Michelle L. Rusk's Blog, page 40

Winter Rest and Catch Up

While I understand the importance of winter, the chance for things to hibernate or die so they can return in the spring, I don’t particularly enjoy winter. That’s why even though it was 19 degrees this morning, I still ran and then run/walked the dogs. I still need to be outside.

However, following a great holiday season I was ready for a break and January always feels like the time to catch up and reset myself. The calendar isn’t so full and there’s more time to relax and be on my own schedule for a bit.

While I believe we can set resolutions any day of the year, the new year always feels like a clean slate, just like a new school year in the fall. So in January I like to use the the slower pace to get some things done before it warms up and I want to be outside all the time.

Because it’s still cold, that means I have time to finish out some projects that I’ve been putting off (like a quilt I bought the fabric for three years ago) and start new ones. I have always used sports on television on the weekend as a time to work on sewing projects and while I don’t watch much anymore, I do like to make a quilt during football playoffs (and having a three-day weekend next week helps).

That means by spring I’ll be ready to go outside and spend more of my time there, the shelves and rooms a little more organized and my projects a little more finished. Moving my life forward in these cold winter months.

Slowly the New Door Opens

On New Year’s Eve a year ago, I was across the street at an early party at our neighbors’ house. I don’t know how the discussion started but somehow I mentioned to Ann something about not being able to find clothes that I had in mind and she said I should make my own clothes, that she had done it years ago.

I also had made some of my own clothes at one point but then thought­– because I was doing other things– that I wouldn’t be sewing anymore so I gave away almost all of my patterns and some of my fabric.

A year later things have definitely changed. Here I am having opened Chelle Summer, making and selling bucket bags while also looking to the future of other items I can make, particularly clothing related.

While there are many questions of where this road will go, I can look back and see how it gradually opened up to me. And I’m grateful for the new opportunity. There is a huge amount of challenge in it, but I think I was ready for that.

I can still remember back in late 1999 when my former-husband and I opened his sales business in our home. We had a new phone line put in (we didn’t yet have a cell phone, that wouldn’t come for a few more years) and I bought a beige trimline phone from Target.

The caveat? It had no hold button.

We felt so unprofessional at times when I would answer the phone and have to hand it to him, trying not to make any noise. But slowly things fell together– mostly because of a lot of hard work but lucky breaks always help and are necessary– and eventually we graduated to several phone lines, several cell phones, and a phone for the main business number that had a hold button on it.

It’s both exhilarating and hard at the same time to watch a business grow from nothing. I read stories of growth from people, of where they began to where they are today, and remind myself that I have to be patient, that it all will come together. That I have never been afraid of hard work and I know it will be worth it.

What I don’t know is exactly where that road will lead, especially because a year ago this time, it led somewhere I couldn’t have predicted.

Getting Past the Fear

In April of last year, our last morning of surfing on spring break before heading home to Albuquerque, I did something I knew not to do: I let my surfboard get in front of me. I paid the price when I was whacked in the face and left with a black eye. It’s easy to do because the surf is unpredictable and the moment you think that you know more than ocean, she reminds you that she’s queen.

I have completely physically healed from that accident but it left me with a challenging fear about getting back on the board. It’s not being on the board that scares me, it’s getting past the breaks. I’m not fifteen years old and fearless (not that I ever was but I see many young people surfing and I can tell they are). I know the stories about what can happen when you surf: the broken limbs, shattered teeth, the scars on the face from the fins.

Life is much the same way though. We are born unafraid of anything. While we must learn to not touch a hot stove or hot iron, our experiences also make us fearful of many things. Including success.

While it was cold in Los Angeles last week (never have I surfed­– or swam in my pool– when the air was in the forties), I found myself barely able to get in the water. And one day when I got caught in one of those unpredictable waves and tossed around, I quickly went back to the beach.

I’m hoping at spring break the air will be warmer and the surf slow and rolling so I can get my surfing groove back. And like life, it’s all about the patience to get there.

The Mixed Bag of January 1

While I believe that we can make changes in our lives any time of the year, there is something special about the new year– moving to a new calendar on the wall, coming out of the holidays (what I called “post-Christmas” at my house yesterday).

But for me, January 1 is a mixed bag, combined with losses and additions that happened over the past twenty years on New Year’s Day.

On January 1, 1995, my first new year in Albuquerque, the family dog (really my sister Karen’s dog but because she was off at college and not living in places where she could have a dog, Chaos stayed at the Linn house), died. We weren’t even two years past my sister Denise’s death and, while Chaos was twelve, it another loss to the family as we knew it.

Then on January 1, 2005, as I was coming down the stairs in the morning after running and a shower, excited to watch bowl games, work on some sewing, and eat the leftovers from the New Years’ Eve dinner party we’d had the night before, my brother called to tell me that our dad was on the way to the hospital after collapsing in front of Mom. They pulled him off life support not long after and he died quickly. 

For me, January 1 is a combination of losses but it also has some happy memories with it.

After all, on January 1, 2003, my then husband and I walked down to the house where we had lived just two years before to borrow a movie from the guys who knew who lived there. It was kind of a depressing day: we’d had a party the night before which had been good but our bathroom remodel had come to a standstill because the guy working on it had a little too much holiday fun.

Around the corner came a dog that Jim had found and Jim begged us to take him for the night. The dog stood shyly behind furniture and we were both hesitant. We owned our home but taking on a dog? That was a little scary to me.

“Meet your new parents!” Jim told the dog excitedly.

By the next day, Joe told me to call Jim and tell him, “The dog is staying with us.”

Thirteen years later, Chaco just celebrated his fifteenth birthday.

Finally, on December 31, 2008, we stopped at a dental practice in Muldrew, Oklahoma, on the Arkansas border and picked up a German Shepherd rescue puppy. The ride home in a snow storm (I thought the puppy would be scared as we drove through the canyon into Albuquerque but it was Chaco who wanted to sit in my lap) should have been a sign that there wouldn’t be any dull moments with life with Gidget.

While on New Year’s Day I don’t forget it’s the day that both my dad and Chaos left this world, I cling to the two dogs who joined my life, knowing that life is too short and fragile to be held by all that I have lost.

Christmas Thankfulness

It’s a big deal in Albuquerque every Christmas Eve to set out luminarias. Even if you don’t set them out, many people drive around to look at them in various neighborhoods. (I remember doing this one year in Illinois but I think the snow getting the paper bags wet deterred everyone after that). The candles lit in the paper bags bring such a sense of what is already a magical evening.

Some years ago on Christmas Eve, I was out walking my dog Hattie in the midst of this. We were alone because things were not so well at home. While I didn’t see it at the time, life had become very depressing in many ways. There were no more parties at our house and we were spending holidays alone together despite my annoyance. I like to share them with people and see them as times of connections. Special days.

We passed a house that I walk by daily and inside I could see the Christmas tree and people gathered around. Outside the door, Santa Claus was getting ready to go inside.

I was so envious of that scene. But somehow I also believed that my life would turn around and Christmas would be magical again.

And it did.

Greg’s parents are visiting us for Christmas this year and never have I been invited to so many holiday gatherings on top of the nearly fifty people who gathered at our house last weekend. This evening we will share a meal and then head off to mass at 9 pm and then drive around and take in the luminarias.

The magic is always there. Some years are more challenging but when you’re in one of those years, keep forging forward and believing. Life is about the mystery of faith.

Merry Christmas.

Christmas Different

While my writing has shifted away from grief and loss, each year I still find it important to remind people who are experiencing a holiday season without a loved one that they are remembered.

Tomorrow I will write what I am thankful for this Christmas but never far from my mind are those first Christmas holidays without my sister or my parents.

The first one without my younger sister (1993) was also the first without my maternal grandmother with whom I was close. My older sister and I– with her boss– delivered Christmas gifts to needy holiday families, wanting to find meaning in a day that had completely changed. With the death of my grandmother, it also meant the holiday gathering with my mom’s sister was done and the five of us were left with pretty much nothing that year.

The first Christmas without my dad, in 2006, my mom spent it with my now former husband and meI here in Albuquerque. I worked on a quilt of my dad’s flannel shirts and we flew my mom’s dog Ginger with her (much to Mom’s embarrassment when Ginger was barking in the cargo hold and the pilot announced on the plane, “Those in first class if you hear a dog barking, that’s Ginger.”)

And last year, the first Christmas without my mom, Greg and I drove to Los Angeles and spent it with my California family, the Blooms. We didn’t get to surf that morning because of the high surf warnings but we did spend some time at the ocean that day.

For those of you who are without someone you love this year, I have walked in similar shoes to yours and I know how much it, well, sucks. It’s not the same. However, I also know that there is still magic in Christmas.

This morning, as I was searching for a photo to take to use with this blog entry, I walked out of my office and into my living room where I looked down and there was a popsicle stick on the floor. I had no idea where it came from other than Rosie, our Roomba, had dragged it out from somewhere. But where?

I saw something written on the back of it- name name with 3F (meaning Mrs. Feightner’s 3rd grade class). My mom, my dad, and my sister, all reminding me they are with me. Christmas past meets Christmas present.

And reminding you that your loved ones are with you, too.

Sticking to the Present

This afternoon the pool will be closed for several months. We had left it open for our holiday party this weekend– obviously it’s too cold to swim, but so we could float votive candles in it and give our guests another place to gather if the weather wasn’t too cold (it was).

While I always dislike the day the pool closes because it means cold weather, there is an added sadness to it this year.

Chaco loves the pool. He doesn’t swim in it, but since day one he has loved to lay by it. He has one spot in particular by the shallow end where you typically find him napping or simply just staring at the water. I once found him on a lounge chair but when he spotted me he immediately jumped off even though I didn’t mind if he stayed on it. Instead he continues to use his usual spot.

I don’t know that Chaco will be around by the time the pool guy returns in March to open the pool. While none of us are promised anything and Chaco is doing well (he climbed up the stairs by himself last night– mostly because he ran from both of us when we tried to help him up and he came up some time later on his own), he’s almost fifteen and the time for him to move on is coming sooner than later.

For years when I was doing talks about suicide grief, I would discuss the notion of anticipatory grief which is when we know people are going die (such as they are terminally ill) and we are mourning the death before they die.

While you never really know how you’re going to react until the death happens, there is a sense of starting to say goodbye before it happens. And because most of the deaths in my life have been sudden, this isn’t something I’m familiar with in my experience.

I find myself caught up in trying to accept that Chaco might not be here in a few months (I am hopeful he will be but I also am being realistic if I have to make the choice for him when it’s time to move on that I don’t keep him too long for me while he is in pain), but when I do that, I also realize that I’m not enjoying my time in the present with him.

We all know that life is short and if we stay in the present we’ll have fewer regrets later. For me, it’s yet another lesson in reminding myself that I need to be in the here and now. While I keep thinking I’m helping myself by accepting that I know Chaco won’t be here much longer, really I’m missing out on the time he has left.

Inspiration Through Action

It's easy for anyone to tell people what to do or how to make their lives better. I believe it's more than that though and that's exactly why a lot of my postings on social media are items I've created (bucket bags, paintings, food, my books after they have been published). While I can tell people what to do all day long, it's more inspiring to see someone living a life where they are doing the things they want to.

With work, daily responsibilities, and everything else that makes up our lives, it’s a challenge to find the time to do activities and hobbies that make us happy. But if you truly want to be happy, then you need to find that time.

I posed this challenge to myself in 2011 when I realized my fiction writing was getting away from me. And then I did it again after my mom died in March 2014, realizing that time isn’t getting shorter and I didn’t want to wake up one day realizing I wasn’t creating as much as I’d like to.

I won’t say it’s a cake walk to find the time to do everything I want to. I have to find a balance with living my life with Greg and other people in my life. However, I do that by setting small goals, setting aside short snippets of time, but most of all, being flexible on how I spend my time. It means sometimes I look like a Twister board with my body going every which way.

Ultimately though, creating is what makes me most happy. So while most people can’t believe I share so much of create, I’m doing it because I’m excited to accomplish something so important to me and hoping to inspire others.

The New Normal

This morning Chaco, Hattie, and I paused at the park several times for Chaco to sniff the trees. I looked behind us to see a woman coming up– running– with her two dogs. I looked down at Chaco whose back legs slipped out behind him (I call it “the splat”) and watched him as he kept sniffing, his hind legs almost glued to the grass underneath him.

It’s not realistic but I long to have the days back where Chaco and I ran through the park, him pulling me, and the days when he could run three miles with me.

But after his back legs gave out last week, I worried we were at the end of his life and it was time to let go. I could sense his fear, too. My independent dog who is usually is off in the bedroom snoozing or in the backyard wandering around, clung to my side in my office, a place he has never spent any time in since we moved back to Albuquerque nearly two years ago.

By the time we got to the vet two days later, him taking some Rimadyl I had for Nestle as well as a joint supplement, I felt better we weren’t quite at the end. But as we left the house, Chaco looked scared. And when we returned home, knowing it wasn’t quite time yet, everyone (Hattie and Gidget included) looked relieved.

It’s a new normal though.

For the nearly thirteen years I’ve had Chaco, as long as I’ve been in town, he’s gotten at least a walk a day, and while we lived in Illinois (where the photo was taken in 2013), he and Gidget got a second walk together in the afternoon. Now he can make it around the park but not as well as he used to, needing to stop and doing it by pulling to sniff a tree.

We bonded over our walks and eventually our runs. Chaco partly came into our lives as a way for my now former husband to get some exercise because he was supposed to quit smoking. When neither was working, I took to walking Chaco and then worked up to running him. It was our time each morning, even as three more dogs joined the family (and then losing Daisy and gaining Gidget).

I often forget that many dogs don’t get the exercise that mine do daily. And while I watch Chaco and how slowly he moves (although he was very happy to wander away from me at the park in the snow on Sunday), I have to remember he still has life to live. He can still get around, he is still happy (although not so much to wear the socks that give his back legs traction).

It’s a new normal. A new routine. He’s still here and it’s up to me to be okay with this change and what time I have left with him.

The Birthday Journey

For the first time in my life, I wanted to skip over my birthday. It had been a challenging week after my dog Chaco lost the use of his legs Tuesday afternoon. He clung to my side most of the next day and I tried to accept that at three weeks before his fifteenth birthday, it might be time to say goodbye. I figured I would spend the weekend grieving the loss. However, he bounced back although we know his time here is coming to an end.

But it was more than that. This is my my second holiday season without both my parents, which means it’s also only the second birthday I’ve had without both my parents.

I won’t lie, it’s not the same. The meaning of my birthday seems to have changed significantly without both of them here. They are obviously the reason I am here and there are a whole list of things I could say about why they made the day special, particularly my mom.

It was important to her that she wouldn’t call us until after the time of our birth that day. But because I was born at 2:36 in the morning, this was different for me because when I was younger, it also meant I got some small birthday gifts at my place setting in the kitchen that morning. Everyone else had to wait until after school.

As we get older, birthdays tend to fall by the wayside because of life, other commitments, and because many people are busy celebrating their kids’ birthdays that their own are often pushed aside.

For me, I try each year to find something significant to do on my birthday and in recent years I always go to mass because it’s the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe, something I didn’t know until I moved to New Mexico where she is very culturally significant.

They were going to have mariachis at mass and a pot luck afterward so I signed Greg and I up and I’m glad I did. While it was fun to connect with the people we know from Mass and share a meal with them, I felt a lot of significance in the mass itself.

Because Our Lady of Guadalupe has become so prominent in my life, I felt more connected to the mass, not just that I was going to enjoy the music. I felt like we were celebrating another year of she and I forming a relationship. I had been introduced to her on the first birthday I spent in New Mexico, back in 1994.

I had decided to go to noon mass that year and went to a church near the university because I was a graduate student and it was all about Our Lady of Guadalupe. It wasn’t until a few years ago I realized how lucky I am to have my birthday on her feast day.

And now– because my life has changed– I also understand that it’s part of my continuing spiritual journey. I think of it as the evolution of what my birthday means.