It’s July and I haven’t had the camper out yet except to clean her last weekend. That’s about to change as I get ready to head to the Eastern Shore and see “the ponies swim” at Assateague and Chincoteague. Wild horses are moved from one to the other island, I guess similar to how the buffalo roundup is done in the Black Hills of South Dakota. So I’m going to go watch. We will miss our Buddy.

From last camper

Except for possible extreme heat and humidity (it is July, after all), it should be a good time. Oh, and bugs. I’m told it is a haven for skeeters and other such annoyances.  Not to worry –  I have 40-proof DEET.

What I like most about camping can’t be narrowed down much, but here is my Top 5 List.

1. The very idea of camping, in the woods or near the water, conjures up images of relaxing and slowing down. It’s a break from the psychological pressure (self-imposed) to do the laundry that is waiting, or mop the dirty floor, or pull weeds, or pay bills, or vacuum up dog hair that is ALWAYS in the back of mind a home. I have NEVER vacuumed dog hair while camping, I’m happy to report. And mopping is limited to once a year – when opening for the season.

2. Getting back to nature. For some reason, I almost get in those elusive 10,000 daily steps when I’m camping. I walk at least 2-3 times a day. I usually take the dogs twice, and then I gift myself one solo walk where I don’t have to worry about ticks hitchhiking or piggybacking on my boys, or other dogs to tease and bark at. I breathe deeply and just let my mind wander. And I see such amazing sights. Water, wildlife, wildflowers, secret paths, and history leaving its mark someway, somehow. Wide open spaces. Ah, the vistas and views.

3.  Food cooked over a fire…even though I admit I enjoyed that more when Kevin did the cooking. Now I tend to use the stove inside  more than I ever did before. But food tastes more succulent, more flavorful, more natural. I don’t overeat, and except for trail mix when playing a board game maybe, I eat only when I’m hungry. It’s a great connector to meet the neighbors, too. No one is shy about saying that something smells good, and the conversation just takes off from there.  My favorite – which I haven’t had since SD days – was oven baked oatmeal for breakfast, which Kevin would fix in a special Dutch oven he got just for me and my oatmeal. (He wasn’t a fan.)

4. Memories are made here. I remember Don making margaritas in a blender that had a lawnmower motor or something. The storm that sent me to the nearest hotel. The Scrabble games. The buffalo that was so large we didn’t see it! Or maybe we just didn’t believe it was real. That humongous turtle. Climbing that ladder while geocaching. Gabe and the ax in his foot. Mt Rushmore lit up at night. Molly chasing Buddy around the campsite. The rattlesnake in Nebraska. Waking up to snow. Being pushed around the campground  in a wheelchair on my 50th birthday. Kevin, Jeff, Gabe, and Andrew fishing in the fog and rain. The never-ending sunlight in Saskatoon. When the water heater started on fire. The garage sale where we got those bags of books for $1 and spent the entire summer reading every chance we got. And more….sunsets in the Badlands, melodrama at Medora, the Peace Gardens at ND/Canada border, Truman house in Missouri, Little House on the Prairie in DeSmet, Lake of the Ozarks, Custer State Park in the  Black Hills.  And the Piankatank – just saying that name of the river is fun!

5. The stuff! GPS for geocaching. Hats. Walking sticks. Special lawn chairs. Hammocks. Dutch ovens. Colored lights for the awning. Signposts. Outdoor rugs. North Woods or western-themed mugs and other décor. (Right now I’m into Bohemian, so….new stuff!).

Bonus! I know I said 5, but I just thought of another really cool thing.

6.  A chance for my inner child to play and create and dream. Judgment gets left behind. Ideas spring up. Crafts are begun and abandoned without regret. Acceptance is high. Observing and daydreaming is encouraged. All pretense is gone. For a few days, I get to be Brave Woman again, living off the land so-to-speak. I believe I can do things I don’t normally get called on to do out here. All things are possible, or at least worth trying. And that’s a feeling I’m in need of. Lately, my body is telling me I need this time for introspection and reflection, to remember who I was and figure out who I am and envision who I want to be.

So, yeah, Brave Woman is going camping for a few days.  I might usually look and act and sound like a city girl (or at least a townie), and I don’t exactly “rough it” while I’m out there. I don’t need to explain it; it makes perfect sense to me.  This time ocean, next time maybe mountains.  Here I go!

Buddy wasn’t the first dog to live with me/my family, but I loved him best, if I’m honest. The others- four of them in the past 40 years- were apparently starter pups for my benefit, and now I know how I failed them. I just didn’t get it then, how to give them love, how to let them be good at what they were, how to accept what they offered me. Caring for a pet was not in my upbringing, and those I knew who did have dogs all had outside “working” (read: farm) dogs. I had no idea that a dog could be love.

Actually, I didn’t want another  dog at first, and certainly not a house dog. But Kevin thought I really needed something to love and nurture after my youngest son left for college. I stood firmly against it. Not in my house. Those tails would slap my plants, jingle my china, knock things off the table; there would be drool and dog hair everywhere, not to mention the smell.  Even tiny dogs would bark and yip and squeal. No thank you very much.

And then there was Buddy. Have you ever seen a beagle puppy? Held one? Those chocolate drop eyes, the silky long ears, the white-tipped happy tail.  It’s enough to make you believe in love at first sight. I kid you not.  This little thing scampered across the floor into my lap, crawled under my sweatshirt like he knew exactly what to do and had every right to do so, and stuck his head out at my neckline to give my face puppy kisses. What could I do? What would you do?? Yes, I took him home. Even after he peed on me in his excitement. And barfed on me in his anxiousness about being put in a box for the car ride.

I was still adamant, though, he would sleep in a kennel in the laundry room. That edict lasted for about an hour after we went to bed. The noise from down the hall,  down the stairs to the basement, and behind a closed door was relentless. I have no idea how such a little thing could make so much noise. And it wasn’t even a bark; it was that baying sound hounds make, the kind that makes you smile and listen instead of wincing and shouting back to be quiet.  So for “just this first night, until he’s used to the crate” he slept with us in bed. Uh-huh! You know how that story ends. The queen bed was traded for a king-sized one, and white noise was tried to drown out the snoring. Dogs snore?!? Oh, the things you learn!! The silence is deafening now, and the bed is too big, just in case you are wondering.

Love at first sight, March 2004

Working with mama, 9 mo

Surgery on both knees, 1-1/2 yrs

about 5 yrs old

I’m 13 now!

I love going for a ride; 13 yrs

I’m so tired (13-1/2)

Over the years, I met a few veterinarians and their assistants thanks to my Budster. Aside from regular well-puppy check ups and vaccinations, there was the initial “fixing.” Then kennel cough. Ear infections, eye infections, yeast infections. Allergies. Parvo reaction (read: pet E.R. and 105 temperature). Bilaterial luxating patellas (yes, bad knees requiring surgery). Nail trims. Broken teeth, abscesses, and teeth removal. Uff-da.

But I didn’t spend all my money on doctors. There were also cute coats and booties and hoodies. Leashes he couldn’t chew through (don’t believe that one). Doggie seat belts.  Special shampoo and conditioner, and flea and tick ointments.  Cute water bowls and food dishes. Cute treat jars and puppy-themed photo frames. Replacements for the not-so-cute holes in gloves, wallets, shoes, pillows.  Torn underwear (that was paraded around the house and sometimes outside if he was faster than we were). Lint rollers (for dog hair) in every drawer in every room, plus in the car and desk at the office. Trash cans with lids, trash cans with magic self-closing lids, trash cans behind closed doors. Pupcakes on birthdays. Tie-out chains, gates, crates, and fences. Extra fees at hotels. Kiddie cups of ice cream at DQ. Plain burgers at McD’s or hot dogs at Sonic. Photos with Santa (yes, really). A dog stroller when it was too far for him to walk.

Buddy turned 13 this past January.  We had a great trip back to Minnesota in May. But by June he was in so much pain, I could no longer deny him release as I watched the decline in his health happen quickly over a single weekend. On Monday, June 19, I took him to the veterinarian and had him euthanized. It was one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make – and I’ve made a lot of hard decisions, trust me. So difficult I still can hardly talk about it 2+ weeks later.  I know I did the right thing, but it hurts so bad. I still have his brother Bo (now 11), and I love Bo, but Buddy …there was just something about him. He was the definition of pure love. He was everything a pet should be: a little crazy, a lot happy, satisfied, fearless, loving, forgiving, hungry, curious, persistent, vocal, observant, friendly. As my brother said, Buddy didn’t know he was a dog; he thought he was a boy. Bo knows he’s a dog, and he’s very good at it. I’m thankful he is here to help me through this next corner I’m having to turn.

If you have lessons to learn in this lifetime about unconditional acceptance, forgiveness, just-for-today thinking, happiness in little things, listening, joy, togetherness, selflessness, then I’d recommend a dog like my Buddy. Or group therapy, but I’d start with a dog.  Buddy was my best teacher…so far, although he undoubtedly got a lot of help (which I needed) from his human (now spirit) daddy. The grief when they are gone is red hot, but everything before that is spectacular raspberry fizz with whipped cream and a cherry on top!

(PS:  See-I told you! Buddy is on the left, and Bo is on the right. Who knew Santa wasn’t only a lover of reindeer???)

I made an on-the-spot decision a few weeks ago to finally deal with the rest of Kevin’s hunting, fishing, motorcycling, golf, outdoor and other guy stuff. I just decided that the day had arrived, and I went into action. That’s one thing about me; it may take a while to finally decide, but when I do, I’m all in!

His things hadn’t been in my way, since the majority of his gear was in one of three attic spaces in the house, so I didn’t have to look at it or work around it. The remainder was stored on a loft I had built in the garage after he died. The problem with enough space is that it’s easy to ignore what you are hanging onto.  As it happens, our neighborhood was having a community yard sale in a little under 2 weeks, so timing seemed right to purge.

It’s been nearly 2-1/2 years since he died. I thought it would be easy enough by now to finally get rid of his things. Unfortunately, it turns out all his stuff – even stuff I didn’t know he had – has apron strings (or in his case, bungee cords) attached to memories. Not only did I have to exert myself physically to drag boxes, tubs, and clumsy chunky things down two flights of stairs, and organize them in the garage, but I got a renewed flood of memories of our years together…and some speculation about him before us. (Some things I didn’t know he/we had, or what they were for, or why we had 3 or 4 or 8 of them!)

The good news is that I was mostly laughing through my tears. When it got too hard, I texted my brother, or called a sister. They had some of the same memories, although from a different perspective.   The motorcycle rides, the camping trips, the holidays, that reunion at the cabin at the lake.  Telling Dad what LLC stood for when we all rode into Welcome that day.  The houses and yards we had designed, refreshed, and lived in,  The discussion of how many guns or fishing rods he needed versus how many pairs of black shoes I needed. The wood carving tools and the smoker grill that were gifts from Buddy and Bo to him on Father’s Day. That day when he put on his blaze orange coveralls and drove my motorcycle home for me after it had a new belt or something put on it, in the snow and freezing cold. The walking stick he had carved, and we were glad we had with us when we came upon that rattler in Nebraska. Golfing and the M&Ms he cajoled me with (I got a handful every time I swung and DIDN’T miss hitting the ball).  The bicycle rides pulling Buddy behind us in a pet Burley. And more.

As I pulled clothes out of Rubbermaid tubs and sorted them on the couch, the dogs pulled them onto the floor or found ways to snuggle up in them and smell Daddy. When I put the cot up in the garage, the dogs immediately wanted up and then found their way straight to the foot of the cot where they napped with Daddy when we went camping. These were the harder tears.  I’m sure that they, too, were reliving memories.

Letting go is painful, and it raised all kinds of questions.  How do you put a price on a memory? What has value? What IS valuable? How much stuff do we really need???  Why have we kept what appears to be junk, or at least stuff we know we do not and will not need (like the kingpin stabilizer thing for the 5th wheel camper we sold almost 4 years ago)? How do you cleanse the profit so it doesn’t feel like blood money and you can spend it with a smile? What am I going to sell that I will want next week, or someday?  How do you reconcile the fact that it’s been 2-1/2 years and you are still crying? What is the difference between “letting go of” and “getting rid of?”

Well, the garage sale came and went. In the end, it was a good feeling to release the physical STUFF.  Then I also decided it was only fair to take some of the same medicine myself, and I have now managed to accumulate four excess boxes of my own clothes, plus one box of shoes and boots.  I called the Viet Nam Veteran’s place, and they are coming to pick it all up in a few days. They will also take the remainder of the things that did not get sold at the garage sale. I truly wish for others who need these things to be able to get them at whatever wicked-good prices the thrift store will determine.

It’s interesting how easy it was to pull my own things off the hangers.  They are all articles I know I can replace easily if I want to.  It turns out I can replace his stuff, too, if I want. I can never replace him, though, and I don’t have to. I still have him and my memories in my heart.

So, the question was about value.  I got more than I bargained for:

• I gained appreciation again, for Kevin’s eye for quality – which included me, right? He chose me as surely as he chose a hunting jacket or a hammer or cot or fancy arrows. 
• I gained miles of smiles as I remembered things I might not have thought of, things for which there are no pictures, things like 3 tackle boxes that brought him fun and peace on the river, and I had good fish to eat as often as I wanted it.
  

  
• I gained the satisfaction of knowing that those kids that bought the decoys will have a ball carrying on the traditions he enjoyed.
• I gained garage space, which isn’t there to fill up again, but the spaces in between what’s left present a clean, organized, clutter-free place that I pass through every day, now without stumbling or squeezing or stepping over. I don’t have to whine any more about all his crap!
• I gained a newfound friendship with my neighbors, people I had seen around but hadn’t really talked to much, but who came over and spent time with me, helping get down a tree stand or organizing the tables, and buying the power washer and chain saw.

All in all, the value was way more than the dollars. Priceless, truly.

I am trying something new today. It is Small Business Week, and the local business incubator is offering free co-working space this week. It’s an alternative to working from my office at home. Theoretically, it offers an energetic vibe and some stimulation because of the various other people present working on their own thing. Theoretically. Because except for two people in the conference room with a closed door, and one in an office with a closed door, the place is as empty as a lot of courthouses on a Friday afternoon. I’m it.

The idea is appealing, and I’ve been thinking and exploring this concept for over a month. It’s nice to have a 30-second commute at home, in jammies if desired, but there is a “real thing” aspect if you go to an office outside the home. Even though it doesn’t offer the company I expected, I have already learned a few things.

First, I brought my old laptop, because the newer one is fairly large and heavy compared to this one. I forgot my mouse, so am having to use the touchpad. Lesson 1, like packing to go on a trip, don’t skimp on what you bring along, especially if it will help you be productive.

Second, expectations don’t need to be high or low. Instead, just keep an open mind. It’s actually aesthetically pleasing here, although a bit contemporary for my taste. I read somewhere recently that creativity is sparked by trying something new – whether it’s a new place, a new view in an old place, a different route taken, a new food, etc. On the way here today, I came the back way, and it was nice and refreshing, driving through residential areas with tree-lined roads instead of taking the fast highway.

Third, it took a while for this computer to boot up. Instead of zipping right to the last-saved place, I had to log in and saw a Dashboard screen I don’t usually see unless I seek it out. Interesting factoid: I have published 100 posts; this is 101. As I scrolled through the archive, I smiled to myself to remember what this or that post was about. Likewise, I am pleased to recognize the forward progress and occasional momentum I have gained on this journey. I have changed, no doubt about it.

One hundred is a milestone of sorts. Our president has been in office 100 days, and there is a bit of news surrounding that. I recently noted I hadn’t ridden my motorcycle “even 100” miles last year. I had a garage sale last weekend, and the $100 bills I have set aside….and I took a few $5’s and $10’s to spend. One hundred degrees for summer temperature is not far off, and there is no dispute that that is HOT no matter where you are.

One hundred one is a new start, a rollover-and-reset for the counter, a next level begun. I’m there. I didn’t know it would be now; I didn’t even see it coming … didn’t set my sights on it at all. It happened. As life does. It goes on. Here I go!

Don’t you just love it when things make total, complete, perfect sense the first time??? Yes, it happened to me again a few weeks ago. I opened myself up to the world of possibilities and what could be even better than this thinking, and sure enough, something better showed up! It happened like this.

My friend Diane loaned me a book, so it’s all her fault – in such a wonderful, good way. Thank you, Diane!!!  And since I’m an “ollin” kind of girl (as in “all in”), I read the entire book in 2 days, called and talked to the author (by accident, but still, she answered the phone!), decided to get certified to teach this concept, and started online classes…again with help from Diane, who just happens to be certified to teach this already. I now have 8 copies of the book, 3 sets of participant materials for my first Beta students, and a level of enthusiasm that I am so happy to feel all the way to my toes. Oh, and I already modified a presentation I gave this week on Effective Communication to incorporate some of these ideas, with some effective results.

The book is The Change Cycle, by Ann Salerno and Lillie Brock. It’s about how to navigate change, and not just survive it, but thrive in the midst and afterglow of a change at the organizational level, too.  Suffice it to say that the book draws on the work of Mazlow’s Hierarchy, Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s work on death and dying, Bill Bridges’ work on Transitions, and the authors’ own research and experiences initially in South Africa but also in the US for the past 20 years.  They offer that there 6 stages of change, with some predictable and unpredictable responses, and that there are clear, proven ways to help people assess what stage they are in and how to move beyond that to complete the cycle of change.

It’s what I would have said/preached/taught/told people if I was already through all 6 stages as a result of Kevin’s death if I wrote this book. The transition I had to go through since then – and am still going through in varying ways – has been pretty much the very experience described in this book. Like they were flies on the walls of my house for the past 2+ years.  It’s amazing, and comforting, and mysterious, and interesting, and useful.

I keep saying things like I have “turned a corner” in my grief, and I surely have turned many corners.  But one could expect that 4 corners and you’re done.  Not so.  What I have discovered is that the corners are sometimes left and sometimes right, and sometimes just zigzags. This is still progress, and in fact, it’s all part of the predictable process. Who knew?!? This is what I wanted to hear, to know, by about a week after Kevin died…how long this would take, what would happen, etc.

The trick is that not everyone goes through things at the same rate or in exactly the same way. It turns out I am in Stage 4 of the 6 stages, and that is affirming to me. I’m normal, I’m past the “danger zone,” I’m rocking my new life as well as anyone. More than this, though, I was guided through an exercise to help me figure out what my fears are (and yes, I have them like everyone else). It wasn’t what I expected, but it was a revelation. And it immediately made sense to me, and made sense of my last year, and made sense about my future. I know you’re curious what it could possibly be, but let’s just say it’s personal.

Anyway, the point is, I am Solowingnow with winged arms, not leaded feet. I am eager, not anxious. I am throwing the doors wide open, not just cautiously peeking out the windows at my life.  It’s like I drank the Kool-Aid, the good kind, the sweet kind. Best of all, this Change Cycle work allows me to put my own fingerprints all over it, to truly make a Duggan Difference with it.  My friend Karn reminded me today of what I used to tell her: when the student is ready, the teacher will come.  Well, this student is ready, and my teachers came in the form of a friend with a recommendation of a book to read and the book itself.  Interestingly, Diane has referred to this book for the past 2 years, and it’s only now that I was hearing her. Imagine that. I wasn’t ready then.

Couple this with the Access Consciousness studying I’ve been doing and you can see that my energy is flowing, good things are happening, more is on the way, and I’m open to receiving it all.

As for that other change, can you believe that I haven’t had a single night sweat in about a month?!?? And I haven’t even had to get up to pee.  What do you say to that???  Coincidence? I think not.  I think it’s finally the right time.  My time. My turn. My way. Gosh-Almighty, it’s good to be me right now!