Along Came Dog

I had the joy this weekend of getting to go home and watch my dog (huskies don't do well in teeny apartments). It's hard to believe that Keara has lived with my family longer than my littlest brother has been alive.

13 years old and still going strong, my beautiful lil' girl had a rough early life. She had been found wandering the streets of Worcester by the dog catcher, and eventually made her way to the Worcester ASPCA.

I had been begging my parents for a dog for about a year, as most kids do, and it was agreed that I could have a dog if I paid the adoption fees and took care of her. So I did the sensible thing and asked Santa if he'd bring me a dog for free. Christmas morning came, and no dog. Instead I found a note explaining that so many dogs were abandoned and brought to shelters after Christmas, that Santa doesn't bring dogs straight to children anymore. Instead, there was a printed voucher good for one dog, signed, Santa Claus.

The next month was a flurry of me hogging our old translucent green iMac and looking up dogs on Petfinder. Many dogs were considered, but we had chickens, ducks, and my turkey at the time, and most dogs that I wanted, wanted to eat our birds. I desperately wanted a big dog, a dog to go on adventures with. My mom wanted a yorkie. My dad wanted a lab. My brothers could care less as long as they didn't have to care for it.

Eventually I stumbled upon a listing for Keara on Petfinder. She was beautiful, with a huge smile and two different color eyes. It also said she hadn't tried to eat any of the cats at the daycare, which I took as a good sign for our birds.

I got on the phone, and they said she'd been adopted that day. The kind woman took my info down incase a similar dog came along. Heartbroken, I returned to the search. The weekend passed and Monday morning, I got a phone call. Keara had been sent back. Dogs who get sent back don't stay long at the shelter, so if I wanted her, come and get her now or never.

By monday evening, I was in Worcester with the most beautiful dog I'd ever seen and an unhappy mother who wanted a "small" dog. Keara had been returned by an old woman who just "couldn't deal" with her. AKA, my dog was strong and precocious. Not the kind of dog for an old lady. Not really the dog for a young girl lacking in arm muscles either.

We got Keara home, but couldn't get her up the stairs. Our house is a raised ranch - the only way in the house is through a flight of stairs, but everytime we went to bring her upstairs, she cowered and cried. My dad spent the first month of my dog's adjustment carrying her up and down the stairs for every potty break. Which was a lot, because at a year and half old, she hadn't been housetrained before. She was also terrified of brooms and big men. We can only sadly wonder at what had happened to her before she came to us.

Now, huskies are pack animals, and we quickly became her pack. I loved her to bits, but she wanted to be top dog on the totem pole. It was clear that Dad was the alpha male, but pup and I had to go through a bit of.... wrangling for her to accept me as her person. If you've even seen the Cuba Gooding Jr movie Sled Dogs, you know what I mean. My arms were covered in bites, scratches, and cuts from our "play-fighting" to establish dominance.

As an emotional young lady, it brought me to tears that I couldn't play with my dog without getting hurt. I had the option of returning her to the pound and getting a better behaved dog. Bleeding, crying, sad - what was I going to do? Training her was just so difficult - she was willful and strong. My parents said they would support me, no matter what I chose.

Looking back, this was a decision that would change my entire outlook on life.

You just don't give up on someone you love. Relationships take work, and you have to open your heart for them to succeed, and yes, someone will hurt you for that, but you have to try.

I kept Keara. Eventually, with a lot of band-aids and patience, she was trained, and I could not find a more faithful companion if I tried. We have had adventures, misadventures, cuddle sessions and fights (she stole a lot of food from the counters in the early days. She got mad at me when I worked at the doggie daycare, and was "cheating" on her with all those other dogs).

I'm blessed to have her, I'm blessed to have made the right decision. 11 and half years on, I love her even more than I did that day at the pound, and boy, do I get the best greetings when I return home to see her!

Creativity takes Courage - Mattise

Have you ever noticed that though most people will agree that art is what makes life beautiful, what adds meaning to every day life, no one wants to pay for it?

I was wandering through the Steampunk Exhibition at the Old Stone Bank here in Providence on Saturday, and found myself in awe in front of a gorgeous illustration. On hand-aged parchment, with various kinds of ink, appeared a scene of some amazingly intricate zeppelins, flying above brick buildings. I could've stared at the details for hours, but instead I let my eyes wander down to the price tag on the piece. My heart caught in my throat. 75 dollars. I couldn't afford it.

Bitterly, I wandered back out of the exhibition into the street. 75 dollars is actually underpriced for a piece that clearly took hours of work, nevertheless materials, and had I had the money, I would've paid even more for such a piece. Alas, one starving artist cannot afford to purchase another's work - though that is how the majority of the arts community survives: reciprocation. I am paid a small amount to work on a show, an amount that barely covers my transportation costs, never mind food and shelter for that week. You come out to see my show - amazing, thank you! In return, I'll use what little money I may have left to come see your show next weekend. And the cycle goes on. I'll build you a skirt, if you paint a portrait of my dog. If you bake me dinner, I'll hem your pants.

No one goes into these fields with the mindset "If I become a theater technician, I'll make loads of money!"

We go into jobs in the arts community because we think "If I become a costume designer, I'll make art."  To an Aquarian such as myself, making art is like breathing. Without it, I would slowly die. Maybe not physically, but soulfully. Art is how I communicate, how I think, how I live. It makes me happy.

No one will pay you to be happy. They will pay you to flip burgers or walk their dogs, because they have "real" jobs. They will encourage you to marry a man with a steady income so he can support you in your endeavors. They will look at you with disdain when you assure them that you can live on a steady diet of cereal and apples, because you spent most of your stipend on a new canvas or needlepoint project. They will tell you to forget about it, if they say "Oh my gosh, I love your dress! How much would it cost for you to make me a custom dress?" and you give them a quote that is accurate and what you deserve.

Then you see the costumes you've slaved over for the past two weeks on stage. You see a canvas full of warmth and color and meaning. You hear the audience catch their breath as the cauldrons are lit. A little girl squeals in delight at the new soft toy she has received.

That sort of payment is unmeasurable.

But I wouldn't complain if someone decided to actually pay me what my skills are worth. That Bachelor of Fine Arts was expensive, yo!

Money is worth what it will help you to produce or buy, and no more.  ~ HENRY FORD

The Rhythm of Life

A few years ago, I was given a copy of Matthew Kelly's book, The Rhythm of Life.

Now, anyone who knows me at all, knows I read like a cheetah chasing an antelope - quickly! (The seventh Harry Potter book was devoured in a matter of hours. Hours!! I hear that being able to read quickly is a sign of genius - JFK supposedly won speed-reading competitions. I take this a fortuitous sign...)

This book took me two years to get through. Why?

Because it is life changing. Kelly says in the book that if you ask anyone to think back to a majorly significant time in their lives, chances are they'll remember what they're reading. I've got a feeling that this book will be something I remember when I look back over the past two years. Not only is it brilliantly written, poignant,  and full of intriguing anecdotes (the one about Billy Joel had me in tears), but it is heavy, thought-provoking prose.

"What can I do today to become the best version of myself?"
This is the mantra of the Rhythm of Life, and it's a question you'll never stop asking yourself once you finish this book. Kelly offers advice, steps, plans on finding your Rhythm, all in pursuit of this mantra. Some you may do already, some you may disregard, but all are worth considering.

In any case, that brings me to the reason for this blog. I've been saying for years that I'll start a blog (usually in response to my dad's nagging me to be a writer instead of a costumer.) I've never done it. Somehow I'm always worried that it will turn out like this:

(but would it really be that bad if NPH showed up to sing all my entries?)

The Rhythm of Life encourages us to not put off what we can do today, because how can we know if we will fail or succeed if we don't even try? Here goes nothing!