Second Verse

My last post was almost eight months ago.... (eeks, really?)

Four days after that, my wonderful nephew was born.  I could blame this sweet (not so) little soul for my lack ambition to post to this blog since his arrival.  I could blame him.  But the truth is that it has been an absolute joy to see this little boy pass through the myriad of stages between birth and his imminent eight-month birthday.  

Right around the same time my nephew was born (and my previous post was written), the Beagle started having health issues - recurring blood in his urine.  Sometimes the blood was/is readily observable, sometimes not.  We went to a handful of different vets who did probably dozens of different tests, trying to find a cause for this malady.  None was identified.

And now, eight months later, he probably still has blood in his urine most days, and no one knows why.  His case has been placed into the ever-so-satisfying (insert sarcasm here) diagnostic category of idiopathic renal hematuria.  Which basically means he has blood in his urine but we don't know why, and presumably it's not harmful.

In keeping with this diagnosis, he has not shown any sign of distress or deterioration.  He continues to allow Bean to tell him interesting stories:

And he is patiently getting to know the mobile (and fur-grabbing) CJ as well:

And I have learned not to let it bother me that his urine is sometimes orange or brownish red.

Truth: it still sometimes bothers me; but it never bothers him; so that makes it bother me less...

I could blame my lack of posts on the time I spent worrying about the Beagle's health and bending down to watch him pee (much to the disturbance of my neighbors).  I could blame idiopathy.

Also in the past eight months, I did this:

Now this, this I could definitely blame.  And I think it is where I will load the bulk of said blame.  On the fact that I couldn't bear to sit in front of my computer for any longer than I had to.  That the only words coming out of my fingers were scientific in style.  That 170+ pages don't edit themselves.

I have recently had three friends separately ask me about my blog and why I stopped posting.  I hadn't really thought about it except that it was supposed to be something that was enjoyable, not something that felt like work.  And I guess I needed a break.  But starting back up again doesn't feel like work, so I'm back at it again.

********

Now that the blame has been allocated --> the real post...  

I was sitting around a table with three other folks recently.  We could all hear a bird calling outside a window on this pleasant June day in Kansas.  The bird was calling ceaselessly.  A paraphrased version of the conversation that followed goes something like this:

Bird Listener #1: Do you guys hear that?  That could drive a person crazy.  In fact, it may be driving me crazy right now...  Yes, it is driving me crazy.  The bird has to go.  

Bird Listener # 2: It doesn't both me.  

Me: Me either.  I could listen to it all day.

Bird Listener #2: That would be fine with me too.

Bird Listener #3: I couldn't listen to it all day.  I'd have to shoo the bird away.  

Bird Listener #1: So we two can't handle a continuous, repetitive bird noise, and you two don't mind it?

Bird Listener #2: That's sounds about right.

Me: Yup.  

The table was divided right down the middle.  I cannot precisely identify the personality trait that separated two of us from the other two.  But I do know that I may have an uncommon propensity for listening to things repetitively.  

For instance, I have been listening to this song for the past 80 minutes on repeat:

And I'm not in the least tired of it.  I've had this habit for many years.  I used to drive college roommates crazy (so very sorry girls) by listening to the same song over and over again for the better part of a day.  I can't do this with just any song, but when the mood strikes and the song is right, I hit that repeat 1 button and let the song soak in.  

It is not, in fact, going to rain today.  The forecast is set at 103 with exactly 0% chance of rain.  But Norah Jones' voice is as silky the first time as it is the 28th time.  

So, feel free to weigh in on which side of the table you belong and what freakish thing may be going on in the brains of the repetitive tolerators that keeps them from going crazy when faced with unvaried noise.   

Vision

I sat on the floor of the bathroom.  My niece (21 months) sat on the "big girl potty" having been promised a reward of M&Ms for her effort.  She leafed through magazines the way some people would half-heartedly leaf through a text book before an exam, skipping large chunks at a time, deeming them irrelevant.  

Keeping her occupied during this process is essential to any expectation of success.  It's simple math.  The longer she sits, the more likely it is that something will happen.  And then we celebrate!  

This day, there was no celebration, but I was proud of her anyway.  She came across an ad for a charity that helps to provide surgery for children with cleft palates.  

She paused.  She paused longer than she'd paused for anything else in that (or any other) magazine.

The ad featured photographs of the faces of a dozen or so children - children from Cambodia, Nairobi, India, and other places far away.  

She pointed at each of the youngsters in turn, saying, "Baby, baby, baby..." 

She looked at their faces, studied their expressions.  She sat and thought for a minute.  

Then she twisted her own face up into an expression I'd never seen her make before.  She was trying to imitate the face that she thought the children in the ad were making.  On her, it turned out somewhere between a goofy smile and a grimace.  She giggled.

She was not old enough to understand that they needed help.  

She was not old enough to know that their circumstance could be grounds for exclusion.  

She was not old enough to judge them.  

She was not old enough to know that she could do these things.  

She had the sincerity to see those children as no different than her.  

She had the openness to see nothing wrong when she looked at them. 

She had the kindness to see people, not problems.

She had the simplicity to see that she could smile back.   

We should all be so lucky - both to have that quality in our own vision and to be looked upon that way.

Go ahead

Go ahead Bean.  Write the rest of that dissertation right on up.

If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen scrubbing the dish drying rack clean (which is what I did yesterday as a new all-time low for writing distraction).

And to all a good "Night-night"

Maximilian beagle and I have been on a regular schedule of entertainment by Bean.

So, okay, sometimes we entertain her back.

She is obsessed with his leash - tries to hook it to his collar, tries to hook it to her belt loops, tries to hook it to my belt loops. Wants in the worst way to be taking that dog for a walk every minute of the day.

She also has a healthy liking for hugging and kissing Maximilian. He tolerates all of this well in true lazy beagle fashion. Ninety percent of the time he just lies there and lets her do what she will to him. The other ten percent of the time, he gets up and moves to the other side of the room (forgetting that Bean has been a fully mobile human being for some time now).

One of Bean's favorite new games is to combine a parade of stuffed animal friends kissing and hugging Maximilian with a massive group night-night session. The parade includes (but is not limited to): donkey, chameleon, kangaroo, brown monkey, puppy, green monkey, other puppy, slightly lighter brown monkey, caterpillar, Ox the ugly doll, Jayhawk (rock chalk) and panda.

The rules of the game are:

1) Bean kisses and hugs Maximilian first

2) Then each animal friend must have its nose pressed to Maximilian's while a smacking noise is made with one's lips. Here, donkey goes next after Bean's affections are exhausted while the rest of the gang waits in the wings.

3) Then the animal is repositioned over Maximilian's mid-section and schmushed against his middle while an "Awwww" sound is made with one's lips. Then on to the next animal friend and so on and so forth.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

The game is varied somewhat by each animal friend going "night-night" after its Beagle kiss and hug. This entails a pillow being placed under its head, a blanket being drawn up around its chin (and sometimes another animal friend tucked in beside it for company).

What I learn from this is that what Bean views as the requirements for sleepy time are a pillow, a blanket and a good stuffed friend. What else I learn from this is that the limit for Maximlian's patience is very high.

She's here (and you're not here)

For the past six years, I have been away from my family (geographically speaking), working on graduate school and my career. This summer, I had the opportunity to move back near my family to complete my final year of graduate school (fingers crossed).

I have done this to have the chance to be nearer to my sister and brother-in-law's growing family and to be nearer to family in general. I have done this because I believe that it is the best thing for me right now.

I have done this. All of my things are moved into a new house. More than once already, I have walked into that house and looked at my belongings put away in new places and thought, "What is all of my stuff doing here in Kansas?"

While I was away, there were occasions on which I wish I could have been here. Phone calls were the substitute.

I had to hear about it over the phone from far away when my niece was born, "She's here!" But what my brain thought (not to be confused with what was said) was, "She's here (but you're not there...)!"

When my grandmother passed away recently, I again had to hear over the phone from across the miles, "She's gone." But again, what my brain thought was, "She's gone (and you're not there)."

There were other times when there were phone calls that made me want to say, "I'll be right over; I'll be right there." It was my first and only impulse to say that very thing. But it wasn't something I could say and have it be true.

Now I can say it and have it be true. For that I am grateful.

I get to see this cheesy smile almost every day.

The wheat has waved me home.

Bean stream of consciousness (March 2011)

I have on my yellow rubber rain boots and my Valentines' Day pajamas (it is, after all, March), and I'm ready to conquer the living room and maybe the whole block.

Well, hey Max. How are you doing this fine morning? I'm going to pet you and lean on you a little bit with both hands while looking over at my aunt to see if this is acceptable.

Do you need to be covered up with this hairy blue blanket? Are you cold? I've seen my aunt cover you up all except for your eyeballs. Is this so that you can hide from me and my incessant greetings for a while? I could try to do this, but I don't think I can gather up enough of it to cover any part of you - even your paw. You're sitting on the hairy blue blanket, see? If you wanted to budge a little or even get up, I could pull out some blanket and then you could sit back down, and I could cover you right up.

Your paws certainly are nice. I sort of wish I had claws too. Are they much trouble to maintain?

These yellow rubber rain boots have handles. Hmmm. Wonder if I can pull the boot off my leg with the handle.

Whoopsie daisy! Almost tipped myself right on over there. Good thing I have a low center of gravity. Especially when I'm sitting on the floor. I am like one of those inflatable bop bags that never quite tips all the way over.

Maybe these boot handles are what people mean when they use the phrase pull yourself up by your (yellow rubber rain) bootstraps. Maybe I'll try it.

Nope, didn't work. Guess I'll have to get up the old-fashioned way (using my hands and knees).

I'm going to wander over here now, okay?

Maybe now, I'll bang my face against this chair arm a couple of times. Bang bang. Okay, now what?

Maybe you would feed me something if I look at you sweetly? No, this isn't working right now either. I'll have to go closer and beg. Breakfast time, okay?

Then maybe eventually I can change out of my pajamas and yellow rubber rain boots and into some daytime clothes and yellow rubber rain boots?

Sound good to you? Okay then, ready break!

...

Later that day: