to convince yourself you deserve that burger and milkshake after clocking so many steps.

A shopping mall was a teen’s paradise. You could meet your friends, buy inexpensive trinkets like earrings or nail polish, and share a soda with somebody special — all while away from a parent’s critical gaze.

Meanwhile, parents could be relatively certain their kids were safe.

How times have changed, and not for the better. Today, the news is filled with stories of mall kidnappings, shootings, and other frightening things.

Do you remember mall Christmas decorations? And special performances by everything from school choirs and karate clubs to fashion shows and trading card and crafts sales?

But thanks to the proliferation of Big Box stores like Walmart and the COVID pandemic, even shopping malls are changing. Many people are shopping online and picking up their purchases curbside.

Sadly, that means you can’t touch what you’re considering buying. Can’t examine the workmanship, match the color to something you already own, try it on for sizing.

Which likely results in a lot of returns.

So maybe retail will cycle back, ya think?

Facing Fear

Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is. ~German proverb

I Monkey here.

I ask you, Have you ever seen anything more terrifying than this:

The Kid (AKA Domer) was home recently, and he and Mama decided to do a bit of tidying up.

You see, Mama had saved immense sacks full of things from his childhood. Stuff like old McDonald’s toys from the Kids’ Meals. Stuffed animals. Little toy cars and trains. Board games.

Even T-shirts from when he played sports at the YMCA.

Gee, what was she thinking? Didn’t she realize nobody’s house is big enough to hold all the memories a kid makes while he’s a kid?

But I digress.

So The Kid was merrily going through these sacks, pulling things out and asking, “Remember this?” And he and Mama would share a big laugh.

It was good to see them happy, even though little Monkeys like me don’t particularly relish such commotion. (wink, wink)

When The Kid asked if there were any more bags to go through, Mama directed him to the big storage closet. I didn’t get to see the unveiling, as it were, but when he started laughing, Mama started laughing, and eventually, he emerged with that THING in his arms!

Look at it, people. Look at that lazy eye, that chopped hair, that hideous dress. What is it pointing at?? Now tell me you wouldn’t have nightmares if you saw a THING like that in your closet!

Anyway, The Kid showed it to Gramma, and she, too started laughing. Mama was cackling so hard her eyes were leaking, and more than once, she said something about having to go pee.

Peeing was the farthest thing from my Monkey mind, honest to goodness.

After making sure The Kid had a good hold on the THING, I gave it a quick sniff — to convince myself it wasn’t a real child, long hidden away in the closet.

It wasn’t. There was no sign of life from it. None at all.

Then The Kid moved the THING’s arms and legs, kind of like it was walking! And that lazy eye went closed while the other one stayed open … and my poor Monkey heart almost stopped when he marched that THING right at me!!

I raced around the room like a demon was on my back, I’ll tell you true.

And when The Kid and Mama started taunting me that “my little girlfriend” wanted to play, why, I almost passed right out!

Girlfriend. Huh!

If that wasn’t horror enough, The Kid went back in the closet and found THING #2:

Oh my heavenly days, this one was in pieces!! Its legs were completely detached from its body, its checkered dress was all rumpled, its hair was a rat’s nest, and its heavily made up eyes bore right through you.

Just look at that goofy smile and tell me: if you were in pieces, would you have anything to grin about?

Turns out, these “dolls” were playthings for my Mama and her sister when they were little. Go figure.

Who’d do that to their toys, I ask you? And why would Gramma keep them all this time? Did she think they’d miraculously go back together?

I suppose there’s a lesson to be had here, but YOU figure it out. I’m too little.

And besides, I regularly destroy my toys. See for yourself:

I Monkey chewed the arm off Michigan J. Frog; Mama has since sewn it back on. The patient survived with no complications.

Tiny Tree Update, 2023

Of the living gymnosperms the conifers — pine, cedar, spruce, fir and redwood trees — are the most successful biologically. The needle-like leaves of these evergreens are well adapted to withstand hot summers, cold winters and the mechanical abrasion of storms. ~Claude Alvin Villee, Jr., American biologist and long-time teacher, Harvard University

Why

I felt

Compelled to

Check up on my

Tiny Tree after

A bitter snowstorm is

A myst’ry, but I did and

Voila! As you can plainly see,

He (or she) is growing and thriving

And celebrating its second birthday!

Tiny Tree is an Eastern Juniper.

Also known as red cedar, this tree

Measures forty-eight inches tall!

Who’d have given it a chance

To survive in such a

Harsh environment?

Somewhere below

Ground lies its

Bright red

Scarf!

Note: This poetry form is a Double Etheree.

Waiting for What’s Next

All say, “How hard it is that we have to die” — a strange complaint to come from the mouths of people who have had to live. ~Mark Twain, American writer

The smell assaults you as you walk in the door:
A blend of disinfectant, urine, and more.
Step into the world of an old folks’ home.

Balding men with once-gray hair
Slump untended in their wheelchair.
Step into the world of an old folks’ home.

Wearing expressions of sadness and gloom
As if they’re gazing into the mouth of a tomb.
Step into the world of an old folks’ home.

Women on walkers in faded clothes;
Thick droopy stockings covering their toes.
Step into the world of an old folks’ home.

Vacant eyes stare straight into space;
Few signs remain of their former grace.
Step into the world of an old folks’ home.

Aging is part of life on this earth.
Shouldn’t we do more to preserve someone’s worth
Than tuck them away, out of sight, out of mind?
To me that’s awful and far from kind.
Letting them vegetate until at last they die.
Waiting for time and life to slip by.

Adult diapers and shapeless sweats,
Hearing aids, oxygen, and thin blankets.
Step into the world of an old folks’ home.

Calling for help and no one shows up.
Staff overworked; hard to catch up.
Step into the world of an old folks’ home.

Hoping for a visit from friends or their kids,
A basket of goodies the doctor forbids.
Step into the world of an old folks’ home.

People live longer these days, I know,
But longer isn’t better, some cases show.
Alone and lonely is no way to live,
Not when all people have something to give.
There’s no easy answer, everyone agrees,
But can’t we at least try to solve it? Please?

Merry Christmas 2022

This Christmas may you have…
“Walls for the wind
And a roof for the rain,
And drinks bedside the fire,
Laughter to cheer you,
And those you love near you,
And all that your heart may desire.” ~ Irish Christmas Blessing

Merry Christmas to all our friends! Monkey and I will be taking a few days off to celebrate with loved ones. We’ll be back soon!

Decisions, Decisions

Sometimes you can head off a decision you’ll regret by looking into your heart and finding regret already there. ~Robert Brault, American author

Gee, can’t a dog get any sleep around here without somebody sticking a camera in his face??

After spending two full years sitting on the fence over whether to keep Monkey or return him to his breeder, I’ve finally made a decision.

He’s staying … Ta-dah!

First, I learned sending him back to the breeder isn’t an option. She’s having personal problems and can’t deal with another dog.

So an acquaintance (former friend) proposed I re-home him with a retired couple she knew. Said they’d have more time for him. Said they have two big dogs he could “play” with. Said they’d lost their Sheltie and desperately wanted another one. Said we’d both win because I’d be rid of this “problem.”

Domer and Granmma were horrified. Neither believe for a second that Monkey would be happier or better behaved elsewhere. They reminded me he chose me from the get-go and practically worships me.

But raising him to this point has been hard.

Because of his stomach issues and diarrhea, I used to set my clock every two hours through the night and get up, take him outside to potty, and clean up “soft-serve” when he messed in the house. He was placed on a veterinary (read: expensive) diet, and treats were forbidden, for fear they’d upset his tummy.

How do you train a dog without treats??

Gradually, he’s transitioned to a quality food that does agree with him, and I’ve found some cookies and biscuits that don’t stress his gut.

Monk manifests the Pandemic Puppy Persona: separation anxiety, unreasonable fears over things he can’t control, poor response to strangers and other critters. In addition, as a Herding Dog, he has a LOT of energy, and it’s a challenge to keep him mentally and physically stimulated to prevent boredom.

We’re making do, thanks to indoor fetching toys, tugging ropes, Kong chews, a huge yard, plenty of indoor space … and regular long walks.

This summer, when I was at the end of my rope with him, I consulted two experts — a behavior specialist vet and a representative from Sheltie Rescue. They gave me lots of things to try as I retrain Monk of the bad habits developed during his early months.

Some of it’s working — though he’s still a hand full.

Still, everything in me is convinced no one else could (or would) deal with his monkey business better than I. I’m the one who’s sunk time, money, and energy into this pup. I’m the one he trusts.

And I’m the one whose heart would break if he weren’t underfoot.

While things might never be perfect, I’m not surrendering. It takes time and patience to grow a good dog, and this one’s worth it.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Little Monkey!