WEEKENDS

             WITH WATTY

Meet Merle Watson Sears: aka Watson, Watty, Wattypants, Doufus.

This is a journey of letting go, embracing, discovery and reflection.  A dedication to one of the most loyal, compassionate, and at times annoying buttheads I know.  But most of all a journey of mindfulness, and gratitude, for what I have lost in the hustle and bustle of life.  Watson has always been there when I need him most, always with a dopey smile, a wag of his tail, or a head on my lap.  And  to that, I give him a weekend of adventure, because we both need it after the last few years.

                                                WATSON

 AGE 11.5 years old, large breed Catahoula  mutt, generally 80-88 pounds, depending on the apple season.  ( loves grazing on the apples in our back yard and when overindulging, chooses to- A: shit them all over our floor or B; puke them all over our floor), Note to owners, don't let your dog outside unattended when you have an apple orchard!  

                                                      ME

 52 years old,  large breed human - insert weight here- (Hell No) working as a Veterinary Technician for over 25 years, mother of two, wife of one, collector of all things wounded.  

 For five weekends throughout the summer, Watson and I will be taking ourselves and hopefully you on a journey through this lovely state we are proud to call home:  Vermont. 

I decided as many others have done, that 2019-20, sucked.  Covid-19; seclusion from friends and family for a very social being; and not being in control of all the chaos around me,( a major problem for me) were  just a few of the letdowns.

For Christmas my husband gave me a lovely monetary gift with a note saying "do what you want with it", So, I decided, hey I'm gonna do just that!  When do we actually get out and do something for ourselves, heal our minds, free our thoughts, just be away from it all.

 Enter Watty. 

 He eats, sleeps, repeats, but he does it with enthusiasm!   

I want to do a happy dance every time my food is served! 

I want to run in the woods, ears flopping in the wind with a huge grin on my face!

I want to let go, wallow in mud, stink like cow manure and not give a shit! 

So I'm doing it, and I'm doing it with one of my best mates, Mr. Watty Pants! This is a blog about our journey, locally, just the two of us, a kayak, and /or a bike and always an adventure.

First trip:  June 11-13th   Yurt in Monkton, Vermont.

Welcome to the yurt on the hill.  A gorgeous spot overlooking an organic working farm in Monkton, Vermont. 

 After a busy day of 8th Grade graduation excursions, Watty and I packed our bags and headed to the distant town of Monkton, Vt.  Approximately, 31 minutes from our house in Jericho.  I was very grateful for the short distance, since it was already getting dark and I was worried I would not be able to find the place.  Which, held true, since the google directions had me on the wrong side of the road, searching for a Yurt. However, at last we found the dirt road to our retreat and made it before the sun completely set. 

 Unpacking went easy, as I bring only essentials, engrained in me from being a flight attendant many years back, and you had to pack lite. The Yurt was roomy, a queen bed, bunk bed, fold out futon and a couch with a dresser, and wood stove.  A wooden deck led around the yurt with a connecting out building that had running water, a kitchen, stove and refrigerator and table with 4 chairs, definitely more room than Watson and I needed.  Homey, and memorable of the time I had spent in Maine on a small commune that was off grid.

 Once settled in I enjoyed a small meal of Brie, fresh bread, grapes and Almonds, with a nice glass of wine, Watson had a delicious bowl of Hills digestive diet with a splash of water.   Such a comforting go to meal mine of course,  And you can pretty much have it for any meal, plus or minus the wine.  

After dining,  Watty and I went for a small hike down the road to do our business, before we settled  in for the evening, it was 9:45, way past my bedtime and I was exhausted from the emotions of my youngest daughter now becoming a high school student. the baby not so much a baby anymore.  The view was beautiful, the sounds of the wood frogs, and crickets surrounded us and I let out a deep sigh and  let go of the days worries.

The night was crisp, fall like and perfect for sleeping, Watson was enthusiastic on having a whole half of the bed to himself, it felt good to enjoy this moment. not always possible with three cats, another human and a new dog on your bed at various times throughout the night.  I cannot tell you I slept perfectly through the night, I normally never do, but it was still  a restful night. 

Being pretty much on a wooded hillside, the morning started with veery's and oven-birds, Robins and blue-jays, wood-thrushes and warblers I cannot identify.  They wake up early, 4am to be exact, and through sleepy eyes, I just listened, snuggling my dog and enjoying this moment of being.  As the sun started to peak over the mountain, Watty and I got up, to  begin our day.  

It's odd when you don't have the normal routine of daily life in your morning, no need to let both dogs out, feed all the cats, start the coffee,  unload the dishwasher, blah blah blah....I just got up, made a cup of tea, fed Watson and sat, listened and swatted at the occasional fly that landed on my leg.  The day was shaping up to be beautiful.

Watson and I decided to follow the trails that were scattered around the property, a mountain bike group was developing them with the farms permission.  Wide and well maintained the trails were perfect for our morning walk. We discovered, bunnies and red efts, now  called spotted newt, and magical bird songs that were happy to start their day.

  It's funny, how being a Veterinary Technician all I could think about after we turned each corner was " watch out for porcupines, bears, moose", but soon those  worries  eased as the sun slipped through the trees, creating beams of sunlight that touched the moss covered rocks and filled the cool air with warm rays. 

 Watson and I were happy to be able to share this with the woods,  the sun and  all of its surroundings.

My plan for these getaways was to slow down, listen to what was around me and enjoy time with my aging, albeit gracefully. best bud.  I think we were nailing it. 

 Today would be a bit different then I think my other weekends will be, today I was to celebrate my dads 87th birthday with my sisters. Luckily  they live in Middlebury about 25 minutes from where our Yurt was.  We had to be there around 11am, which gave us plenty of time to sit, read, relax and just plan nothing. 

 The farm was beginning to wake up, tractors engines were churning, voices were carrying over the morning fog, and the crow of the rooster was echoing through the valley.  Watson and I sat on the patio, I sipping tea, and him sniffing the air to all the new scents.  

  I started reading one of many books, that I have piled up for these trips, the sequel to " A dogs Purpose" called " A dog's Way Home" by W.Bruce Cameron.  written  in the dogs perspective.  I found it to be entertaining but at the same time extremely repetitive.  Probably why it is a Young readers book, but non the less entertaining, and just  to be able to sit and read for several hours un-interrupted, was what I was aiming for.  The sun was brilliant and Watson and I were happy to have its warmth after the cool evening. 

Following our reunion with our Yurt, after Middlebury, we walked up the road on the trails, and swatted the deerflies that had come out in the warmth and were hiding in the shade to swarm us.  I hate deerflies. 

 The heat of the day, and the three walks Watson and I took, were proving to slow our steps, and we retreated to the coolness of the Yurt, and the goal of completing my book.  Two and 1/2 hours later, that goal was accomplished. Which if you know me, reading is tough.  I have never been one of those people who can sit and read a book in one setting. I'm distracted, dyslexic and have an attention span of a flea.  I always would read on vacations, but that too was also trying, as there were so many people to watch, and children to take care of, just basic needs that I would always put before my own, because its easier to nurture others instead of yourself.  So for me, this was a huge success. I think Watson could have cared less, but was extremely happy to be by my side with a fan blowing cool air in his fur. 

  The sun was starting to fade, and I made a fire to chase the bugs away, simply content not to worry where my children were, what I needed to make them for dinner, if the new dog was chasing the foster kittens or what I was going to face when I got to work.  Watsons' and my day had been a success.  And that was what I was hoping for.

 
 Not all the trip was perfection, the sound of the traffic at 3am which sounded like an episode of the Fast and the Furious, Vermont style, on the near by route 116; the bothersome deerflies that for me have no purpose in this world, however  to a flycatcher means life or death to its young; the barking dog across the road that jolts you awake at 4am after you had just fallen asleep from the traffic incident I mentioned earlier,  But it  reminded  me, that life itself is not perfect. Which unfortunately many youth and adults of today strive for,  Perfection is not real, (unless of course you are talking about my Watty pants.)  This little time out, space for myself and my thoughts, just being outside, and doing the simplest things as being able to read a book with no interruptions, is all I needed. Yes I will be stressed out at work, and at home again. Yes, I will pressure myself to teach my children respect and kindness. Yes, I will wake up with anxiety running over the days plans and what I need to do to complete certain tasks I have set forward. But I also know that I can let go if need be, and that tool is the greatest gift I could ask for.  I am so grateful to have had this experience and cannot wait to see what our next Weekend with Watty holds.  

Watson, I liked to believe enjoyed his experience too, watching my anxiety and brain slow down,  allowed him to be content, happy to be with his person and just be a dog, out in the woods, in some weird shaped house, with food, a bed and his friend.

I got to walk in the mud and not give a shit

Do a happy dance when I was fed

and walk with my best bud with the wind in my hair.  I'd say that's a solid! 

Enjoy some of the photos we were able to capture on our journey.  The  fawn was a day old and my sister Anna saw it on the trail behind our house, which I had just walked Watson on twice.  such a lucky find. Please feel free to comment, share or just sit back and enjoy.  Our next Weekend with Watty will be August 6-8 we will be exploring the river in a tent in Enosburg, Vt.  We hope you will join us.

What a long trip it's been

Almost a year has passed since I have written about my accident.  I have cried, laughed, snuggled my children harder and lived.  LIVED.

In order for me to get my license back, I was ordered to fulfill certain commitments , CRASH course, check, Intoxilock device installed for 6 months, check, therapy, check, criminal and civil court hearings and fees, check.  Even though these things look great on paper, they are a bitch to achieve.  The court systems don't talk with the government, and the government doesn't  talk to the lawyers, or the DMV and the DMV doesn't talk to the people who install your Intoxilock device..and so on and so on....In short communication is not clear in all of these systems.   What I thought would be 6 months of paying for a mistake, has now taken me 11 months.  It is 11 months I am grateful for, the discomfort, the pain, the suffering, and the depression.  I have become wiser, more aware, and settled.

It has not been easy living with me.  I usually get what I want, I am independent in many ways, and if things don't work out the way I intended them to, I am known to go a bit CRACRA.....(as my daughters can attest to).  But through this ordeal, I have managed to exercise a bit more control, an ability to contain my anxiety and let it work it's way out.  Breathe.

On the first day of Summer this year, I received my license.  I cried when my husband texted me, while I was sitting in the Hannafords' parking lot.  They were tears that have been suppressed, tears of joy and tears that reminded me how fortunate I am.  And as I tucked my children in that evening I cried with them.  In my arms.  I held them in my arms.  Tight.  A few months ago that could have not been the case.

I continue to go to therapy, there is so much stuff we hold back and try to forget, I have anxiety panic attacks in the middle of the night thinking of all the things I need to do, should have done and won't get done.  But I am learning to breathe.

On the list for today:  take the dogs for a walk with my kids ( Dick too if his leg allows him),
clean my car out, sage the hell out of it and me and my kids, and celebrate the Summer Solstice with friends and family.   That is a list I will go to bed with knowing I fulfilled.

I am excited to move on. Not willing to forget, and grateful for so many people who have pulled me through a rough patch in my life.   Thank you all

The course

                                                 

                                                  IMPACT PANEL

I am sitting across from a boy, I think is not much older then my daughter, his mother sits behind me, as a observer, she is uneasy, and nervously fidgets with papers.  I sit with approximately 30 people, in a stuffy room that reeks of cigarette ash and old clothes.   My stomach feels like I am just about to walk into some classroom unprepared to do a speech I have yet to write.  I fidget with my papers to fit in.  

"This is the first evening of our impact panel, it is meant to make you uncomfortable, and think about certain situations before you get into them.  You will hear from victims of DUI cases...Driving under the Influence of a substance, a liquid or texting.  You may cry, get angry, or feel like you should not be here.  You ARE here, because you WERE driving under the influence...or texting"

It is hard to get excited about these classes.  Yet they are required if you are involved in any kind of accident that could have been prevented.  Also known as a Crash, for accidents cannot be avoided, crashes can.  I and the 30 odd others were then subjected to 3 hours of information, presentations by victims, and a movie.  It was for the most, what I wish every child should go through before he or she receives their license.  The first exercise proved very effective.  We were told to write down 3 people we care about in our lives one name on one piece of index card.  I wrote, Dick, Sydney and Berkeley.  Then we were paired with a stranger, (you don't really socialize at these events).  You were then suppose to shuffle the names and pull the one on the bottom, and hand it to your partner.  

The other 2 that were left, you set aside.  I put down, Berkeley and Sydney to the chair on my left.

"Now, look at the card your partner just gave you."  I looked, and saw that the card I had given my partner had the same name on it.  " This is the person you just killed, and 1 in 4 of you in this room will kill, or injure.  Please turn to your partner and discuss who you just killed."  

It turns out my partner, Richie, had a son named Richard, whom he just bought a car for.  I had killed him.  And he, had killed my husband, Richard.  It was an eery feeling, and we both were stunned at the coincidence, and shared it with the group after.  It was a powerful moment for the class, one that you normally don't think about while your driving your car, or texting to your Friends.  It was many of several consequences that hit close to home.

Next up, the speakers...you could see every muscle in their bodies tense.  And for the most part the class was respectful while they spoke.  Again, there are a few who think they were wronged in life, and even though they crashed the car, or received the DUI, still didn't believe it.  We listened to lives ruined, from wealthy restaurant owners, that lost everything and were now 30 year old living with their parents, to young adults just getting into college and having everything fall apart.

Enter Emma.  She was 23.  She was texting her friend, at around 8pm on a dark winter night.  Was watching the phone for a response and did not see the women and dog she had hit on their evening walk.  The women she hit, broke every bone in her body.  The dog she was walking ended up in the ER, alive, but suffering.  I worked that night in the ER.  The heaving body of this great chocolate lab, came in on a stretcher.  Bleeding, and not coherent ....it was brought in by the E.M.T on duty at the scene of the crime.  It had been thrown 150 yards from where it was hit.  "You have to save this dog, it is all she has left"...was what I remember hearing.  10 minutes later it arrested, and died.  The dogs owner, through numerous surgeries, and painful P.T sessions, is alive physically, mentally she is gone.  Emma cannot be in the court room with her victim.  She has a restraining order against her.  Emma is not allowed to contact her in any way.  This was a connection I was not wanting to happen, yet for some reason, this girl who had only talked on 2 other occasions, was standing in front of me, telling her story, from the other side.  I could not hold back tears.  And I had another evening of this class.

I do not intend to write these stories for gossip sake, or for pity.  I am trying to get people to think.  I was never "One of those people", but there I sat.  Not privileged, not untouchable, not a junky, not a inexperienced driver.  Me, a 45 year old, that chose to drive, and avert my eyes off the road at the wrong time.  It happens to anyone.  I asked at the end of class, why this was not a required course in schools today.  " It can't be, in order for it to really work, one must have gone through the trauma".  

It strikes me odd, that such a devastating experience only need to happen after the fact.  It was one of the many things I would have changed during this lesson in life.  We are a society that tries to prevent old age, disease, hunger, poverty, yet we can't keep kids, adults animals from dying from something that actually could have been.  There are many misfortunes with how the system works, inconsistancies in courtrooms, departments, lawyers and consequences, but there are several constants in my life.  The ability to not drive a car with the phone on, or under any influence at all.

I guess you can say the Impact panel worked.  Please be safe out there people.  

Tired

                                                              TIRED



Many of you probably have heard of my misfortunes from somebody else other then myself.  Slowly trickling through the grapevine of our tight knit community.  A community I love, participate in, am proud to bring my children up in.   But recently I heard an amazing misconception, that  made my heart sink.  It reminded me of the game we used to play as kids called "Telephone", where one person starts out with a sentence or a phrase and passes it around a circle of "friends"  and the last person repeats what they had thought they heard.   It always amazes me the outcome of the final phrase.  It is nothing like the real story.  Normally, one would then ask the person who thought of the phrase, what the original phrase was...to everyone's surprise it was nothing like the end result.

This is my story, there should be no variations, sorry if it is not exciting enough for a few of those thrill seekers, or that someone else was not getting the attention they wanted, or that if perhaps my story was being told while I wasn't there to answer the questions, the facts could not be spoken.  I am here to set the record straight.

I was driving home around 11:00 from a most amazing and beautiful wedding my family and I had the pleasure of witnessing.  I was on the Huntington/Richmond road, just short of the Audubon Sugar shack.  I was rounding a curve in the road, and wanted to hear the song "Hallelujah", on my Pandora station, because the night was amazing, and I had just witnessed my friends getting married and my children grow into adults.  I love that song, as my kids will attest to.  Asking Sydney if Berkeley had fallen asleep, and getting the response, " I don't know, I can't see her", provoked my body's response to turn and see if I could visualize her asleep, slumped in her seat...exhausted from a day of excitement.   That was the last thing I remember.  Because as I turned around, my car was on the edge of the curve, clutched in the gravels pull and aiming me into a telephone pole.  CRASH, smoke, and a warm feeling of liquid down my face.  We stopped moving.  The car filled with smoke and soon someone was yelling through the window, get out, get out of the car.  My kids were crying, and " Mom, can we get out of the car?"  I focused, my head feeling like someone took a bat to it, " Yes, yes, get out of the car.  Get out of the road."  Disoriented I guess, we were not in the road, but in a ditch.  My kids and I were moved to the other side of the road, a driveway, of which I had known for quite sometime.  For Sydney used to go to Daycare there when she was 5 weeks old.   The rest happened quickly.  My friends came back to comfort me, they were driving up ahead and saw the burst of light from the explosion.  They hugged me and my children, and asked me to call Dick.  I did not recall his telephone number and stared blankly at my phone, not realizing that if I just pushed contacts his cell phone number would appear.  Shock.  My children kept repeating " Mom, mom are you okay?"  And I would say " Yes sweeties, mommy is fine, are you okay?"   We clung together not wanting to let go.  My friends, put my children in their car, they were shivering. Shock.  A State trooper showed up, and then  two Richmond cops and an Ambulance.  I did not send my children home with my friends before the cops showed up, I did not make an excuse to where I was, or that I was not drinking or that I was not using my cell phone.  We received a thorough exam from Richmond Rescue, whom I might add are amazing people. My husband showed up, driving from the same wedding I had just come from, speechless.  Shock.  The policeman wanted to talk to me.  Alone.  So after getting the okay to have my kids released from the ambulance, I sent them with my friends and my husband to get some kind of relief and because I knew I was going to be awhile.
          That is the story.  I was given a breath test, which I agreed too, and found myself over the legal limit.  Shocked.  I was processed, and here I am today, dealing with the consequences.  The stories I have heard surface from the original amaze me.  It spreads like a disease.  It frightens me, the ability to mold a story to ones liking.  This is my story, my life, and I know how it went, and how it ends.  You all should know by now, that I tell it like it is....call it ballsy, brave, honest....I call it real.  It never crossed my mind to embellish, lie, or hide what went on.
           Our society, tends to forget the beginning of the telephone conversation.  It is not news worthy, it won't get you as many friends, it does not pay the bills.  I am tired, tired of the misconceptions, tired of the falsities, tired of the hiding.  If I can get one person to stop living in a fantasy land life, through this blog, it is worth my daily reminder.  We are so slammed with politicians, government and communities, lying with each other about the real story that is beneath. It is easier to create illusions, misinformation, or hide behind a different mask, but it also kills who you are inside.   I am tired, but I am alive and even though the road gets tough at times, I like who I am, and who I will become through this and many other journeys life is going to throw me.
                                                   

Daily Dose of Death:

It is hard waking up, knowing that you have to face death.  It is even harder when you see death, and it is the worst when you know you were so close to death.


It has  been week two, and three and going on four, I have biked to work and home 4 out of 5 days to my work.  I love to bike, and it frees my mind, it is a time to organize and let go, but at the same time it is a fight to stay alive....not the fight our military has to face, not the fight our children have to go through each and every day through their daily upbringings, trying to figure out who they really are, but a true fight, for life.

I ride in rain, sleet, gorgeous blue bird days, I like to ride...what I hate is the anxiety of never letting my eyes off the road.  To some that may be easy, to others like myself who suffer from ADHD, it is a challenge.  I rode my bike in 30 degree temps for about a week or two, my hands were cold, fingers numb, my face had no expression except concentration.  What was I concentrating on...life.   The ability to survive the 12 .3 miles it takes me to ride to or from work safely.   I asked my husband what I should be weary of, on a day it was 30 degrees and pouring rain....he said don't ride on the painted lines.  Painted lines.  They may look big to those who drive along side them in a car, in fact you may curse a many cyclist for being too close to the  lines they are driving near, but let me tell you about the painted lines.  For one:  painted lines are made for the gas guzzling vehicle, two: if you are not a gas guzzling vehicle you loose, three: stay away from the painted lines.   This may sound confusing to you, but let me explain....We as bikers, cyclists if you will, are not meant to go beyond the painted line, it is our safety zone, where we feel secure, oblivious to the surroundings around us....this is bullshit.

What you don't see between the slim line protecting vehicle drivers from driving off the edge of the road or warning drivers that there is no shoulder, is the biking lane.  It is small at times the size of a mountain bike tire, at random occasions it is wide and wonderful.   Those wonderful times exist few and far between.  There are dead animals, metal, broken glass, gravel, trash, a random bottle or two...it is a nightmare.   I have to say, that the joy of biking turns into an adventure course where ninja warriors abound....This is my daily dose of death.  I swerve, curve, bobble, and bound, I jump, sway, maneuver and pray, that I will not find that metal object you threw out of your car, or the nail that happened to appear.   The cracks alone give me anxiety....if I get my tire in between the crevices, they pop...oh so not cool. The lines are slick, like ice on a rainy day, they toss you to the side if you turn on them at the wrong time.  They are the enemy.
        I now know the favorite drinks of people by the trash they throw outside, Franzia wine, Yoohoo, Amp drinks, Cavit wine....these are the things I view daily,  10 boxes of Franzia alone on Barber farm road...and when did chocolate milk become a forbidden drink so that we need to discard the debry....I hate that I cannot take my eyes off the road to view the soaring hawk, 10 feet away, or the fact that I cannot pull my sleeve down because my arm is frozen and I have 10 more miles to go....if I bobble, sway or swerve, I am dead, or seriously injured.  It is hard to face everyday.  Yet it is a fact that I did not take into account when I drove my vehicle that night.  One swerve, one twist, one mistake and I and my children would be dead.   It is something I have to wake up to everyday.  It is something you should wake up to everyday.  

I was suppose to get my license back this week, but the system tells me different.  Instead of a month of suspension, I will have nearly 2 months suspension...because you need to complete a crash course before you get your license back. a crash course that is full and overflowing. and takes you two weeks to get into...costing my family nearly 3,000 $ financially, anxiety between children's routines and  normality, and being a burden on society.  I will dance with my daily dose of death...for another 16 days......it hurts, sucks and pretty much makes me nauseous everyday...but it is what needs to be done to figure out how lucky I am.

I am here, and want to make sure that you are here....think before you drive that car, think before you play with the music on  your cell phone, think before you turn your head to look at your child asleep in the backseat ..for you are playing with Death. One second and it is over.

I am thankful for the reminders, even though they are painful, they make me face what I took for granted, or did not want to visualize.  I awake to a daily dose of death, And now  I go out and make sure it does not happen again.

Thank you again to all the families that have given my children a sense of normalcy.  To my husband who gives me strength   and most of all to my children for their ability to love through thick or thin....It is with all of this combined strength that I can wake up and ride on.

Week One

  WEEK ONE:

It has been a week since my license has been suspended.  The first day after I realized I couldn't drive anymore to pick up that loaf of bread I wanted to eat with our dinner meal, or take my kids and dog to Mobbs, where they like to run wild and splash in the river, free and uninhibited, I felt horrible.  Lifeless, almost hungover.  I didn't want to move, I was depressed, withdrawn, and down right grumpy.  I remember almost feeling nauseous.  I didn't want to eat, just wanted to sleep and I was pissed.  How dare they take away my license.  What did I pay my lawyer to do anyway, show up in court and call it a day.  It was a dark place for me to be in.  What I really wanted to do was run away, hide and  come out when it was all over.  The mear mention of dialogue concerning what we were going to do for the week, plan wise, was just another kick in my ego.  I am not used to loosing.

The day was gorgeous, 70's and sunny, and just one of those days you don't get in October.  And luckily my kids and husband pulled me through.  We had soccer, we had to grocery shop, the laundry needed to be done, I had to make arrangements on getting my kids to and from school the next day, I had to dig out my biking clothes, and most importantly, I had to find in myself the ability to ride 23 miles a day on that bike, to which I have not ridden in several years.  Even though these things made the day go by, the uncomfortable angry darkness, still surrounded the glowing sunset that I watched as the evening slipped away.  My kids are spoiled you see, they get a ride to school every morning, and they get picked up at a location that involves play time with friends, or an occasional read in the town library, or more importantly a play date at a friends house. They were not going to get that on Monday.  Instead they would get an hour long ride in the morning, and an hour long ride in the afternoon, to their house, their boring, everyday, non eventful house.  I could not kiss them goodbye as they sauntered into school, I could not gossip with the ladies at the front desk,  There would be no greetings to fellow moms, and dads that were dropping their kids off  and fulfilling their roles as parents.  I was powerless, not in control, walking on territory that was unfamiliar to me.  You see when George took my power away when I was young, I promised myself that I needed to fight, and not live a life of a victim, but be strong, powerful and independent.   No man or thing would ever take that from me again.  And yet there I stood, watching my kids step on a bus, that I was not driving, and going to a school that I could not enter to make sure it was safe, being independent, which I was not ready to embrace.  It was sad, and frustrating and felt like a little piece of me, had just gotten lost.

That day I rode, 12.5 miles to work, hard, and what I thought was fast, but really not so much.   The road was bumpy, full of cracks, potholes, cars that should have a sign saying" I hate cyclists", But I made it to work, and when it was time to ride home, I did so, with legs that were not in shape, and a pace that wouldn't win any races, but I did it, and the day still went by, the kids made it off the bus alive, and day three had arrived and passed.

I rode to work everyday except one, and each day  the cracks got smaller, the traffic became obsolete, and the potholes became divots.  I had forgotten how fall in Vermont felt.  The crisp air, the smell of decaying leaves, the farm that had just spread it's manure, closing another pasture for its winter hibernation.  I saw geese landing in the fields, floating on the river, hawks seeking their prey before they migrate, and watched the slow decomposition of the animals that were not so lucky at crossing the road to get to the other side.  When I arrived home, my kids would either be just arriving off the bus, or because the school did not receive my emails, would be delivered to me by grateful friends, who feel like family.  The anxiety, of not being in complete control lessened.  And life still was.

Now, I look forward to biking into work, granted the first week was a blessing from Mother Nature with its mild temperatures, and foliage that just won't take no for an answer.  I've gained a biking buddy, who goes out of the way to ride to or from work with me.  I think my pace is improving, and I feel content.  Sure, I am unable to hop into the car and go to the places I used to go to a the drop of a hat, but what I can do, is stop, observe, and take in what I have been missing in my hurried, fill every moment kind of day living.  It will be colder next week, and a whole different feel to my morning rides, but it will be another lesson, of letting things go.  Enjoying what you have in front of you, and not always symbolizing power with independence and comfort.

I think we often rush through life fulfilling our duties to ourselves and our children and families and we don't remember to slow down and enjoy even the little things...Todays' world is built on convenience  and speed.  It can destroy the beauty of being powerless.   Sometimes we just need to let go to find what we have been missing, a much stronger power then we ever thought.  Yes, I know this has been said before, through many Buddhist sayings, or enlightenment's, but to actually experience it is more powerful then reading about it.

Democracy? Not so much.

Let me start out by saying Thank you.  The out pouring of kindness, emotion, truth and love from all of you over the past weeks is amazing.  I have never been so sure of myself, then these last few weeks.  I have cried, hidden, yelled, woken up with nightmares, and loved.  I have admitted, and faced fears, that I had not faced before.  You have all given me something to keep me going.  And some of you have given me things that I did not want to hear but had to.  It is not always a rose garden out there, but, it is the truth that needs to be told in order to move on, and allow oneself to live again.  So, I am grateful to each and everyone of you who have reached out to me and given me strength.  Moving on, I will, and it may not be a walk in the park at times, but I will move.

After I wrote what I was going through recently I was due in court the following week.  Working up to that day in court was horrible.  I often would wake at 2am and not fall back asleep, I would dream of death, and watching my childrens bodies buried in the earth.  I would visualize car crashes with unexpected drivers, my friends, family members, or the occasional wildlife.  It was I am sure stress related, and the fact that my body was withdrawing from something that used to numb all these feelings. Court day arrived, I had not had any contact with my lawyer except a letter, It said "court sentence is at 1:30, be there at 1:00"...no call, no chat, no questions.

Court:  The most humilatating place on earth.  I was surrounded by people, who shook hands with friends that they have not seen in awhile, " hey, what are you in here for?", " Oh, they said they fucking found pot on my body, and I was driving under perscribed drugs, fucking idiots, they told me I had to go to crash, Fuck them, I'm not going, fucking idiots."  " Dude, what up?", "Seriously, that fucking bitch, she needs to be taught a lesson"..." shit man, this is your 4th offense"  My heart was pounding, in fact so much that I thought I might faint...my lawyer walked by me and didn't even look at me. It was 1:30, 5 cases later, he called my name, and when I said "right here", 2 inches from where he was, he said "oh, I walked right by you."...." We are gonna have a tough one here,"   my heart sank, after all I thought we were here for a child endangerment ruling, and I wanted to argue that my child was in a seat belt and not in a booster because she is beyond the requirements to be in a booster.  Well that didn't happen, they were actually charging me with cruelty to a child, and slapping on the DWI.  I felt sick.  Hot, Like I was about to vomit.  I had to pee, but could not go to the bathroom because they may call my name to go into the courtroom.   10 minutes later my lawyer comes out, I am the last one he has come to talk to.  " those fuckers want to charge you with cruelty, unless you plead guilty to DWI"...just as the ball drops, the baliff comes in and says " the court is in order" ....No time to discuss, just whether or not you want me to fight this, or plead quilty....If I fight it and lose...I have DCWF on my case for the next 10 years, if I plead quilty, I lose my license for 30 days and complete a Crash course.  With 5 DWI's in front of me... the judge was magnificent, knowing that he was dealing with a situation that was bad timing, and unfortunate, he actually humored me.  Being that is was the day that the Lamoille shooter was in town, and the 2 police officers that were there at the scene of the crash, showed up at the last minute, I was the one that was to be made an example of.

I pleaded quilty.  I am a mentor, of young children, a kind person to those who know me, I will go out of my way to help those who need it, and I will not allow child cruelty to be any where associated with my name...and facts are facts, I was driving with a blood alcohol content above the legal limit.


Fucked.  My lawyer postponed the sentence, I don't know why, because he has not really talked to me about it.  My sentencing is now in November...When it is cold, and hard to bike to places I may need to bike to.  It is another day, that the courts will spend money, to answer a punishment they already know is fordue.  It is a corrupt system.

This is only the beginning of what I have just unravelled.  The system that we believe in, our democratic rights, our freedom, our ability to trust in the system, is all but a farce.  What it comes down to is how much money you have, and how many people you can pay off.  Now wonder the people who have nothing and depend on a public defender, have no hope, they are never going to win.  It is a terifying feeling, walking into a courthouse.  The abuse of power is everywhere.  There are no friends, and no feelings of hope...it is desperate,   I am guilty.
 I can only imagine what it is to commit a crime that requires jail time, prison, or loss of life.  This system of ours is wrong.   I am a stronger person, for seeing what I have just not wanted to see.  Open your eyes people and remember, it only takes a second, to change your life.

Listening to yourself

It has been a long time since I have written,  why?  Well I think I did not want to remember the last post I made, it brought back horrible memories, pain, uncertainty, and basically a bad taste in my mouth.  But alas, I have come out of the shadows...and am willing to share my experiences with those that may be going through the same struggles, or may feel alone.

I have been awakened to a reality recently, that put my life in danger and more importantly that of the beings I could not live without...I am talking about my children, Sydney and Berkeley.  They make me get up in the morning, come home at night, and more importantly fill me with importance.  I could have taken that away, in one swift moment of misjudgement.  And I could have taken it away from another family, or soul...how you ask did this happen, why would I put the things I love to the moon and back in such danger, well that is easy...I crashed my car into a telephone pole, at 35-40 mph, after a wedding.  It was the best day, and the worst day, all at the same time. It hurt, it sucked, it ruined property, but most importantly it endangered my most beloved things on earth.

I have hidden my desire to hide the pain in my heart, the constent need to feel loved, the need to feel wanted, the pain I suffered from not fully allowing myself to let go of something that had happened to me ...what did I numb myself with, alcohol.  I hated myself, for letting someone else take from me, my personality, my being. my self.  I drank to hide my anger, my distrust of myself, I drank to forget.

I was an amazing drunk to my friends...I was happy, funny, sexy, "the life of the party", I was comfortable.  Habits are our friends, at least that is what we tell ourselves.  On the home front, it was not that easy, I was "a bitch", "Nasty", "argumentive", impatient, and asleep or passed out by 8.  In my perspective, I was tired.

That all changed when I crashed into the telephone/electric pole ...

The image will never be erased.  Smoke, airbags imploding, children screaming, my life changing.

Blood trickled from my nose, and my first thought was " my husband is going to kill me",,, of course not literally, but because I just crashed the new Volvo I recieved for Christmas.  Then as I heard my daughter exclaiming, "Mom, Mom, can we get out of the car now,? "  my instincts kicked in....save my children....get them safe,   they were fine, Seat belted and just bruised, I was fine, bloody nose and an amazing neck pain that felt like someone had hit me with a baseball bat on the base of my neck...BUT more importantly..ALIVE.

I blew a 1.2, and the cop handcuffed me in the front, instead of in the back, a most uncomfortable position for the body to be in.  Any other car, would have been split in half...we would have died.
I don't remember much of that night, due to the ringing in my ears, my head throbbing and the fact that I just kept thinking about how I just almost killed my children...it was horrible to say the least.

I woke up, not wanting to face the facts, defensive, angry...I hated myself.

My husband was angry, rightfully so, I almost took his lively hood away.  But he listened, and he told me, he beleived in me.  It was what I had been fighting for, for years....but had hidden behind alcohol.

I am not okay, nor will I be for a very long time, but what I AM, is ALIVE,  I have my children, I did not harm a innocent bystander, I am not giving up.  I have the most amazing friends and family, they have helped me, listened to me, and told me to stop playing the victum....I love them for their truth.  I will fight this battle dailey, and even though it arised from the young age of 14, I will win.  I am strong and George even though you thought I could not handle it as a 14 year old, I can handle it now!

Tomorrow, I will wake up, smelling my childrens fresh cleaned hair, holding their hands as we walk to school, kissing my husband and actually feeling his love.  I was given a chance to Listen, and now I will try to Live the life I have been missing for over 20 years.

To George, who fucked me up, and probably many others, I feel sorry for you....you have lived a life of misory, hate, and most likely neglect...I hope you can find some kind of help, that will enable you to enjoy a life without regrets.  It may be too late, but try, there is always hope.

Please contact me if anyone would like to talk...I am always here to listen...

The hard times

So the times have changed from a seven year old tom boy to a 14 year old pre-pubescent teen.  It is hard for me to write about this episode of my life, not only did it change who I was physically, but also mentally and innocently.  I am afraid to tell my story, but at the same time willing to do so, just so people don't have to live the mind fuck I had to experience.   It has affected my life daily, and I don't think I am unable to ever let it go.  I just deal with it, day by day, not always in a good way, but I survive as many others have.  It is hard for me to share with so many that know me, but it  is necessary and a way of therapy.  I believe that people should express their views, opinions, troubles....so that they can start healing, or living their lives.  That being said it is a bit more difficult to act out, then believed.

I was fourteen and babysitting a well known family in my hometown of Middlebury.  I had the opportunity to continue what both my elder sisters had done, but now they were off to college and I took the job they had so carefully coveted.  The pay was good, and the kids were amazing.  At age 5 the eldest was reading Political science magazine, the youngest at 3 was hitting a golf ball more then 100 yards.  They were wealthy, and owned a well known paint company, we loved their family as much as they appreciated ours.  It all went to shit when on an occasional night, the husband would come home early, offer me a drink of gin and tonic as I cooked dinner for his kids, and he would sit watching the news.  He did not put his kids to bed, nor did he sit with them for dinner, he was alone, drinking and waiting.

I was odd at fourteen.  Not pretty, skinny, and some what geek like.  I was nieve and knew nothing about disobeying my family.  I was a Tom boy, loved to get dirty with the boys, ride bikes and hated dresses.  It was this year that my outlook on life would change.

The nights became earlier that the husband came home, which would entail more Gin and Tonics, and soon I would be making dinner for him and the children, then putting the kids to bed, waiting for the wife to come home and then being driven home by him.  It was thought out and carefully navigated, as the summer turned into fall and then winter, and I was babysitting later in the evenings, sometimes with him at home, because he did not want to deal with the children while he worked from home.   By my fifteenth birthday, I was drinking at least 2-3 gin and tonics a night.   I felt good, giddy, special...no other 15 year old was drinking in the presence of an adult with their consent, on a daily basis.  Eventually, things turned south, there was the kiss in the driveway, after he would drive me home, and the shoulder rub in the kitchen as I finished the dishes before his wife came home.  But the worst was the time spent once the kids went to bed, between 7 and 8:30 pm where  I would be cleaning up, and he suggested he would do that later and to just come and watch the news and relax on the couch with him.  What do you do, when you are young, and suppose to respect the adults of those you babysit for and who are paying you to do so.  So I did.  I sat and watched the news, drank the second gin and tonic and relaxed.

On my 15th and 1/2  birthday, I lost my virginity.  Maybe not the way the normal human being may, but for me, it was my soul, and my body and I cried for hours, silently in bed alone.   The gin and tonics turned into 3, and the news turned into porn, and as his clammy hands withered around my rigid clothed body, I felt my pants being unbuttoned and a stabbing pain enter my privates.  I couldn't move, nor could I scream.  I just took it, and cried internally to stop.  He had taken away my most memorable moment, and  I was ashamed.

From that moment on, I could not trust men, he was 30 years older then I, had a beautiful family, money, and  an amazing job, but he chose to take my life, my happiness, my trust and my naivety away from me.  I was alone.  It was not until a year later that I told my best friend in secrecy for some kind of advice or help, she then told the whole school to which i was again made out to be a whore, or someone who was an easy.

Being that my dad worked in the school, it was not long until he heard about the so called event.  I had many psychiatric meetings with my parents and self to figure out how I could go on living without feeling hateful to men.  My parents thought it was my fault, and accused me of prompting the events that took place, my peers thought I was a sex maniac and home wrecker   My sisters well, they knew I was  telling the truth.  Why, well because it had happened to them.  Unfortunately they did not choose to let me know about the events that happened with them, or they did not think that I at such a young age would be affected.  Well, let me tell you  I was.  And when my therapist told me way back in 1987 to report so called man to the authorities, I backed down.  I thought of the kids that I had raised for 5  years, I thought of the wife, who had no idea, and I thought of the business and it's prominence throughout Middlebury.  What I didn't think about, was myself.  I was scared, lost, alone and bitter.

I've had many dreams about what I would do if I ever met him again.  Perhaps I would cut off his penis, or ruin his lively hood,. I am changed from him.  I carry it daily, throughout all my relationships, and struggle  today with my husband.  I pick unattractive babysitters, am jealous of his "girl"friends, do not trust him fully, and find myself bitter for being that way. It is a struggle I live daily, and will never forget, but as I write, I feel a bit of encouragement to those out there that may be in a similar situation, and this is my advice.

I AM HERE FOR YOU, AS A LISTENER, AND A SUPPORTER, you do not have to live your life this way,   And that person that did this to you, is not even thinking about it, they think they have won, but they WILL NOT  take your life from you. Be strong, stand up and fight, fight with all your strength to live your life to the fullest.  I may have been young, but I still had a voice, I just did not know how to use it.

Peace

Tom Boy

   I was never a girly girl growing up, I'd rather have my shirt off, and a pair of shorts on in the summer, then a dress or skirt.  I think this was due to the fact that my dad grew up with 3 older sisters, and then he in turn had 3 daughters.  In a way I felt sorry for him.  I remember at the age of 7, sitting on his lap, asking him if he wanted a boy.  He truthfully explained that he would have enjoyed a boy, but was more then happy with the beautiful daughters he had.  Of course when you are a 7 year old, all you hear is  "I would have liked a boy",  I think secretly I made it my mission to be his "boy", and thus dawned the "tom boy" characteristics quite early in my childhood.  My mom was a very conventional women....if it could be sewn together, it would be, thus getting another year or two out of clothing that otherwise would be put in a rag drawer.  I remember the outfits we used to be subjected to.  Plaid on plaid, stripes and plaid, Dickies with sewn on knee pads, we were quite the lookers.  This played out for my tom boy persona.  I liked the rips, the tears, the non pinks and flowery patterns.  Dresses were scratchy and frilly and made me wiggle too much.  To this day, I feel uncomfortable in dresses.  My friends will tell me I look great all cleaned up, but I don't often feel great inside, I still feel wiggly, scratchy and uncomfortable.

   I loved the fact that in our younger years we were able to do what we wanted when it came to free play.  We lived in an area surrounded by woods, a river, and miles of undeveloped trails.  We had safe neighbors, at least we thought we did, we did not live in the day of Alerts, and "my neighbor is a child molester"  warnings. My mother and father believed in outside play, we were limited to maybe two television shows a week and Sat. morning cartoons.  This was great for our imagination, we would hike hills and climb trees, play under ostrich ferns, create islands, pirate ships, lands of mystery...but one of my favorites was cowboys and Indians.
  Our parents had leased 2 horses from a summer camp up the road.  Missy and Prince.  They were two of the best behaved horses/ponies I have ever experienced.  They worked in the summer for a camp that helped Mentally challenged kids, experience a summer of fun, so not only were they bullet proof, but they were dog and catlike, actually walking into the house when called.   We would spend hours in the woods riding bareback, listening to creeks and snaps in the forest, making believe there were Indians or in my case cowboys after us I had a soft spot for the underdog. It was magical.  I learned to listen and hear the sounds of the forest.  The birds warning calls, the silence before a rain, the wind brushing among the leaves.  I learned to feel the horse, I knew when it was anxious, tired, ready to jump.  I will always be grateful to my folks for letting us go free.

I have to reflect on one experience where it was not all that great, and the imagination of my childhood enveloped me, making me realize that there was consequence for actions that I took...I don't think I had realized that until then. I was off playing in the woods with my friend Tina, down our road.  She too had a horse, and we would ride together often.  I decided to go riding one afternoon farther then we had been in a while.  It must have been 4 or 5 hours of riding, and dusk was settling in when I unbridled Prince and put him in the barn...I had had a wonderful day, and skipped into the house as any other 10 year old would do.  I was met by my fathers hand, squarely on my butt.  I was small for my age, skinny and awkward, and my dad was 6'3" and quite muscular.  Needless to say I was not expecting this greeting at all.  I will always remember that feeling of pain and hurt, and worry in my parents and my eyes..  Back then I was hurt and couldn't see why there had been a problem, but after explaining that no one knew where I was and the calls that were made to find me were not productive, I realized that the freedom we take for granted, needs to be respected.
  I eventually experienced a similar feeling of despair with my own children.  Leaving them for a brief moment to do barn chores down the road, I explained that I would be home in 30 minutes and my phone was with me if they needed anything.  My children ages 7 and 4 at the time knew where I was and who to call if they had a problem.  I think I remember my days of  childhood and how it was not a problem to be alone for 30 minutes or so.  When I came home my children were missing, no note, no phone call. gone.  I panicked.  Searched in every space possible, the nausea that one feels is overwhelming, and you start thinking of all the bad things that could happen to them.  I was terrified and wanted to replay that morning back.  There  was a message on the phone at home from one of my friends down the road, she had my kids and was wondering where I was...I was re-leaved but also pissed.  I did not greet my kids with a slap to the butt, but mentally the fear was just as painful.  I regret filling their innocent minds with all the things that could have gone wrong, it was a moment where their childhood was interrupted with reality.

In the long run, I gave my kids too much freedom, and used my childhood for the basis for my kids.  I should have known better as I do now, and have to be thankful that nothing bad happened that day that I would not be able to live with. Innocence is a hard thing to let go of.

Living the life of Lupe'

     I have gone through many events and life changing circumstances throughout my short life, and when I discuss these moments or accomplishments with my peers they seem to always come to the same conclusion.    "You should write a book"....well I am not such a good book writer, it is a huge step to focus on chapters and chronological dates and times, and when I look back at it somewhat overwhelming.  So I've decided to break it down,  in a much smaller scale and go through memories one by one a much more focused way about doing things then what my brain can handle.

I chose to do this through blogging, little by little working through my life's experiences and perceptions to not only give myself a sense of order, but to share with those who may find a piece of my life similar to theirs.  It may be helpful, it may be brutal, it may be stupid and useless, but it is me and all those adjectives have described my life in some shape or form.  I hope you enjoy, or just find it interesting to read, and for those of you who choose not to read, well , your not reading it, so I have nothing to say.

I have to start with one of my earliest memories, it goes back to early childhood when I was about 3 or 4, somehow, I got the biggest bedroom in the house.  Sharing the upstairs with two older sisters, Jennifer and Anna...Jennifer was the oldest  6 years my eldest, then Anna, 4 years older.  I had a queen size bed and Jenn and Anna shared twin beds down the hall.   I think I was always envious of them in a way.  The nights seemed long to me, I was afraid of the dark, still am. I could hear them chatting when it was lights out, giggling secret giggles which I strained to hear but could just make out muffles.  We had no upstairs bathroom, and my parents  fearing that we may fall down the stairs in the middle of the night, would place a childs potty at the top of the stairs silhouetted by the night light that gave us comfort.  One night, as I lay alone in bed, watching the stars out my bedroom window, I realized I had to go.  I tiptoed quietly to the top of the stairs to use the potty, and was startled by my older sister demanding.."Laura, what are you doing?!"
I was obviously irritated that she had noticed my stealthiness, and responded with a most melodical, " I HAVE TO GOOOOO TOOOOO THE BATHROOM", which thus set off an outburst of laughter from my sisters prompting my not so enthused father at the time to open the door to the upstairs and require what we were up to.. Hunkering down on the potty, I shyly told him my goings on and he tenderly chuckled and told us we needed to settle down and go to sleep.

I don't know why that memory sticks out in my mind so well, as it does in my whole family, they love telling the story at gatherings or events where new ears are listening...I guess the tone, the way it was sung, and the giggles that persisted have made it memorable...odd but amusing to this day.

I see a lot of myself in my youngest daughter Berkeley, she sings those responses to questions and often contorts her face in the same mannerisms, I have a feeling I am in for a ride with this little one.

My family consisted of 5 members, Louis, Beverly, Jennifer, Ann (now changed to Anna) and myself.  We lived in a beautiful town outside of Middlebury, Vermont.  It was a pleasant place to live, due to the closeness of Middlebury College and the picturesque green mountains up our road, I found it to be one of the most amazing places to grow up.  My father, taught at the local High School, English and then became the librarian, he was one of the longest working facility members and highly respected amongst his peers.

My mother, worked at Middlebury College as a school nurse, she was nurturing, loving and devoted to raising her children.  After finding out that her first meal to cook ever, came from a can of Campbells Chicken Noodle soup, where she forgot to add the water and served it straight out of the can to my father when they were dating, goes to show you how love conquers all.  A meal at my mothers house now is one of those memories people discuss for decades.  She as well as my father know how to throw down a meal.  It is one of those traits that has carried on in all of their children...we know how to cook!

We lived a strict life.  Cleaning our rooms, house chores before play, no swearing, no jeans ( to school),  we were told to do our homework after school until it was done, then we could do other things if time permitted.  We had chickens, ducks, horses, and the occasional animal off the street to mend and feed and foster.It was a good childhood.
    Our house was known as the "Animal Hospital"...cats that were caught in fan belts, woodchuck babies whose mothers had died were raised and released, probably only to be killed by our German Shepherds.   Song birds were fed until they fledged, and baby raccoon's were bottle fed until they could live on their own on the Otter Creek wildlife preserve.  I'd have to say, if you know me, this is where it all began with my addiction of trying to fix things that are broken.  My parents were very open minded and nurturing when we walked in the door with a new critter.  I am very thankful to them for this, it has dictated my life and the life of my children.
     I think the greatest childhood animal I raised was that of Patches and Nipper.  Our friend Rose who was the animal control officer, stopped by to ask my parents if we could help her raise these two raccoon's, whose mom was hit by a car and they were too young to survive on their own, laying by their dead mother on the side of the road, waiting to get hit themselves.  My parents accepted, Rose had already had 4 other baby raccoon's to bottle feed every 30 minutes and these two would be the end of her sanity.
My father made a makeshift pen in our chicken coop, placing the predator with the prey now seems weird to me, but it was where we had space.  Raccoon's amaze me.  They are clingy and frisky.  They are clean and wash all their food before eating it.  Their hands grasp yours like a baby would, and they love white teeth and playing with your hair.  We came to find out about these characteristics as the coons grew in size, eventually we had to ween them from their human keepers, and adapt them to their outside pen...this proved harder then we thought.  They learned to climb out of the pen, scurry to the tree near our bedroom, climb out to the branch that touches our window, and scratch until one of us would open it.  There were several occasions when the morning hours would bring sunshine into a bed with two snuggling raccoon babies and a child.

It was heartbreaking when on one particular Saturday afternoon, as we sat for lunch at the dining room table we noticed a truck stop out front, then speed away.  There are times when you just know what you are going to find when you go outside, and this was one of them.  Our house was close to the road, my father built a beautiful stonewall to protect us from the people who were suppose to be going 30mph past, but often went much faster.  When we got to the walk way that led to the street, we saw a blood stain that was fresh and clear that it had just recently happened.  Across the street huddled in the weeping willow clung a frightened Nipper.  Patches was no where to be found.  We assumed the person stopped and picked up the pelt, but who knows, what mattered was it was my first tragic experience with death, something I had raised, loved and given life to, had just been taken away from me and my family.  It was not the last time I would see death, nor would it be the last time I would experience the sorrowful look on another animal species dealing with death and confusion, but I think it was what shaped my mentality.  I would dedicate my life to caring, protecting and helping those see the wonders and beauty of wildlife and nature, even when it meant losing a bit of myself so others could experience something wonderful.

Nipper was released in the Otter Creek Wildlife Preserve the following day.  We would often call the caretaker and check up on him.  On one such call he had informed us that Nipper climbed the electrical pole and had gotten electrocuted, he fell to his death.

Tribal attributes

A tribe: a place of being, connection, family, sharing a similiar perspective, living together in harmony....these are what I have discovered in the last year in my home town of Jericho. We are all part of a certain tribe, whether it be religious, political, social, or ancestrial. I love my tribe. I am lucky to live in an area that allows my tribe to exist. Where else can you call upon one of your fellow friends and have them drop everything for you, and aid or assist. Vermont is a wonderful state to behold tribes.

The other day I was feeling tired, sick and needed to rest but could not. My tribe entered...can I take the kids for awhile, do you need anything, dinner a drink, a talk. It was so welcoming to have this at my fingertips. It left me smiling, in the lowest part of my day, I was smiling and feeling good, because of my tribe.

Recently had my entire life taken from me, my social security number, license, bank cards, photos of my children....a locked car is no safer then an unlocked car. It makes for an awful empty feeling....someone knows me, and I don't know them. Creepy, frustrating and angry. But I have my tribe, my family, searching for hours to look for items the perpatrators left, my sister whom had traveled an hour away and called to see how I was dealing, my friends letting me know they cared and were there for me. This is a great feeling...and I thank everyone of them for being there. I want them to know that I will be there for them.

To feel connected to such wonderful people creates a warmth that every soul should experience. It is contagious and makes you want to spread that fuzzy feeling everywhere. The people who invented the saying "what goes around comes around", were not stupid...I have faith in my tribe and they in me and I believe we will all be taken care of in our next world, whatever that may in-tale. I am grateful for such a loving family, even though at times the house rocks, and things get misunderstood, or mis-spoken. In the end we want to do good, we like harmony, peace and love. This is my tribe and I am proud to be a part of theirs.

Social Dilemma

As I take turns with my daughter digging a small hole big enough for the 1 pound lamb named Peanut Butter we tried to save, my thoughts flood my mind. Why did such an innocent loving animal touch so many lives in the less then 12 hours she had lived? How come I put my children in such a position to become attached to something that had such a minimal chance of survival? Even though I kept reiterating " She may die, she is very weak", this seems to not register in their innocent minds.

Peanut Butter came to us via my sisters farm in South Royalton, the mother had had triplets, a fate that often ends in death of one of the young lambs. Sheep tend to have 1 to 2 lambs, and it is just survival of the fittest when a third is born. My sister too has seen too much death in these last few months, and a quick knock on the head with a farm instrument would put a failing lamb out of its' misery painlessly. By many this is considered barbaric or cruel, however to one whom has dealt with farming and the difficulties with lambing, it is one of the unfortunate duties of a farmer. There is no pleasure, or satisfaction, just the thought that you are sparing the inevitable. The alternative, leaving the lamb to die a slow, death of cold, starvation and eventually lungs filling up with fluid and being unable to breath. My sister however could not face another life ending in her hands. I was grateful for that.

I was visiting my sister while waiting for a medical procedure to be done on my husband at Gifford. Berkeley and I decided to see her fresh batch of chicks, ducklings and lambs. She asked me to hold a mother sheep while she extracted colostrum from her and syringe fed a triplet that had a low chance of survival. It was a two person job that required a strong hold on the mother and two hands on the teats. We were able to extract about 40mls of colostrum, a good start for the now floppy lamb, that was 1/3 the size of her brothers. Peanut Butter was named because of the brown after birth that still lay on her fleece, the mother sheep tends to sense when her young are not going to survive and therefor did not clean adequately once she was born. We syringe fed the small amount of colostrum and watched as Peanut Butter stood for the first time. Our minds said "Maybe", and that was that.

I purchased lamb milk replacer at the local farm supply store and off we went with a lamb in a box, suckling anything it could put it's mouth too. Traveling an hour to home, we kept checking the lamb, expecting it to be dead, but it's head would pop up and it would start bleating and resume sucking on whatever it could reach. At one point Berkeley dose off to sleep and Dick and I turned to catch one of those lifetime memories of our daughter sucking her thumb and Peanut Butter sucking her finger, as she slept. I was in love. Peanut Butter was a natural at nursing from the bottle, drinking at least 1/2 pint of formula once we got home, and gaining strength as the day went on. She would run in the living room leaping (or trying to leap), and follow the children like they were her own. She became family quite quickly, and I was starting to think that she had a chance. That chance diminished when I awoke the next morning to see a limp, but still breathing Peanut Butter in her box.

Peanut Butter died in my arms, taking her last breaths as I was surrounded by hysterical children flooding me with tears. She was warm, and loved and died of pneumonia, just as my sister had told me she might. It is an awful feeling to loose something so little and perfect. It is even worse to watch your children try to understand something that had been so alive the night before , be limp and lifeless today. She is buried in our flower garden, and a perennial will be planted at her head, reminding us yearly of how such a small being can touch an overwhelming amount of hearts. I am grateful to my friends and family for such kind words and sincerity, and it makes me realize that we are in the most part a loving species, and in this time of sorrow I think it is a good thing to think about. Lately the news has been pushing this feeling out of my head, celebrating for the death of another humane being, watching gruesome photos of a story I try not to think about.

I of course am thinking of the recent death of Osama bin Laden, although a barbaric individual and directly involved in the death of my husbands good friend Karl and many other family members and friends. I do not wish death on anyone. Osama was misguided, fighting for something he believed to be evil, we( the American) people have done just as bad. In fact every culture has been barbaric and cruel, and we are supposed to be the country that gives a fair trial, not guilty until proven. Was it not as barbaric to shoot down an unarmed man? Isn't that like blowing up a building filled with unarmed civilians...?

I believe in our Military and I am lucky to have such freedoms as others do not, I know people do not fight fairly, I just wish we would not follow their footsteps. I am trying to teach this to my children, but I cannot when everything else claims to fight fair, and then doesn't follow that lead. I have told my children, that Osama was a angry and violent man, who disregarded humane life and did not respect the rights of others. But if they ask me how come we killed him, isn't it bad to kill others...there is no answer, because we too are a culture that kills, innocent and guilty people, we are cruel to one another, to our planet, our loved ones and ourselves...it is a battle that was at least ceased for a moment in my head, when I looked upon Peanut Butter and had something to save, care for and love. It would be great if we could do the same to the human species.