Heads Up!

Heads Up!

“By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.”― Confucious

We live life forward but understand it backward. It’s often only after the fact that we make sense of events and occurrences that seem trivial in the moment, yet may have mystical, symbolic, clarifying explanations in retrospect.  Not that we should spend our lives looking in the rearview mirror.  What’s around the bend is much more likely to hit us head-on, and that’s where most of our attention should be directed. Sometimes, however, we have epiphanies when the rear-view lights click on, shining new perspective on occurrences we hadn’t thought too deeply about previously.

At first glance Bessie’s passing snuck up on us, arriving out of deep left field without any real warning, like the tree that defied all odds and fell on our moving car last fall.  Yes, our girl was fourteen years old, an ancient age for a lab, especially a blind and deaf one with some obvious genetic defects. Yet it still came as a stunning surprise that she was full-on one day and nearly out of gas the next.  Bessie thoughtfully sent us a hint in big, bold letters just three days before her lights went out for good, and we missed it. 

We had completed a lively, upbeat book presentation at a retirement community where Bessie, as usual, charmed the residents and made some new friends.  Ashley stepped out of the room for a moment, and I was breaking down the technology and packing up equipment.  Suddenly I noticed that Bessie was nowhere to be seen.  She’d vanished!  We called her name, but of course her deafness made that effort pointless.  Finally, we saw our girl outside, enjoying the warm sunshine and the green grass under her feet.  What happened makes profound spiritual sense…in retrospect.

Somehow our dear, blind dog found her way to the back of a large room full of empty chairs and down a hallway where there was an automatic door that opened when you stepped on the exact, correct spot.  That led to a foyer and a second automatic door that delivered her to the outdoors - to freedom, sunshine and the heavenly fragrances of nature, fragrances that remained vivid for Bessie as her other senses failed.  Of course!  Bessie was tipping us off that she was about to exit from the confines of her endlessly dark and silent daily life into a brighter arena.  This was her way of preparing us…and we missed it.  Her actions only made sense later, in the rearview mirror.  The same goes for that day fourteen years ago when seven-week-old Bessie ambled out of her kennel, the last of her eight siblings, and parked herself softly on Ashley’s feet.  We now realize how lucky we were she chose us to be her messengers. A stretch? Probably, but it makes perfect sense…in retrospect.

Bess continually reminded us to view everyday events with wider eyes, rather than our typical “in the box” perspective. Like when a two-year-old draws on the wall with his crayons.  The parents see a mess, the grandparents see an artist, and their responses, nurtured by relative levels of wisdom, are strikingly different and impactful.  Remember – wide eyes.

When we discovered Bessie basking in the sunshine after her escape through the automatic doors, inhaling nature’s intoxicating aroma with a hint of mischief on her face, we bathed her in praise and affection.  Yet, the full picture of her actions eluded us. We were in a hurry as most of us usually are.  Thanks Bess, for reminding us how important it is to slow down and view even the simplest events through the prism of our accumulated wisdom, especially as life speeds past.  You have always been the best teacher.

Be Like Bessie!

bessiesstory.com

                                                                  

Watching the Lights Go Out

Dying is a troublesome business: there is pain to be suffered, and it wrings one’s heart; but death is a splendid thing―a warfare accomplished, a beginning all over again, a triumph. You can always see that in their faces.―George Bernard Shaw

Euthanizing a dog is at the same time a nightmare and a sweet dream filled with touching memories of a short life well lived, and as with most important things in life, any attempt to minimize its impact is a mistake.  People get bereavement leave for deaths in the family, but we are expected to lose our pets stoically, or on weekends.  This doesn’t make sense when you are in the middle of such a passing. 

When parents pass away there is profound sorrow, but often parents and their adult children are separated by life experiences and distance.  It’s sad and deeply painful, of course, but there is a natural rhythm to these transitions.  When pets die, and certainly in our case dogs, it’s a different deal.  Ashley and I have sent four off so far.

Bessie’s predecessor, Bow, was also a chocolate Lab.  Before Bessie he was the best who ever owned us.  When Bow, a cancer survivor, was ready to call it quits at eleven years old he walked calmly and with dignity into our front yard in subzero temperatures and lay down in the snow.  Nothing could revive his spirit, not even cookies, which in his prime could be used to get Bow to do anything.  He had made up his mind that he was done.  When we took him to the vet, I just knew Bow understood what came next.  Holding his face softly in my hands, I looked in his beautiful brown eyes and spoke gently to him as the doctor administered the lethal, painless injection.  Suddenly, the lights in his eyes went out.  Just like that.  It was as if a switch had been thrown.  Bow was gone.

I was comforted in a weird way by the fact that when old Bow left this world the face and voice of someone who loved him were his last earthly memories before the journey to doggie heaven, or wherever.  He did not travel alone.  The experience is as vivid today as it was all those years ago and I am glad to have made his death so intimate and personal.  You only get one chance at these things, you know.  I was at my mother’s bedside for her final, rattling breath and I’m glad.

I thought often about what it would be like for Bessie? The hardest thing to imagine was this sweet dog limping and struggling to retrieve her ball when she could no longer see it or hear it drop.  I’d shake my head just thinking about it because she was so damn resilient that I knew she would somehow figure out a solution…until that day.

Until that day when Bessie sent us a signal that she was ready to fold her tent.  Until that day when she was tired of running into things and searching for balls and toys that were finally just too hard to track down.  Until that day when carrying the extra stress and strain, multiplied by her handicaps, was too much for her.  Until that day when she was exhausted from watching out for us and shouldering a spirit that was finally so heavy it weighed her down and those strong, steady legs buckled. 

On Friday, August 11, Bessie enjoyed a successful presentation, charming the residents at Quail Hollow, a retirement community in Lebanon, NH.  That afternoon she savored a three mile walk in the woods, off the leash, sniffing all the interesting things along the way.  She topped off the day by cleaning her bowl at dinner and slept calmly through the night. Over the next few days a drastic change occurred, and by Monday the dear old girl couldn’t stand up, wouldn’t eat or drink and had become unresponsive. A visit to the vet confirmed our worst fears.  Bess was letting go after fourteen years, eight of them in complete darkness.

Before Bessie departed our world on August 14th, I held her face in my hands, looked straight into her sightless eyes and talked to her in my most intimate dog voice.  I told her what a blessing she’d been for us, how much value she added to our lives and how lucky we are that she picked us to take her home all those years ago.  And then, when the vet gave her an injection, even in those white, empty eyes I could see her lights go out as she took her final, deep breath. She was on her way.

Though this blog ends describing Bessie’s death, Bessie’s Story is fully and enthusiastically about living life.  Bessie unknowingly flooded me with daily reminders that each of us alone is in charge of our spirit and outlook.  We can think of ourselves as poor, weak victims of unlucky turns, or the happy celebrants and survivors of life’s endless challenges and tests.  Our girl is my hero, plain and simple.  I am endlessly inspired by her enormous strength and embarrassed by my comparative, lame weakness.

When my body and mind tell me it’s time to let go, I hope someone I love will hold my face in their hands, look into my eyes and speak soothingly.  It’s selfish, of course, but for a fleeting moment I might have a glimpse of what Bessie knew when her lights went out for good.  Not a bad way to leave the dance floor, don’t you think?

Thank you to all who follow Bessie’s Story with love and affection.  Not sure where we go from here.

BE LIKE BESSIE

bessiesstory.com

Jumping on the Bandwagon

“Properly trained, a man can be dog’s best friend.”—Corey Ford 

By now we’ve all become aware of new terminology suggested for words and phrases in the English language that have existed for generations.  Some of these recommendations exist for cultural and political reasons.  Colleges and universities have been at the front edge of this movement, even lowering grades on the papers of non-compliant students.  Regardless of your feelings about these recommended changes, it’s obvious that considerable thought and deliberation has been invested in the process. These politically correct wordsmiths apparently spend quite a bit of time on this. 

Based on a lifetime living with dogs, I’ve decided to join the parade and jump on the bandwagon of those tinkering with terminology.  Specifically, I take issue with the term “dog owner”. People own cars, lawnmowers, stocks and bonds.  Closets, cupboards and garages are filled with things we own and use when required or desired.  Dogs just don’t fit in the category of “owned” items. 

Do pictures of a new vacuum cleaner ever show up as someone’s screen saver or on their Instagram page? I doubt it.  Can you imagine making this statement with great affection in a melodic, high-pitched voice? “You’re a good chain saw. Thank you for doing such a nice job cutting all that wood.”  No way!  Similarly, we don’t ask our sneakers with wide eyes, a clap of our hands and over-emphasized excitement, “Would you like to go for a walk?” Of course not. That’s because we own these things, and we have no personal relationship with them.  Owning something implies that the item serves a specific purpose when needed or required, and on our terms. You may own a home, but sorry, not the dog living in it with you.

Dogs, if we think about it, own their humans.  How else can you explain getting up at all hours of the night to take a puppy or an older dog outside to “do her business”. Or throwing balls, sticks or other items into the water to be retrieved by a soaking wet canine who must be toweled off before going inside.  Or, sometimes showing more care for an aging pet than you do for your spouse?  Most people who live with dogs would do almost anything for their beloved companions.  We buy the cheapest gasoline for our cars yet purchase the most expensive dog food for our pups. Clearly the term “dog owner” is ripe for revision.  We don’t own them, it’s the other way around.

I’m jumping on the bandwagon.  From now on, the new terminology to replace dog owner should be dog-owned. It makes sense, don’t you think?  The term more accurately reflects the reality of a human/canine relationship.  The next time someone asks if I have a pet, my answer will be, “Yes, I am dog-owned.” Blind Bessie will nod her head in agreement, and I would not have it any other way.

BE LIKE BESSIE!

If You Think That's Bad...

If You Think That’s Bad…

”Complaining is truly my strongest weakness.” Evinda Lepins

Complaining. We’re all guilty of it. For some people it seems to be an instinct, a compulsion or even an addiction.  Listen carefully next time you have access to a group of adults carrying on a conversation.  Almost always there will be complaining added mindlessly to the dialogue, like putting salt and pepper on a dish before even tasting it.  Here’s a few examples: “Today is lovely…. but this summer has been the wettest and cloudiest I can remember.”  “Dinner was delicious…. I just wish there were larger helpings.”  “Our flight was on time, thank goodness….I couldn’t have handled another minute in that cramped seat with the screaming child behind us.”

See what I mean?  And, a complaint by the initiator seems to fertilize similar thinking in the minds of listeners, who often feel compelled to offer their own tales of woe. Why do we do this? It’s like a weird game of poker where the rule is, “I’ll see your supposed tragedy, and raise it”, like this.  “At least your flight was on time. We were stuck on the tarmac for 45 minutes after landing because there were no gates available, and the plane’s air conditioning wasn’t working.” And on it goes, complaints building on top of each other like a Lego tower. When it tips over, the rebuilding resumes enthusiastically, with new complaints.

The next time you are in a conversation, see how long you can carry on without slipping into this habitual pattern of finding something to complain about. Good luck. It takes conscious effort, like an artist painting a landscape being sure to capture the natural beauty, and only the beauty.

One of the most interesting varieties of complaining is what we’ll call the compounder.  That’s when we end up complaining about a complainer. Example: “How was the visit with your in laws?”  “Oh my goodness, terrible.  All they did was complain about their health problems, inflation and Washington D.C. politics.  All of that complaining just wore me out.  They’re tough to take with their endless griping.  And they didn’t pick up the tab when we went out for lunch.”

It's easy to lose interest when smothered in a conversation by an experienced complainer; the listener will sometimes drift off. When the complainer finally finishes naming all the precise reasons why a particular criticism is crucial and relevant, the supposed listener can be heard saying something like, “Okay, great”, before slipping off, leaving the puzzled complainer looking for a new ear to bend.

Consider changing the perspective of the constant complainers by asking more specific question, such as, “What did you enjoy most about your vacation?” or “What’s your favorite thing to do on rainy days?”  If either of those, or similar questions prompt a direct complaint, it indicates an incurable, chronic condition and is probably not worth any corrective efforts.

By complaining less, legitimate grumbles get more attention; they are not camouflaged in a bundle.  When a non-complainer complains, it gets your attention.  Like when blind Bessie tells me through her facial expression or a certain bark that she has a complaint, I pay close attention. Her daily life is filled with endless frustrations and hardships that would inflame a typical human, yet she rarely if ever gripes. Bessie deals with the tough stuff and keeps wagging her tail.  That amplifies exponentially what complaints she may have about important things, like a screen door she can’t open with her nose when her bladder is about to burst, or an empty water bowl on a steamy afternoon.

The next time you are complaining about something, listen carefully to yourself.  That’s how you sound to others.  Would you like to listen to that?

BE LIKE BESSIE!

Look On The Bright Side

“Anyone can blame: it takes a specialist to praise.” -  Konstantin Stanislavski

Perhaps it’s one of the gifts of aging.  With grey hair, wrinkles, and sagging muscles comes humility and perspective, which put the brakes on rushing to judgement, assigning blame and criticizing.  Eventually our personal quiver of mistakes, goof-ups and blunders fosters 20/20 vision for sorting out threads of positivity that are always there, sort of like finding a single silk fiber in a cheap, polyester fabric. It requires scrutiny.

Two or three days a week each winter I work as a Greeter at a local ski area.  A Greeter’s job is relatively simple - welcome guests, anticipate their needs, provide help, and answer questions. It’s not rocket science. Greeters interact with hundreds of people each day in brief conversations where listening is the crucial skill. With ears, eyes and minds open Greeters process information and decide what interaction is necessary. We hear about everything, the good and not so good.

Amid the assortment of characters who frequent the mountain almost daily are two loyal souls I’ll refer to as bookends. We’ll call them East and West. Paradoxically, East, synonymous with the rising sun and brightness, is in his late 80s.  West, representing the setting sun and darkness, is much younger.  East ambles past the Greeters each morning steadied by his poles on his way to the lift with a warm smile, his ancient skis resting comfortably on his shoulder like trusted pals.  As he departs the Mountain a few hours later, the smile is still there, partnered with a positive comment about the trail grooming, the lift attendants or perhaps the view from the summit.  Praise and positivity flow from this guy like the aroma of cookies baking in an oven.

On the same day, West can’t resist sharing how bad some of the conditions are, how inconsiderate the young ski bombers are, or how tedious the wait in the lift line is.  East looks for things to praise and West lasers in on what bothers him. Again, bookends on the same shelf. I’ve often wondered what the conversation would be like if these two guys rode the chairlift together.  Is there any question which person, East or West, has the harder job? Or which one is the specialist referred to in Stanislavski’s quote at the beginning of this blog, “Anyone can blame, it takes a specialist to praise.”

Whenever I find myself slipping into West’s negative frame of mind it’s helpful to track down dear Bessie and connect to her world for a while.  Of course she can’t really offer praise, but she has developed the wisdom to live her life on positive terms, regardless of hardships and setbacks.  I imagine a pack of dogs snarling at each other about the size of their dinner bowls, their monotonous diets or uncomfortable beds.  And there would be Bessie, off in the corner, sleeping soundly with her version of a smile on her ancient face, knowing that good things will eventually find her if she opens her heart and mind wide enough.

When it’s least expected, Bessie will find us and rest her head on our lap so softly we barely notice.  We take this as praise from a specialist who has plenty to complain about, but doesn’t…ever.

BE LIKE BESSIE!

You Just Have to Laugh

“Forget artificial intelligence - in the brave new world of big data, it's artificial idiocy we should be looking out for.” —Tom Chatfield

Bessie has an email address, bessiesstory@gmail.com, organized so we can conduct a dialogue with schools, libraries, senior living communities, and other entities interested in having Bessie visit and share her story about perseverance, resilience and optimism. Apparently, in the eyes of the modern world and the omnipresent Artificial Intelligence that patrols the web, this somehow means she has human decision-making capabilities and an interest in purchasing items online.  Why else would Amazon offer her the opportunity to open a Prime account?

The U.S. government has also reached out to Bess with a message that reads, Welcome to Medicare, Bessie! She has had offers for discounted hotel rooms in New York City and even received an offer to borrow money from a credit union to “bridge the financial gap caused by rampant inflation”. Bessie’s picture is attached to her email account, so apparently the relevant marketing departments are comfortable dealing with a blind, aging canine. Go figure.  How long will it be before “Alexa” is responding to Bessie’s bark?  One recent email message offered her a $250,000 life insurance policy for just $15 a month.  She’s 13 ½ years old, for goodness sake! I told Bessie she should jump on it. She also received an offer to purchase Omaha Steaks. (Bet she’d LOVE that one.)

I wonder what the response would be if I replied as Bessie to these various online offers stating, “While I appreciate your interest, I am an elderly, severely handicapped, chocolate lab. Dogs don’t have the technological skills that have complicated so many human lives. Are you still interested in adding me as a client?” On one hand I’m afraid to find out, on the other hand I’m ravenously curious.

Whatever method these web search engines used to elevate Bessie to decision making status, it’s hard not to find knee-slapping humor in the faulted process.  Is it based on the number of hits on her email address, or responses to posts on her Facebook and Instagram pages? One of her recent Instagram posts had 4,700 views. That may have put her over the tipping point. Who knows, but surely it’s only a matter of time before Bessie is offered a car loan, credit cards, and is asked to contribute to someone’s desperate political campaign.  She’s been discovered and her online address is being traded on the open market like hot cakes.

Of course, Bessie remains blissfully unaware of the digital world that is stalking her. The simple life she lives is enriched by the affection she humbly offers and accepts, along with the gratitude and appreciation she conveys daily. The primary technology for Bess is that her nose still works. That’s it, that’s all. Yet she remains a wonderfully grateful old girl without ever having received a package from Amazon.  As the holiday season unfolds, we can all learn from Bessie’s basic, heartfelt example. Through simple acts of kindness we can show our appreciation to the special people in our lives.  And…be nice to strangers, too.  No credit cards, Venmo or PayPal required.

BE LIKE BESSIE!

Stay Positive!

“Perpetual optimism is a force multiplier.” Colin Powell

That was quick! One day we were searching for someplace to dive in to escape the heat.  Then, without warning, people were dressing in layers and asking the usual, banal questions like, “where did the summer go?”. What is it about most of us that we have so much trouble “being where we are”, accepting uncontrollable circumstances with a smile instead of griping and wishing for something different.

In her thirteenth year, Bessie has become a bit of a bon vivant, relishing what each day offers up with the joy of knowing she’s receiving a gift to be unwrapped with care, but not so gently that it wastes time and spoils the fun.  I’ve never seen Bessie’s mood impacted by the temperature, cloud cover, precipitation, or sunshine. Yes, of course, when it’s swelteringly hot she’s as slow as a turtle, and when it’s chilly she’s more animated.  But never, ever is our girl less bright-eyed because of the weather.

Optimism is defined as “hopefulness and confidence about the future or the successful outcome of something”. It’s a learned skill and takes conscious practice. Bessie seems to come by her positive disposition naturally, without effort.  Oh, if only we could all be so blessed. The other day Bess was stuck in the corner of our garage, not sure which way to turn.  How she got there was a mystery, but her slow, careful self-extraction to a more open space was a joy to witness; no frustration or defeatism for her. It took a few minutes while she bumped and sniffed her way to fresh air, but when she found a sunny patch of grass and settled down, she was as content as an airline passenger in economy who finds the middle seat open.

I wonder if Bessie reflected on the experience. Probably not.  More likely, in her self-reliant way the old girl just folded 13 years of wisdom and experience into her four white paws and figured it out, like a chess champion. Amazing. For the past seven years Bessie has been living in a dark world brightened by friendly voices, affectionate pats and scratches, and a self-confidence rooted in some deep well of her soul. Bessie’s natural mother was a moody recluse, and her canine father was a no-show.  She apparently became the dog she wanted to be, genetics and finger pointing be damned!  What a good example for all of us.

I’ve often contemplated what Bessie would be like if she hadn’t gone blind.  Did the unforeseen turn of events impact her character and resilience? It’s tempting to think that she contemplated her situation and made some proactive decisions, like a well-informed patient.  More likely she responded naturally, guided by her resolute spirit with absolutely no self-pity or regret. In a group therapy session Bessie would be the one yawning and tapping her foot, eager to get on with things before too much more time is spent analyzing, splitting hairs and assigning blame. Not that reflection is pointless, not at all. It leads to wisdom, which is perhaps the most important ingredient for making productive, optimistic use of precious time and moving forward.

For Bessie, that wisdom means putting her life squarely on her shoulders and carrying it up the hill, stopping to eat some green grass and sniff interesting things along the way. The new scientific age calculator for dogs pegs Bessie as being the human equivalent of 72 years old.  Surely her joints and muscles radiate nagging discomfort like most septuagenarians, including her owner. So how does she live with such pervasive optimism? Perhaps because she refuses to consider the solemn, sedentary consequences of an alternative approach.  I’ll assume that’s the case and continue to embrace her as my life-coach.

Be Like Bessie!

Babies and Bessie Have a Common Bond

“Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.”
― Stephen R. Covey

Ashley and I just returned from a nice, long visit with our 11-month-old grandson.  He lives in another part of the country, and it had been several months since we’d wrapped our arms around the little angel, soon to be mischief maker.  The change was breathtaking.  His vocabulary has expanded exponentially with just one little hitch: he doesn’t know any words.  The only thing coming out of that young mouth, besides whatever he picks up from the ground, and puts in it, are beautifully expressive sounds accompanied by fascinating facial expressions and hand gestures.  We’d respond with wide eyes, smiles and animated head nods, using phases like oh really, or is that right?, trying emphatically to convey that we understood his mysterious vocabulary. 

I’d love to be inside his young brain and know what the tiny commentator/analyst is saying or trying to say.  We were listening carefully, desperately trying to understand his thought process. And we’d point to the trees blowing in the wind, bees buzzing around flowers, birds chirping on nearby branches, the rushing river, setting sun or barking dogs and explain what was happening. And he would listen with incredible intensity.  Whatever thoughts were kicking around that developing brain will remain secret forever, but there is no question he was listening hard, and listening to understand.

Why don’t we “grown-ups” do more of that in our everyday interactions, listen to understand? More typically we butt in before a sentence is even finished, or the first word in a response is “I” followed by a personal perspective or experience.  That’s not listening to understand, that’s listening to reply. There is a huge difference.  Listening to reply carries the assumed responsibility of agreeing, disagreeing, or providing more information on the topic of discussion, conveying our personal level of knowledge or expertise. Listening to understand is often followed by silent reflection, or leads to another question, and another and another, until you understand. Listening to understand is much more fun and all you have to do at the end is nod your head…you understand or are trying to.

On the way home from our visit, with grandparent joy dancing in our hearts, we were startled to hear those same familiar, infant “words” expressed by other little humans waiting in airports for connecting flights.  Maybe there is a special, universal “baby language” known throughout the world, spoken fluently by all developing humans before they become citizens of a particular place or region.  That’s a nice thought: that at some esoteric, basic level we all begin on the same page… before culture and training intervene.

So how does Bessie get brought into this discussion? She can’t see, of course, so there is no need for wasted finger pointing or hand gestures.  And now that her hearing is slowly vanishing like morning mist on a lake, the sweet thing misses many of the sounds that used to fill in the gaps of her dark world.  Does she walk around with her flannel-soft ears flat on her head?  Is her expression dull or lethargic? Heavens no.  More than ever, she is straining at attention, working her brain, trying to sense what’s going on and most of all, listening to understand.  

Try this some time: put on noise cancelling headphones, the type used when operating a chain saw or lawn mower, the kind that muffles all but the loudest sounds.  Then close your eyes.  That’s Bessie’s world all the time. Ancient Bessie and our baby grandson have a common bond, but with strikingly different perspectives. Both are listening and listening hard to understand.  It’s almost as if our grandson already knows how important it is to Be Like Bessie!  We hope the world doesn’t teach him otherwise.

What Bessie's Learned

To attain knowledge, add things every day. To attain wisdom, remove things every day.”― Lao Tse

Bessie has been blind for more than half her life now, and her hearing is fading.  She turned thirteen on May 11. Hopefully this will not be her last birthday.  With all her acquired wisdom, if she could talk, this is what I think she’d share.

·       It’s absolutely true, you can’t judge a book by its cover.

·       Tone of voice is critical.

·       What you see is not always you get.

·       Keep your ears open, wide open.

·       Einstein was right; there’s no need to worry about tomorrow, it will be here soon enough.

·       We all run into stonewalls now and then. Shake it off. It’s what you do next that matters.

·       Never forget the importance of touch.

·       It’s foolish to think you can go it alone.

·       If at all possible please let me go with you, anywhere.

·       I don’t need your sympathy, just your friendship and kindness.

·       Take the time to show you care, always.

·       Make all the excuses you want, but in the end it’s up to you.

·       I will always forgive you…always.

·       It’s true, it is a dog’s world.

·       Darkness can help you see the LIGHT.

·       What do you need a watch for?

·       The world runs on treats.

·       We dogs know this:  everyone thinks they have the BEST dog.

·       Two good meals a day and fresh water.  Anything else is gravy. (I love gravy.)

·       Slow down.

·       No regrets and no blame. Both will tire you out.

·       I never forget a voice, faces maybe, but never a voice.

·       Please don’t rush me, ever. I’m doing the best I can.

·       All true love is unconditional.

·       It’s okay being on a leash, but sometimes I just need to wander on my own in the woods.  Don’t worry, I’ll find my way home.

·       Pandemic? What pandemic?

·       Just because I’m sleeping doesn’t mean I’m tired.

·       A little pain and discomfort help you know you’re alive.

·       Ignore the barking dogs. Let them waste their energy.

·       Never stop swimming.

·       I love being loved.

·       Cats don’t bother me anymore.

·       Life is a multi-sensory experience, thank goodness.

·       Keep moving. Take a long walk every day no matter the weather.

·       Watch out for ticks.

·       I love your company. Being alone is fine, too.

·       Take time to smell the roses…and the roadkill.

·       You can talk to me in a normal voice, I’ll understand.

·       Have no fear, well maybe just a little.

·       Sometimes I can’t hear you, and sometimes I pretend I can’t.

·       I sleep so much now each day has two or three mornings.

·       Don’t imagine happiness, make it happen.

·       No need to remember everything, just the good stuff.

·       Fear and courage are cousins.

·       When people raise their voices, I leave the room.

·       Listen to learn, not to reply.

·       I’d rather be scratched than kissed.

·       If it ends today, so be it. No regrets.

·       I love my family, warts and all.

Be Like Bessie

bessiesstory.com

Owner's Mentality

“If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn't sit for a month.”― Theodore Roosevelt

Owner’s mentality.  In a business sense, it’s the perspective of someone who takes personal responsibility for the success of an enterprise. You don’t have to be the owner to have Owner’s Mentality.  For example: You are in the supermarket and ask a young employee, “Excuse me, where can I find the peanut butter?”  The reply is a lifeless shoulder shrug and a mumbled, “I don’t know”, delivered with the energy of a jellyfish. You ask another store worker of a similar age the same question.  The answer: “Aisle eleven, half-way down on the right.  Here, come with me and I’ll show you.” You tell me, which one of these two people has Owner’s Mentality?

People with Owner’s Mentality (O.M.) do the little things like pick up trash on the shop floor without being asked.  They voluntarily grab a shovel and clean the snow off the sidewalk because they want to prevent people from slipping and falling.  If they see someone struggling with their purchases, they’ll offer to help. People with Owner’s Mentality change burned out batteries in the office wall clocks without being asked, close windows and doors and turn out lights in empty rooms to save energy costs. If they have idle time while on the job, they find something productive to do. In all enterprises, people with Owner’s Mentality stand out.  The more people in an organization who have O.M., the more successful that organization will be. Period!

Sometimes, even an owner doesn’t have Owner’s Mentality.  Those are the businesses that usually fail, and quickly, partly because the owners aren’t good at identifying, hiring and promoting people who have O.M. Haven’t we all had the experience of entering a store, seeing no one available and asking, “Hello, is anybody here?” Or waiting in a long line because workers are on breaks or at lunch during a store’s busiest times? And now, when so much customer service is delegated to online chatting with one of those humorless robots who can’t take a joke or think outside the box, I wonder who in the organization sanctions this stuff? Hopefully not the owner. And who hasn’t experienced 45-minute wait times on the phone lately, enduring unbearable music and monotonous ads just to speak to a person from a call center in another country who can’t really help you? Sometimes it seems O.M. can be as rare as receiving a hand-written thank-you note in the mail.

Of course, even with high doses of Owner’s Mentality, there are times when events slip completely out of anyone’s control and a business finds itself gasping for breath, like a swimmer in a tsunami.  That’s when people with O.M. are at their best, developing original perspectives, seeking informed advice, and thinking and acting creatively rather than shrugging their shoulders like the apathetic “I don’t know” jellyfish.  In some instances, failing cannot be avoided no matter how strong the O.M. is.  People with Owner’s Mentality know that learning from failure is part of the deluxe package, providing valuable lessons and insights for the next go-round that no graduate school on earth can duplicate.

Owner’s Mentality can also relate to the idea that we each own our lives ─ our decisions, our health, our relationships, our responsibilities, our positive traits, our annoying habits, our good and bad judgements, the consequences of unfortunate, unexpected turns and our winning lottery tickets…all of it ─ without blame or arrogance. When we find ourselves intent on making excuses, pointing fingers and deflecting, it may be time to refill our Owner’s Mentality tanks.  Fortunately, in our family we have an O.M. refill station living with us.  Her name is Bessie.

Anthropomorphism is the act of assigning human characteristics to animal behavior. It is completely unscientific and irrational, but at least it has a name: anthropomorphism. All dog owners are happily guilty of interpreting their pet’s actions on personal terms, even using special voices to communicate with our canine soulmates.

From this perspective we have designated Bessie as a model of O.M.  As far as we’ve ever been able to tell, Bessie doesn’t waste time blaming her parents for over breeding, which resulted in her blindness. And she appears to hold no lasting grudge against the kennel owners that allowed this to happen.  She doesn’t swear with exasperation when she walks into something, and she never, EVER complains about a meal. She licks her wounds without grumbling and moves forward, always forward, finding new ways to adapt and thrive. Bessie ignores angry, barking dogs in the same nonchalant way an aging rock star ignores boos from the audience or  a seasoned umpire chuckles under his mask at cat calls from angry home team fans. Bessie doesn’t let anything or anyone diminish her confidence.  She has one direction, onward. Rain, snow or shine she is out the door with her tail wagging like a flag in a brisk wind.

We all experience bad, unlucky days and sad, knee buckling, life altering events. These sit on the spice shelf of life along with the joys and triumphs. If we don’t fully own all aspects of who we are and what happens to us, then who will? The answer is simple. Nobody, absolutely nobody! As my Gramps used to say, “Don’t pass the bucks.  Keep ‘em in your wallet and find a smart way to invest them.”  And he wasn’t talking about money, he was referring to life experiences.

Our O.M. tutor Bessie and Gramps would get along just fine.  Farewell 2021, hello 2022! My New Year’s resolution? Try to Be like Bessie!

Tom Farmen

bessiesstory.com

What’s Next?

 “If you’re going through hell, keep going." - Winston Churchill.

We knew this was coming eventually, like looking out across the ocean on a sunny, blue-sky beach day and seeing storm clouds building on the horizon.  It’s not a question of if but when the unsettled weather will arrive.  In this case the pending low-pressure system is Bessie’s gradual hearing loss.  For a while we thought she was just ignoring us, the way highly intelligent people ignore senseless, pointless conversation.  She is the genius, after all, and we are mere, flawed mortals.  Ashley and I are used to Bessie doing her own thing.  She’s been like that most of her life, but this is different.  There is a new look on her face now, a curious “where are you guys” look that beckons us to her side for a touch so she knows we’re there.                                                     

Where are you guys?

Bessie’s nose and ears are at full attention as she strains to perceive all of life’s scented and vibrating signals, like an ancient mariner navigating on a dark, foggy night, inhaling deeply to catch a fragrance that will lead to a safe harbor. We still go on daily hikes with Bess and she has no fear or hesitation in the midst of her transition to a quieter world.  She’ll walk with complete confidence in the wrong direction until certain commands break through her sound barrier and she finds us.  Once back on the trail Bessie jumps out in front and becomes our point, remembering the way like the leader she has always been. Imagine remaining upbeat and optimistic in a dark, pitch-black world as someone gradually turns the volume down?

Bessie has a laser sense of smell, so the joy of finding dropped morsels remains an adrenalin pumping motivator for our aging hero.  In her sightless, increasingly silent world she still prowls the corners of our kitchen with her nose to the ground, ears and eyes at full attention by habit.  And somehow, she expertly negotiates her way to the cozy L.L. Bean bed that has welcomed her since she joined our family back in 2009.  We watch her with admiration. There is no remorse or regret, just a courageous acceptance that this is how things are progressing.  Goodness, what a brave, inspiring old lady she is compared to us endlessly complaining humans. 

Bessie has always coveted attention, especially the tactile kind when people scratch or touch her.  Now more than ever she leans into physical contact, like a middle linebacker who lives for the collisions his game guarantees. Linebackers pull back when the referee blows the whistle, but not Bessie, she picks up her pace when my high-pitched whistle breaks through. She hears it in her soul and tracks it like a love call.  Bessie knows there is affection and perhaps a treat where it came from, so she relentlessly pursues the source.

Because her world has become quieter, Bessie now sleeps later in the morning.  But when she senses the house waking up she is on her toes, joyously wagging her tail and making garbled noises to let us know she is fired up for another full day of adventure and exploration. This dear dog is instinctively brave and eager; she doesn’t hesitate.  Where does that spirit come from? How can she be so inspirational to her supposedly smarter owners?  It started when a seven-week-old puppy left her pen, slowly inched her way into the sunlight and parked herself softly on Ashley’s feet twelve-and-a-half years ago. That was one of the luckiest days of our lives, and now she is paying us back as if we invested in bitcoin the first day it was available.

What’s next for Bessie? She remains sleek and fit despite several fatty tumors we’ve nicknamed love bumps.  On walks she shows no signs of wearing out and is still drawn to water like an amphibian, joyously retrieving tossed balls and sticks.  Her facial expression when she is awake is wide-eyed and excited for what’s next.  Just the other night, when taking Bessie out for her end of day ritual, she pranced confidently into the woods, barking at the top of her lungs to be sure the deer, bobcat, or bear she smelled knew this was her territory and she was ready to defend it.  When I tracked her down in my slippers and pajamas and led her back to the house, Bessie’s heart was dancing with joy. After a couple of cookies and an intimate snuggle she was at peace again, confident in her role as our noble defender.

Bessie’s optimism is as relentless as the seasons. Our girl has learned to sift through life’s hardships and find the shiny nuggets that are always there for the tireless, optimistic prospector. Whatever comes next, she’ll deal with it and keep going.

Be Like Bessie.

It Only Counts If You Put Your Head Under!

“We don’t grow older, we grow riper.” ─ Pablo Picasso

Bessie, our twelve-year-old, blind chocolate Lab took her first swim of the year this spring when the air and water temperatures were the same, about 45 degrees.  Standing on the water’s edge she was a hesitant elderly woman, probably making up excuses why she should stay dry on the sidelines.  Suddenly, happy memories overpowered old-girl caution and she remembered how good it feels to be in the water. Emerging moments later with the stick she retrieved in her smiling mouth, Bessie was like a carefree kid, eager and ready for more adventure. It was as if some fountain-of-youth magic was flowing into the lake from a secret stream and she’d swallowed a few mouthfuls.  How wonderful she must have felt, dripping and tingling with unlocked, youthful exuberance. Her young-dog memory winning a tug-of-war with the doubts and reservations that age has a tendency to magnify. 

As a child, if there was water nearby my pals and I would find it and get soaked.  Salt water, lake water, sprinklers, pools, puddles…it didn’t matter.  During the summer it was better to be wet than dry, period.  Amphibian ancestry? Maybe. It was almost instinctive; we’d dive in with no hesitancy at all, like seals. We were free! As the years passed something changed, gradually at first, then gaining subtle momentum, like a false rumor that morphs into a perceived fact.  It happens with most of us. The older we become, the less time we spend in the water, and the more excuses we invent for staying dry.

Pointless doubts begin to overshadow the sheer exhilaration of jumping in.  Misguided logic erases the exquisite joy of wrapping a big, fluffy beach towel around our shivering, wet body.  Concerns that our soggy hair might not fall back in place correctly may have played into our reluctance at some point.  And of course those firm, youthful bodies were slowly transitioning into softer, more textured and wrinkled versions of the younger models. In adulthood our dents, dings and rust spots are better left undercover, we think, so we keep our clothes on more and wear our bathing suits less, much less.  By the way, we’ve earned those dents, dings and rust spots. And take heart, the repair work helps pay college tuitions for our dermatologist’s children…but I digress.

Picture the last time you were at a social gathering near an ocean beach, lake or pool with all age groups represented, a Fourth of July party for example. It’s not scientifically confirmed by research, but I’m sure there is a direct correlation between time spent in the water and the age of the attendees. Graph the data and you’ll likely find a steady, downward trend ─ the older the person, the less time in the water. 

Raise your hand if you are over 50, still own a bathing suit and know exactly where it is. Keep your hand up if you’ve worn the bathing suit in plain view during the past year without a shirt or covering, and keep your hand raised if you wore the suit swimming.  If your hand is still up you get bonus points and are a hero, full of swaggering confidence and undeterred by the foolish, judgmental comments or thoughts of others. Good for you! Double those points if you are over 60, triple them over 70, etc. Skinny dippers get super-hero status, by the way.

Remember how exquisite it feels to ease into cool water on a steamy, sultry, summer afternoon, that instant transition from discomfort to luxury as your head dips below the surface? There is nothing like it, nothing. Remember how the aftereffects of an early morning swim make you feel more energetic, optimistic and ambitious?  Breakfast seems to taste better, too. These priceless joys don’t cost a thing, so why do we stop? Old buildings achieve national historic site status, antique cars turn heads on the highway and are celebrated at auto shows, and aging dogs are treasured and celebrated more than puppies.  Yet here we are sitting in the shade in lawn chairs, fully clothed no less.

Want to really turn some heads? Let’s get out of the lawn chairs and put those ripe, beautiful older bodies on display. Lather on the sunblock and hang them out there like masterpieces in an art gallery. Dive in, jump in, or walk in, though walking in means you’ll have to experience that mysterious moment as the water goes above your waist and you raise your arms like a puppet and suck in your breath.  Swim alone at twilight or secretly at sunrise if you must, but get in the water. Remember, just like when we were kids, it only counts if you put your head under. And don’t think about getting out immediately after dunking.  Relax and enjoy it as the sensations and memories return like a childhood best friend you haven’t seen for a while.

Once you’re in the water close your eyes and you’ll have a hint of how dear old Bessie feels every day when she’s swimming. There is a puppy in her soul and there is one in yours, too. Be Like Bessie!  

Happy Birthday?

“How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?” ─Satchel Paige

There seem to be two primary schools of thought regarding birthdays: Hide them like buried treasure and burn the map, or run them up the flagpole for all to see and salute. Neither is better or more appropriate than the other. It is purely and completely a matter of personal choice, like shoe shopping or deciding which bathing suit to buy (and then wear). The thing is, no matter how you choose to acknowledge them birthdays are inevitable, like mile markers on a highway or seconds ticking on a clock. Minutes add up to hours, hours expand to days, days clump together in weeks and months, months make up seasons, seasons link to form years and years become decades. Birthdays interrupt this relentless pattern annually, sort of like getting pulled over by a state trooper on that highway with the mile markers. You are reminded of how fast you are traveling through time and space.

Some birthdays receive more attention than others; you know, the milestone birthdays of 13, 21, 30, 40, 50, 65 and 70. Birthdays between these milestones are often discarded casually, like clothes in the laundry basket. After 70 you move into tiger country, ticking off birthdays that in your youth you never in a thousand years thought would arrive, permanently erasing the mistaken belief that, “I’ll never be that old.” Suddenly, those birthdays are smirking on your doorstep like a bill collector who finally tracked you down.

Please do not misinterpret this discussion of birthdays as dismay with the aging process. To the contrary, growing older with resilience and optimism despite endless reasons to feel otherwise is a delightful challenge, as difficult as being a teenager with chronic acne, crooked teeth and endlessly oily hair. One difference is that we older folks have learned to avoid mirrors the same way we try to dodge potholes, while teens are drawn to mirrors like moths to a flame. There is another major difference between teenagers and the elderly, and this is BIG. We’ve learned to rely on the simple mantra “this too shall pass”. Teens, lacking life experience, worry their condition will be hopelessly permanent.

Imagine an octogenarian grandmother putting an arm around her granddaughter and saying in a comforting tone, “Don’t worry sweetie, when you’re my age you’ll have dry, acne-free, wrinkled skin, perfect false teeth and a wig of shiny, healthy hair you’ll never have to wash”. Can’t you just picture the look of bewilderment on the young teenager’s face as she shrugs away and retreats to her room, and her mirror? Oh well, the teen will understand eventually…after enough birthdays.

You can gain a clear idea of how people view birthdays by the cards they send. Hallmark Cards in particular trumpet the blissful, joyful magic of birthdays with cheerful, pastel artwork and generic, flowery language acknowledging another wonderful year of living/surviving. Sending one of these cards on someone’s birthday is a safe bet, to be sure. There is often another rack of cards featuring photographs of older folks in action with hysterical, realistic captions. It’s my belief that the closer the friend, the crueler/funnier the card. Test this theory out on your next birthday.

Bessie turned twelve on May 10. The life expectancy for Labs is twelve years, so I guess she is on borrowed time now. According to the new Canine Age Calculator developed by the geniuses at The Smithsonian Institute with extra time on their hands, our sweet girl is 70.8 in human years. By the old method of determining a dog’s age (age x 7) Bessie would be 84, so we’re pretty excited. Consider how you would feel discovering you were 14 years younger than you thought you were. Think Bess cares? Of course not. Yes, we had a little celebration on her birthday, but it was more for us than her. In Bessie’s world her special day was just like the day before and the day after ─ no big deal.

Bessie will continue to do young dog things like chase balls, swim after sticks we throw in the lake and bark robustly when the urge strikes. She will also forget where she is sometimes, make weird noises in her sleep, and ignore us when it’s convenient. Remember, she is 70.8 years old and has earned the right to call the shots. As the ranking member of our family we let her rule the roost, the way independent, strong-willed grandmothers often do.

As the years pile up I am more aligned with Bessie’s example of how to handle birthdays – simply ignore them. No more pretending to be excited or hiding my chagrin or celebrating one particular day more than another. How cool would it be if someone asked how old you are and, being of reasonably sound mind and body you confidently and honestly answered, “You know, I’m not really sure.” That would be Bessie’s answer. Be Like Bessie!

Why Hide It?

“Some people try to turn back their odometers. Not me, I want people to know “why” I look this way. I’ve traveled a long way and some of the roads weren’t paved.”─Will Rogers

Bessie is the model of wisdom, some of it painfully acquired.  It doesn’t take a measured eye to understand this.  Her face is wonderfully frosted by white hair, especially in her eyebrows and cheeks.  Her four paws are also white now; they look like little boots.  My theory is that her face and feet are high stress points that bear the brunt of her blindness.  They speak volumes about how much she has learned and the accommodations she has made without a fuss.  Bess is a billboard for the beauty of aging gracefully and all that the journey represents.

So here is the question: Why do many politicians work so hard to hide their age and the coinciding wisdom that growing older conveys?  Let’s take a look at the two most recent candidates for President.  Donald Trump was a brunette most of his life.  Now he has orangish- blonde hair, a color you might see on the person sitting in front of you at a punk rock concert.  Was this transformation natural, or is there something in the water down there at Mar-a-Lago? What do you think? And then there’s Joe Biden. Our current President had less hair in his mid-40s than he does today.  How is that possible?  If it’s his diet or yoga routine, he should share this information with the masses and assure himself a second term.  Instead, no one asks or tells. Aren’t you just a little curious?

Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi, age 80, has a rich, thick head of dark brown hair that most women her age haven’t seen in the mirror since they were thirty-five. Brunette Senator Dianne Feinstein, 87, also comes to mind as a politician with ageless hair.  They’re both from California, so I thought maybe it’s a west coast, Hollywood thing. But 85-year-old Congresswoman Eddie Bernice Johnson from Texas takes the air out of that hypothesis. Her hair color changes periodically from almost black to shades of blond for apparently whimsical reasons, perhaps related to election cycles. Speaking of blondes, how many 71-year-olds do you know who have the shiny, natural, honey-blonde hair sported by Elizabeth Warren?

There are countless other politicians that seem to appear younger looking as their longevity in office expands.  Is there a secret, underground salon in the nation’s Capital available to aging politicians, its address known only by the governing class? Perhaps the salon employs a highly skilled hair styling specialist whose business card is secretly passed between Democrats, Republicans and Independents alike, an apolitical coloring/thickening guru without affiliation.  Maybe this is who Joe Biden was thinking about in his inaugural speech when he spoke about unity. Must be. 

Apparently Senator Bernie Sanders, 79, wasn’t offered a card, or more likely he declined, along with grey haired 87-year-old colleague Chuck Grassley from Iowa. Senator Majority Leader Chuck Schumer seems perfectly comfortable looking all of his 70 years, and give extra points to former V.P. Mike Pence, 61, for unashamedly letting his hair turn white. Fifty-six-year-old V.P. Kamala Harris? Not so much.  She has beautiful, youthful brown hair, sometimes with highlights, that women half her age would die for. 

What’s behind this determined effort by some elected officials to not look as they are supposed to according to nature’s plan? And what’s wrong with us, the voters, for not making a bigger issue out of it? Instead of wearing their mantle of maturity with dignity and grace, as Bessie does, some politicians seem to be afraid they will lose votes if they look their age.  I propose a theory: the greater the altered natural appearance, the less trustworthy the elected official. We love and admire our aging dogs more deeply than when they were puppies, don’t we? Let’s send Washington a message.

The fundamental question is: why can’t we be real here?  Grey hair and baldness should be treasured attributes, well-earned by piling up the years. Somewhere along the way we seem to have gradually undervalued the wisdom of the soul that comes with aging and magnified the value and importance of youth. That’s ridiculous! Raise your hand if you think you were wiser and had more good sense in your 30s and 40s than your 60s, 70s or 80s. 

Here is an idea: Have elected officials supply a photo from each decade of their lives as part of a political profile.  Then we might know exactly when the cover-ups began; it would be public knowledge.  The fallout would be elegant, the implied message simple: Be Who You Are, for Pete’s sake.

Meanwhile, Bessie doesn’t care. There are no mirrors in her world.  Her profound wisdom is on display for all to see; her ageless beauty grows and grows.  She would obviously look ridiculous with unnatural, colored hair. That would be silly, right? 

Aging gracefully is an act of courage. Why hide it?  Below are pictures of young Bessie and old Bessie. Hmmm, I know who I’d vote for.                                 

It Doesn’t Take Much

“Who would you impress if the world was blind?”― Shannon L. Alder

A few days each week during the winter season I add structure and seek camaraderie by working as an outdoor Greeter at a nearby ski area owned by Vail Resorts.  The compensation is modest, but Ashley and I also receive EPIC Passes that allow us to snowboard free at any of the 37 Vail Resorts. It’s a win-win.

The paradox is amusing – a giant corporation that trades on the NYSE owns and manages a comparatively small New Hampshire ski mountain.  Their business plan must explain the logic, yet the cultural dissonance is striking. It’s a bit like going to the opera in cut-offs and a t-shirt, I suppose. 

A few years ago, when the mountain was a family-owned operation, Greeters were referred to as Ambassadors.  That has a much more distinguished sound to it, don’t you think?  When friends inquired about how I was keeping busy in retirement, I’d share that among other things I was serving as an Ambassador and leave it to them to guess which country.  Now, when they learn I am a Greeter the only options beyond the ski area are Costco, Walmart and Best Buy.  It’s just not the same.

One of a Greeter’s responsibilities is to remind people to properly wear their face coverings.  Almost everyone who forgets this simple directive appreciates the reminder and immediately complies. But there are always a few who, despite the flashing sign at the Mountain’s entrance and numerous other reminders stating that face coverings are required, enjoy the confrontation that accompanies non-compliance.  These are also the people who cut you off in traffic, park illegally in handicap areas or go the wrong direction down the aisle in the supermarket because, well, because. We’ll leave it at that.

Skiing and snowboarding are at their simple, elegant, best when carving first tracks in fresh powder.  Beyond that these sports can inspire a significant investment to own appropriate, high-tech equipment that enables you to ski and ride beyond your physical limits and look cool in the process.  People spend quite a bit of money to attain the “right” look in their gear.  Attaining the right look is an oxymoron this year because of the required face coverings. It’s a rule. You’ll lose your ticket if you don’t comply.  Add the requisite goggles and helmet and everyone looks pretty much the same. You can stand next to Brad Pitt, Julia Roberts or your best friend in the lift line and not know it.   

Vanity, however, seems to have no bounds.  Despite the assured anonymity that is part of a ski or snowboard outing this year, people still shop, some voraciously, at the mountain’s retail store.  Something catches their eye and they must have one, or maybe a few.  I know the lady who runs the ski shop and am happy for her that vanity has not been affected by the Corona Virus, but that’s not the point.

I now better understand how Bessie processes her world.  Since she is blind, more important factors come into play, such as a person’s tone of voice, the sincerity of what they are saying and if the tone matches their actions.  Bessie has radar to detect a phony.  The old girl can’t be fooled, bless her heart, because she senses the world at a deeper level.  Bess doesn’t care one tiny bit about your appearance, it’s actions that speak to her.  The 80s retro skier in a colorful one-piece suit, the novice in an elegant black and white parka and pant ensemble or the hip snowboarder who works hard to look like he put no time at all into selecting his outfit ─ if they don’t have sweet voices, show kindness and have skill scratching her ears, they’ll never make a good impression on Bessie no matter how much they spend at the ski shop.

Imagine you were blind and the only way you were able to understand and get to know people was by the way they spoke with you, the way they shared time, and the kindness they offered with nothing expected in return.  With masks, goggles and helmets we all have the potential to be beautiful.  Bessie has taught me how to recognize a smile when it can’t be seen.  It doesn’t take much to measure up to Bessie’s standards.  Why do we make it so complicated?     

BE LIKE RAY.

“Pride makes us artificial and humility makes us real.”─Thomas Merton

As my sixth decade approaches the far turn, lessons found in everyday events continue to serve up head-shaking brilliance about how to live. Bessie’s noble, humble, stoic example has made me more aware of the special characters in this world who, without intention or calculation, teach others the right way to travel from day to day. One of those special teachers is a friend named Ray.

Ray is a modest genius; Einstein masquerading as an unpretentious neighbor in faded blue jeans and a well-worn flannel shirt. He has a wonderful, telling smirk when you bring him a problem. Though he is polite enough to hold back from saying, “can’t you figure this out yourself, you idiot?”, you know he’s thinking it. In our old farmhouse Ray’s genius is evident in the bathroom plumbing, the lighting in our kitchen, a repaired antique door, a refurbished garage door opener and various other projects that would have cost a small fortune had we secured the expertise of a conniving sub-contractor. He has saved us lots of money.

Ray shares wisdom, knowledge and kindness while expecting nothing, absolutely nothing, in return. He is Santa Claus twelve months a year. Bring a repair problem to Ray and he responds like a Zen master to your ineptitude, grinning with the joy of a child in a sand box full of toys. One time we were kneeling on the floor of our garage repairing a small, electric engine. “How did you learn to repair something like this?” I asked. “Well” he said, “a person made it, I’m a person, so I can fix it.” The world according to Ray, conveyed in one simple sentence.

Here is my favorite Ray story:

I was wasting lots of wood and time trying to make two small storm windows for the side panels of our front door. Surrendering to the failures, I knocked on Ray’s door. After fifteen minutes in his garage the corners were tightly mitered, and the windows were ready for installation. With a self-effacing nod he offered, “see if these work”. Witnessing Ray in action is like watching Mickey Mantle taking batting practice, Picasso painting a canvas, Frank Sinatra singing a song with the Count Basie orchestra.

Of course the windows fit perfectly, but the real story is what came next. The following day I stopped by Ray’s house with a gift to show my appreciation. He opened the door with a telling, Cheshire cat grin. “You can give me that gift if you want” he said, “but if you do I’ll never help you again.” I’d never felt so shallow or diminished. Ray had offered unconditional help and friendship, and my gesture trivialized that. Another lesson learned by someone who, at my age, should have known better.

Bessie and Ray! Two unassuming, humble, happy professors for the art of living correctly. Sharing generously and expecting nothing in return is hard to pull off. Bessie and Ray seem to come by this gift naturally. One lives under our roof and the other just down the road. How lucky can a person be?

BE LIKE BESSIE AND BE LIKE RAY!

How 'Bout a Little Help Here?

“Your face is marked with lines of life, put there by love and laughter, suffering and tears. It's beautiful.”― Lynsay Sands

There are moments in each person’s life that seem simple in retrospect yet are monumental as signals of change.  On the front end, for example, we have potty training, riding a two-wheeler, or sleeping outside in a tent with just your friends and no parents for the first time.  As adolescence and young adulthood arrive the list of turning points becomes more complicated and harder to share. Secrets creep in like ants at a picnic.  Then there is this vast, open meadow between the ages of 30 and 50 when the view out of the window is fairly predictable; the changes are subtle, often seen through a consistent lens.  Life moves forward at a steady pace with predictable ups and down.

One day, the engine stalls or sputters.  Perhaps it’s the findings at your annual physical; your doctor’s questions remind you of stories your parents or grandparents shared.  But wait, this is about YOU.  It can’t be!  Perhaps you walk upstairs one day and for the life of you, cannot remember what brought you there.  My advice at these moments: don’t swear, chuckle.  You’ll remember your mission eventually, and the experience will bond you with every member of your family and longtime friend who lived past the age of sixty. There is a corollary between acquiring wisdom and losing your short-term memory.  One goes up as the other goes down.

Bessie is at that age now.  Her habits are so ironclad as to prevent her from making big mistakes, but she can’t fool me; though the jubilant puppy is alive and well in her soul, the beautiful old lady is front and center.  She gets stuck in a corner now and then, but will prance like a show horse on her way to fetch her toy from the lake. We spend so much time together we can read each other’s minds, and her actions tell me we are reaching the promised land of “later in life” together, in step with each other.  She is leading the dance. 

We have two cars, a Toyota Rav4 and a Subaru Forester.  Both are small SUVs well designed for the endless winters of New Hampshire.  When we go on long drives Bessie takes over the back seat, stretched out comfortably like an airline passenger in business class.  She LOVES it.  On shorter journeys Bess rides in the cargo area, which she accesses by jumping in the open hatchback.  Just recently I’ve noticed a change in her behavior.  She still gets excited when we get ready to head out, but an adjustment has been made.  The back deck of the Subaru is about four inches higher than the RAV4. She hops into the RAV like a puppy, but with the Subaru…not anymore.  Somehow, she is aware the heights are different.  With the Subaru Bess puts her two front feet up on the deck and with her blind eyes says, “How ‘bout a little help here?”, imploring us to lift her the rest of the way in.

There is no embarrassment or regret on her part.  Her expression and body language are crystal clear: “I simply can’t do this on my own anymore.”  I love her for this.  She knows in her core it’s a sign of strength to ask for help and accept help when it’s offered.  Her self-awareness and poise in relation to this adjustment are inspiring.  Bessie understands she has nothing to prove, nothing at all, and her willingness to acknowledge the need for a little boost in her charming old age provides a wonderful model we can learn from.

Bessie is aging gracefully.  There are few things in life that are more difficult to do than that.  If she were a person there would likely be excuses, denials, regrets, perhaps some plastic surgery and futile attempts to camouflage the inevitable.  But she is a dog, and so her reaction to getting older is pure.  Her beautiful brown fur is turning white, she has weird growths on her body that were not there a year ago, she can’t see anything, and she sleeps most of the time.  But her endless love for adventure is vivid, and she will continue to swim, retrieve, trot, explore and bark loudly until she just can’t anymore.  One day she’ll simply turn in her keys and check out from the hotel of life.  Until then, there will be no complaints, ever, just an endless joy that another new day is waiting for her when she closes her eyes at night, snoring louder and louder as the years pile up. And Bessie will ask for help when she needs it and accept it with grace and poise.  That’s called wisdom.    

The Same Trail is Different Every Day

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”─Henry David Thoreau

During the Stay-at-Home advisory period we have established one constant during our otherwise highly unstructured days. At 4:00 each afternoon, rain, shine or snow Ashley, Bessie and I go for a four-mile hike on the same nearby trail.  Most of the time Bessie leads the way, trotting along confidently on point, her pre-coronavirus confidence and enthusiasm fully intact.  An observer would never know she is exploring a world of eternal darkness.  Her ears are flexed, her tail is wagging, her blind eyes are alert, and she marches along like an intrepid scout.  There are moments, many of them, when Bess stops to sniff in the leaves, around a rock, or at the base of a tree.

We check to see if she has discovered something─a bone perhaps, maybe a dried salamander carcass, or some casualty of nature’s checks and balances.  Rarely can we discern the source of her curiosity.  After a thorough sniffing and sometimes marking her place, Bessie moves on until the next distraction presents itself.  Every day, the same trail, yet every day she stops, pauses and investigates different places.   The freshness of her curiosity amid what to us is a highly predictable journey is fascinating.  No zombie-like commuter motoring along in a trance is she.  Her nose and ears are ever vigilant, searching for something new, or something she may have missed on a previous trek. 

Occasionally a distraction is so powerful that Bessie leaves the trail and marches confidently into the woods.  She clumsily climbs over stonewalls, wades through small streams and stumbles on fallen trees in pursuit of mysterious attractions in her invisible world. One of us follows her just in case there is a porcupine or a skunk beckoning. (We’ve dealt with these rascals before and once is enough.)  Bessie’s impulsive off-trail jaunts end as abruptly as they begin, and she returns instinctively to the trail.  Whatever question her sharpened senses provoked has been answered. Onward. The hike continues.

The potential for boredom and monotony in a shrinking, quarantined world is substantial. Ashley and I are once again learning from Bessie.  She helps us see the same things from new perspectives, in different light, at different angles.  She teaches us to look more carefully at familiar surroundings in order to really see what’s going on, to notice things we may have missed previously or hear sounds that eluded us.  Our world has infinitely more detail now, thanks to Bessie.  Her relentless example of positive spirit and enthusiasm every pitch-black day is delivered like a kick in the pants to her human pals each time a little “woe is me” slips in.      

Some People Have Real Problems

“Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain, and most do.”―Dale Carnegie

A close friend and dear colleague passed away recently. It was one of those drawn out, troublesome deaths that leave family, friends and loved ones exhausted and confused with swirling emotions. At almost the exact same time our youngest son’s dog, Tui, died on the vet’s operating table less than an hour after collapsing unexpectedly at her owner’s feet. Tui is mentioned several times in BESSIE’S STORY – Watching the Lights Go Out. She was the genius Border collie from New Zealand. Tui’s transition from life to death was sudden and without warning, whereas my friend’s death followed a script all too familiar for people with some life under their belts.

Death. It’s the common thread that weaves the fabric of our lives together―all of us. No matter where we’ve come from or where we’re going, dying is the envelope in the mailbox we all have to open someday. That’s what makes today more important than tomorrow; it’s here, in front of us, guaranteed for the moment. We can do what we want with today.

As a young boy, when complaining about something that was bothering me, my mother used to say, “Tommy, some people have real problems.” The lesson buried in that short sentence has come in handy, reminding me not to be a boring, tedious grumbler. There are enough of those kinds of people in the world, don’t you think? If you give them time they will passionately inform you what’s wrong in their lives and whose fault it is. Spare me. Sit somewhere else, would you please.

The recent passings of my friend whose life defined what a good person should be and the dog, Tui, whose life defined what a great pet should be, had the same effect. It was like putting on glasses that allowed me to read the blurry small print clearly, the small print that clarifies the contract of being alive. And onto these curled, well-worn pages of small print walks Blind Bessie, easily the most stoic, loving, hopeful, joyful dog I’ve ever known. She is a great teacher.

Bessie understands one simple thing: She is alive. Yes, alive! And she will not waste time on meaningless minutiae. I’ve had just about enough of people complaining about the weather, traffic, black flies, waiting in lines, running out of time, the internet being down…etc., etc., etc. My eyes glaze over when this all too predictable diatribe begins. For mental health purposes I’ll spend more time with Bessie, my life tutor.

It’s mosquito season in New Hampshire. These pests with a purpose will find you and suck your blood like thirsty vampires fresh out of their coffins. The good thing about mosquitos is that they keep people inside, which make the outdoors more peaceful and free of complainers.

The other day while driving I noticed a mosquito inside the car buzzing around the windshield. In an attempt to direct this flying hypodermic needle out of the opened window I lost focus for an instant and almost swerved off the road. It’s scary to think about what might have happened if I didn’t refocus. Yes, a mosquito can cause a car crash; a tiny thing can cause a big problem if you’re not careful. So… don’t let that happen. Read the fine print that carries the big message. Pay attention to LIVING!

And remember, some people have real problems.

Idle Thoughts

“Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.” ─ William Penn

Bessie now has a middle name: Shadow. She is self-isolating right beside me. Inside or outdoors, she is always there, like your shadow on a sunny day. Consequently, we are conversing more. Well, I’m conversing and she is listening, or pretending to listen. The idle thoughts randomly listed below have been shared only with Bessie, until now. The comments and questions are not intended to diminish in any way the importance of social distancing and self-quarantine behaviors in the collective effort to diminish the impact of COVID-19. These are just….idle thoughts.

• What are all those Patriot fans going to do with their #12 jerseys now that Brady is a Buccaneer?

• If social distancing and the six-foot rule become the new standards, is this the end of whispering?

• What will the impact of all these travel restrictions and self-quarantine behaviors be on Climate Change?

• I’ll bet the hardest part of the COVID-19 isolation for some people is not being able to hear themselves talk.

• For those people who do the math and say, “The hell with it, I’ll take my chances”, please don’t.

• What percentage of the World population is absolutely clueless about what’s going on?

• Would the Democratic Party delegate count be different if this virus had hit right after the NH primary, before the South Carolina primary and Super Tuesday? (Do you think Bernie has pondered this?)

• What would this be like without the Internet, cell phones, and modern technology?

• When Boomers were growing up in the 1950s, before there were vaccines, the child on the block who had measles, a serious disease, instantly became the most popular kid in the neighborhood. Parents wanted their children to acquire immunity. Times have changed.

• I miss live sports. You can only watch re-runs of your favorite teams so many times.

• If someone pets my dog at the end of her 6-foot leash while we’re on a walk, do I have to bathe the poor thing in rubbing alcohol when we get home?

• Will the divorce rate go up or down after mass isolation in close quarters? I’m guessin’ up, way up.

• Uh oh! What about all the men and women who have their hair colored by a stylist. If this goes on for couple of months there will be lots of grey showing. Nancy Pelosi and Donald Trump, in desperation, will probably remove salons from the non-essential list.

• We haven’t heard that the virus can enter the body through the ears. Maybe there is something special about earwax. Imagine rubbing the stuff on your hands?

• I wonder what the next big thing will be.

• Recently, the Center for Disease Control, the World Health Organization and CNN all reported different numbers. Imagine that?

• Shouldn’t we have just a little compassion for the 45 million people in the U.S. who’ve had or will have the flu this season with no special recognition or sympathy, not to mention the 30 - 40,000 poor souls who have died or will die.

• I can see it now, designer germ prevention masks: Louis Vuitton, Ralph Lauren, Hermes…Old Navy.

• The Major League Baseball Season would be underway by now.

• Can you imagine if friends visited for a weekend in mid-March before this picked up speed, and someone in the group tested positive? The whole crew would have had to quarantine together. We all know what house guests smell like after three days, but two weeks??? Ever catch a whiff of rotting squid?

• It occurred to me at the drugstore the other day that the stylus used to sign for a prescription must be LOADED with germs. How long before we are all carrying our own personal stylus? Any entrepreneurs listening?

• Is this the end of mistletoe as we know it?

• The threat of lung cancer and other serious potential health problems hasn’t stopped people around the world from smoking cigarettes. Maybe this virus will.

• Is this the end of germ-infested cash? Will we ever take a dollar bill out of our purses or wallets the same way again?

• When snow falls, does it bury the airborne corona virus respiratory droplets and temporarily purify the air? How ‘bout rainfall?

• How long before people start wearing goggles to prevent them from touching their eyes and giving the virus a toehold. Get busy Ray Ban and Oakley!

• What will historians claim caused the greater generation gap, corona virus or the war in Viet Nam?

• If a national sampling of U.S. voters had to choose either a. b. or c., how do you think their answers would sort out?

o A. self-isolate for as long as requested, remain healthy, lose my job, deplete my savings

o B. keep my job and regular paycheck, take my chances

o C. keep working and donate 2% of my annual income to virus research/care/victim support (That would be upwards of $1.3 billion if my math is correct.)

• You sure do learn a lot about people during times like these.

• If it was determined that a certain percentage of dogs or cats was randomly spreading a serious virus, would people suddenly put their pets down? Would you?

• What effect will all this home school/online learning have on subsequent standardized test scores? Get your bets in: up or down?

• If you had to choose one, and only one, which would it be:

a.Cell phone b.Television c.Tablet d.Laptop

• The wave of patriotism after the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001 led to increased enlistments in the Armed Forces and greater status for First Responders. Will this virus have a similar positive impact on applications to med schools, nursing programs and volunteer or full-time First Responder positions?

• I wonder if the live animal food market in Wuhan, China has reopened? Thinking there will likely be an outbreak of vegan and vegetarian dining in the region.

• F. Scott Fitzgerald said, “The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.” Bump into many people with a first-rate intelligence lately?

• Laughter is and always will be the best medicine.

• When they’ve just about had it, teachers can say, “Okay, everyone get in their chair, sit up straight, and NO TALKING or you’ll miss recess.” What is the parental, home school/online learning version of that?

• A friend recently went to the grocery store at 6:00 am sporting rubber gloves and a surgical mask. Arriving home, she stripped down in her garage, put her clothes and mask in the washer, removed her rubber gloves, took a shower, put on clean clothes and a new pair of rubber gloves, cleaned her groceries with disinfectant wipes, put them away and washed her hands. Will this become standard operating procedure?

• I’ll know I’ve reached the tipping point when I join the Bingo game.

• I can see it now when life returns to “normal”, people cleaning their faces with Lysol wipes after being kissed on the cheek by an absent minded, habit-ingrained friend at a cocktail party. Wait… do you think cocktail parties will become part of our folklore, referred to like the ancient, uncivilized customs of cave dwellers?

• At what age are parents forbidden from participating in their child’s home school /online learning program? Guess it depends on whom you ask.

• I wonder what my parents would say if they were around for this?

• My brothers and I were lovingly spanked as kids to keep us in line. My mother’s hand would be in a bandage with an ice pack by now.

• How long before some business or company uses the coronavirus fear directly in an ad campaign to sell their consumer products?

• When a quarterback misses a wide-open receiver in the end zone, teammates don’t come back to the huddle and say, “You jerk! How could you do that?” They say, “shake it off, we’ll get ‘em next time.” Remember, we are all in the same huddle here.

• Keep a to-do list and cross things off. When this is over you don’t want to be the person who says, “I wish I had a few more days to shelter in place”.

• A hypothesis: Women text MUCH more than men.

• How long before appropriate social distancing is pictured in various catalogs from companies like L.L.Bean, J.Crew, etc.?

• I’ll bet parent/teacher conferences take on a whole new dimension when this is over.

• When more normal times begin to return, what are the odds the airlines will spread out the seating a bit in coach and keep the middle seat open? A million to one, maybe?

• Will anyone ever “cut in” on the dance floor again? And does this mean we can kiss the jitterbug, the waltz and any close dancing good-bye?

• Imagine never sharing an ice cream cone again.

• Wouldn’t it be interesting if Global Warming turned out to be the corona virus’ staunchest foe?

• Bessie has been completely blind for over four years. I wonder if she remembers what we look like.

• What do you think will be the first thing most people do once their freedom to roam returns? (Invest in that industry now!)

• Sweet sixteen and never been kissed? Well…be patient my young friend.

• Interesting how some people are more invested in looking back and blaming as opposed to looking ahead and fixing/helping.

• Another annoying thing is when people have to say, “I told you so, I told you so.” That really helps, doesn’t it?

• Does anyone else wish their mother hadn’t thrown out that baseball card collection that was, “taking up too much space in the closet?” It would be fun to look through those cards again. Might help pay the oil bill, too.

• Happy are the families that saved those old, 1000-piece puzzles that fill up a card table.

• When this is over and parents are relieved of their home school/online learning responsibilities, I dare someone to argue against higher salaries for teachers.

• Why is it considered news when a celebrity tests positive for the corona virus? Are they catching a different strain, the deluxe version?

• Does anyone else wander aimlessly into their garage, yard or basement in search of a project to keep them busy?

• Have you noticed how so many people these days seem to have expert medical knowledge and vocabulary, and speak with the authority of a doctor? It would be interesting to see their high school biology and chemistry grades.

• No one looks good on a FaceTime call or Zoom, nobody……except my wife.