Learning to Love Lincoln

Once upon a time, way back when Harry and I decided to get married, he offered to move to Denver, which was where I lived at that time. After some consideration, I decided I wouldn’t feel right about him leaving his shop and his family for me. I mean, Harry had owned his own business shop for twenty years: what if he couldn’t make a new start in Denver? What if he couldn’t find a job? I would feel terribly guilty. So, we made a deal. I would move to Lincoln and we would live there for ten years; and then it was my turn - we would move to where I wanted to live.

Sounded like a great deal at the time.

There’s a lot of wool being pulled over the eyes when you get married, by both parties. I pulled the wool over my own eyes in this particular case. When you’re first married, “deals” are concrete, set in stone. As our ten year wedding anniversary approached, I dreamed of the places I wanted to live. Oregon’s misty forests and crashing ocean waves were at the top of my list. My sister works for Sprint, and she was based there. Utah was a close second; I could work at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary, surrounded by mountains and forests. Hiking in the mountains or strolls along the beach - it didn’t matter to me, one way or the other.

Ten years came and went. Harry wasn’t ready. “Give me five more years,” he said. “In five more years, I should have everything all ready.” Fifteen years came and went. Harry still wasn’t ready, and I’ll have to admit, during that year’s discussion, I was not nearly as nice. This wasn't the deal that had been set in stone. I'd paid my dues, it was my turn. With the advent of our seventeenth anniversary came an epiphany and I had to face the fact: we were never going to move away from Lincoln. I was stuck here. I wrestled with this realization, and quite honestly came very close to just pulling the plug on our relationship, packing up the dogs and a few possessions and leaving.



But when I turned 50 and dreamed up the Airstream Dream, somehow, things changed. The tension that had been building in my relationship with Harry dissipated, and for the first time, I could start to appreciate all that Lincoln and Nebraska had to offer.

Now, I am aware that every place has its down-sides; no one place is perfect. From my new vantage point and with its 20/20 hindsight, I can see that had I moved to Oregon, I would have been unhappy. I’m solar-powered, you see. I love sunshine. In Oregon's rain I would have moldered into a suicidal soggy lump. And Utah? Well, I still think I would do well in Utah. Or New Mexico, for that matter. Or southern California.

Today as I was driving the streets of Lincoln, I really saw the beauty around me. The trees are changing; Fall is in full force. Fall is my favorite season, especially in Nebraska. The humidity that saps my strength in Summer falls away, magically disappearing overnight, it seems, and the beautiful blue bowl of the sky deepens to a darker shade without the cloak of moisture. The sun is warm; the shade is cool - in fact, if there were mountains, it would be a lot like Colorado, where I grew up.



I took the dogs for a run at Wagon Train SRA today, and as I walked through the ripened fields I marveled at the crispness of the air, the fragrance of the grasses. With the sun warm on my back, I laughed out loud at Star’s antics and the bemused expression on JoLee’s face as Star ran big circles as fast as she could, coming as near as she could to careening into me, then into JoLee, and then into Tim. As I drove home, I wished I’d thought to bring my camera to capture the beauty of the farmland and the trees, the richness of the hues, the pastoral benevolence that seems to simply emanate from the rolling hills.

After seventeen years and a lot of angst, I think I can finally say it: Lincoln, Nebraska is my chosen home. It wasn’t until I contemplated leaving it that I grew to really appreciate it. It’s one of those “big little towns” that has just about everything a person could want - with a much smaller sordid underbelly than a big city. "Rush hour" lasts about thirty minutes. You can get from one side of town to the other in about half an hour. There are construction projects going on that I’m looking forward to seeing completed, and I don’t think I’ve quite exhausted my exploration of all of Nebraska’s parks and recreation areas.

I’ll be visiting other places, for sure - and I think I may find a little piece of property somewhere to call my very own, as an escape for those times when I just need to get away, but for the first time in my life, I’m calling Lincoln “home.”

He's Teething

After giving JoLee his vaccinations, Doc looked over and gave me a sympathetic grin. “He’s teething,” he said. “He’s likely to be a little irritable.”

“Poor Star,” I thought.

JoLee and Star love to play - and here’s a pictorial play session, so you can come along. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to appreciate Star’s low, throaty growls. She sounds like Cujo on steroids. And you won’t be able to see JoLee’s pounces. He strikes as fast as a snake.

This morning’s early morning session started with the “Chilly Bone,” which is basically a canvas-covered sponge designed to give a teething puppy something to chew on that would ease the pain and sooth the suffering. It also makes a great “keep away” toy, if you happen to be a 5 year old LabraPit who is long past teething.

Star nonchalantly picked it up, making sure JoLee could see what she was doing.



And here is JoLee's response. You don't think this was over the top, do you? Ha! And so it begins.















Sometimes they even looked to see where the Chilly Bone went, but that didn't really matter.


























































And now the napping begins.

Dust if you Must

I came across this poem today - I'd saved it to my computer at work because I didn't want to lose it. I don't know who wrote it, but if I were a poet, it would probably be something I might write:

Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better
to paint a picture or write a letter,
Bake a cake or plant a seed,
ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
with rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
music to hear and books to read,
friends to cherish and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world's out there
with the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
a flutter of snow, a shower of rain.
This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go - and go you must -
you, yourself will make more dust!

And isn't this just the best picture ever? My sister in love took it last weekend when she was visiting from Iowa. Thanks, Trudy!

As the Puppy Grows

I’m learning a lot about life from JoLee. I’m sure many of these same lessons I learned from Star (what, is it already 5 years ago?), but I’m a firm believer in refresher courses, and nothing refreshes like a crash course in puppy-raising.

One thing I’m re-learning is the importance of now.

As I’m typing this, JoLee is playing with his squeaky alligator and looking soulfully at me. It’s easy to anthropomorphize his look into something along the lines of “Mommy, why are you looking at that inanimate hunk of plastic when you could be petting me and laughing at my antics?"

But I know he’s just trying to stay awake. Trying as hard as any two-year old human who’s had a big day of fun. Every day’s a big day of fun for a three-and-a-half month old puppy. (Since then, I helped JoLee get up on the waterbed with Star and Tim and they’re all three snoring - makes me sleepy just listening to them).



One of his many recent accomplishments was learning to use the dog-door. He would paw at it, and it would come back and slap him in the face. It took some time, but he eventually figured it out. That was a big day!



Today I thought of that old rhyme:

Cleaning and cooking can wait 'till tomorrow
For babies grow up, as we've learned to our sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs, dust go to sleep,
I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.

It would be so easy to rewrite that little ditty. Mine would go something like this:

Cleaning and mowing can wait ‘til tomorrow
For puppies grow up, as we’ve learned to our sorrow.
So, projects and deadlines will just have to wait
I’m playing with JoLee and puppies don’t keep.

Yeah, I know it doesn’t all rhyme, but that’s okay.







I'm rediscovering favorite hikes that, for some reason, I haven't gone on in a long time. This past weekend, we went to Wilderness Park.




After we were done hiking, we watched as a man unloaded a horse from a horse trailer. The dogs thought that was fascinating. Almost as riveting as chicken jerky.







I’m also learning a lot about Midnight Star, my LabraPit. What a saint she has been throughout all of this, and what a love. The other day, I attempted to introduce Star to a two year old male boxer some of my best friends adopted. His name is Tank. He’s a typical boxer, full of energy and bouncy - in short, exactly the kind of dog Star would never normally tolerate. Still, I hoped for the best, since Star has become somewhat calloused to puppy antics since JoLee came home last month. The introduction didn’t go badly, but there is definitely some tension there. I found JoLee’s response to Tank quite interesting. Tank bounced up to JoLee, and JoLee let out this little bunny-like scream of terror, meant, I’m sure to make Tank back off, which is exactly what he did. But the most interesting part of that introduction was Star’s reaction to JoLee’s little scream. She cocked her head and rushed toward Tank, as if to say, “What are you doing to my puppy??”



Now, I could easily believe I had imagined that, if it weren’t for this evening. Somehow, I ended up in the back yard alone with Star, and thought I’d take that opportunity to play with her. I held up one of the toys that she and JoLee love to play tug of war with - a stuffed armadillo with a bungee tail and two squeakers. I squeaked the tail, and Star’s ears perked up. I waved it around, and she looked at me, and reached for it. But all the while, she was keeping one eye on the house, looking for JoLee, her play buddy. I think maybe it just isn’t as much fun to play with me any more. Not when you have a puppy to play with.



Jo plays a little too rough with Tim for my taste. A month ago, JoLee was about an inch shorter than Tim, but right now, it’s hard to tell them apart from behind. Tim’s about ten years old now and his kidneys are failing, a legacy from a bout of leptospirosis when he was around two years old. So, Tim is slowing down. Arthritis is creeping in, too, adding to the mix. He’s just not as steady on his pins as he used to be. JoLee has knocked him clean off his feet and rolled him more than once. I intervene when it seems like Tim needs me to, but I’ve caught Tim using his Superior Terrier Intellect to get JoLee in trouble. Here’s an example: tonight, I popped JoLee one for roughhousing with Tim after he ignored me when I told him to leave Tim alone. Later in the evening, I heard more roughhousing going on in the living room, but decided to just ignore it while I did the dishes. The rumble of feet came into the kitchen, and I looked down to see Tim, with the aforementioned armadillo clasped firmly in his mouth, JoLee right on his tail! An attempt to get JoLee in trouble, or just playing? I won’t ever really know, but the sparkle in Tim’s eye and wag in his tail tell me he’s not suffering from JoLee’s attentions too much.




These photos were taken over the past two weeks. You can see how JoLee is growing. I noticed today that white hairs are appearing throughout his butterscotch coat, creating a kind of roan effect. He’s also developing some white spots on his tail. I can hardly wait to see what he’s going to look like when he grows up - but I hope he doesn’t grow up too quickly. These are going to be some of the best days of my life!