Urban Living is a Team Sport

It is a summer Sunday morning, shortly before 9:00 a.m. I am sitting out on my screened back porch, enjoying a cup of coffee, feeling the mild breeze through the trees and listening to my classical music, the gurgling of my tiny fountain and the chirping of the resident birds. My experience is truly remarkable, as I live in south Minneapolis. My house stands a little over 13 feet away from the homes of my neighbors to the north and south. But on this Sunday morning, as far as I can imagine, it is as quiet as if I were on my own 20 acres of land in the country.

My neighbor to the north spends her weekends out of town at her significant other’s place. My neighbors to the south rarely use their back yard, except to take their two Jack Russell terriers out. This morning’s airline flight patterns won’t pick up for another hour. There is a din from the highway, which is situated approximately a half mile away, but I have gotten used to it. The city bus will run by once an hour.

My neighborhood consists of mostly starter homes: two-bedroom bungalows, with some larger four-squares mixed in. I moved into my house twenty years ago this fall. Many of my neighbors down the block in each direction have lived here longer than I have. Over the years, a number of excellent restaurants and shops have moved in and established themselves. When I walk my dogs through my neighborhood, I take delight in the beautifully maintained front yards and gardens. I am less than a mile from one of the city’s most popular lakes, along with its attendant gardens. Urban living has worked out very well for me.

I am so much more cognizant of this fact as I encounter people who don’t have it nearly as perfect as I do. And they live in the very same city.

My new job has me filing nuisance property lawsuits on behalf of those people whose existence in their own homes is made miserable by the actions of one thoughtless neighbor. In my short time doing this assignment, one common characteristic of the thoughtless neighbor is revealed: chemical dependency. The troublesome homeowners have succumbed to the ravages of drug addiction and placed it as a priority in their lives above and beyond anything else. Interestingly, it is never a quiet addiction, or I would not be involved. People at the nuisance properties end up fighting with one another, most times out in the back yard. They light things on fire that give off a noxious odor. They engage in drug trafficking, which results in lots of strange vehicles coming and going from their houses at all hours of the day and night. Police raid these homes pursuant to a search warrant, sometimes on a high risk basis. It can be very ugly.

I recall the testimony of neighbors in my first trial, describing how in the summer they could not open their windows due to the noxious odors coming from the nuisance property on the block. The homeowner, an alcoholic, and his drug dealing friends would burn their plastic drug paraphernalia in the back yard so that law enforcement couldn’t identify the items in a garbage pull. Neighbors in another case described an auto repair operation, where the ear shattering repairs were being undertaken in the middle of the night, so as to avoid detection by City officials. Because, as it turns out, operating an auto repair shop out of your home is illegal in the City of Minneapolis.

About a month ago, in the process of preparing a case for trial, I met with neighbor witnesses and went to their block myself in order to be able to fully understand the conditions in which they were living. These neighbors were all hard working, friendly people, who just wanted to come home to a peaceful refuge. The prevailing theme for me after meeting with these neighbors was the pride they took in home ownership. I almost titled this post “Home is Where the Heart Is” because it rings true for me and for the majority of home owners everywhere. Home is a haven – it is where we take shelter, both from the elements, but also from the stresses of everyday life.

The woman who lived across the street from the nuisance property showed off her front yard garden and the tiny planter gardens she was working on. She spoke enthusiastically of how she would strategically watch for end of season sales on plants and scour thrift stores for garden artifacts. And then she told me about walking her dogs early in the morning and encountering one of the residents from the nuisance property yelling, screaming and stumbling around in his front yard, obviously inebriated.

The next door neighbor took me into his backyard – a beautiful sanctuary surrounded by a privacy fence. He explained that he built it the previous year when the activities of the nuisance property neighbors became unbearable and he began to fear for the safety of his young daughter. He even solicited one of the residents of the property to help and showed me how poorly, in his mind, that side of the fence turned out. He described the sounds of scrapping that he would hear late at night or very early in the morning, as well as the loud, obscenity-laden, drug-fueled domestic disputes between several of the residents.

On yet another case, I received a letter from an attorney representing another homeowner to whom our office had sent a “Notice of Nuisance” letter, stating that his client had no idea she had violated “community standards” much less that there were “community standards” in the first place. It turns out, as residents of Minneapolis, we are obliged to adhere, not only to the laws as they relate to criminal conduct, but also to a set of standards for being a good neighbor. While I may not have paid any attention to these ordinances in the past, I now have become intimately familiar with many of them, as they impact “livability.” When you are living less than fifteen feet from your next door neighbor, livability is crucial.

I also see, in many cases, varying degrees of tolerance. I know for me personally, the standard has become extremely high, based on living on a near perfect block in a wonderful, vibrant neighborhood where we all seem to share the same values. I now find myself often wondering what would happen if I were to get new and different neighbors who were simply home more and used their back yards to the fullest extent allowed by law. I have to expect that children will be loud, people will set off firecrackers now and again and dogs will bark. It is the price I pay for living in the city.

As neighbors, we all need to practice tolerance and civility. We don’t all possess the same set of life skills, but we ought to be able to coexist peacefully. I would not think it would be that difficult, but in my short time practicing this area of law, I have seen people on both sides of the equation struggle mightily to achieve that balance.

So as a practitioner of gratitude, I like to periodically take a moment to appreciate the little slice of paradise that I was fortunate enough to land in almost 20 years ago. And here's another thing: it bolsters my resolve to do my job to the best of my ability, so that others can enjoy that same peace of mind for which they have worked so hard.

Epic Failure....And Extraordinary Kindness

Today Jet and I failed a hunt test.

It is not the first test we have failed (even though we have only run two Senior level tests so far), and I know it will not be the last. But the experience was like none other I think I have ever had in my time competing with dogs. The only thing that comes close was the time I was running agility with Casey Mae early in our career and I did a spectacular front cross right into the wing of a jump. Down I crashed, with the wing tangled in my legs. CM came over to me as if to ask: “what in the world are you doing?” Once it was established that the only injury was to my ego, the judge asked me if I wanted to go on and complete the course. I was surprised. I didn’t even think that would be allowed, but I took her up on her offer and finished it out.

I have been field training with Jet since he was a puppy. His energy and enthusiasm for the game have always been boundless. He obtained his Junior Hunter title in four straight passes at the age of 18 months. The Junior Hunter test requires two single retrieves on land and two single retrieves on water. You hold the dog by the collar and let him go when the bird lands. As long as you don’t let go too early and the dog delivers to hand, you get a pass. Four such passes earns the dog the Junior Hunter title.

The next level, Senior Hunter, requires double marked retrieves on land and water. Meaning, the dog needs to sit through two birds going down before being released. In addition, dogs are required to do a land blind and a water blind. Blinds are planted birds that the dog does not see. As the handler, I need to direct him to the bird with a series of “casts” or arm movements. If he is going the wrong way, I need to get him to sit on a single whistle blast so that I can redirect him. There are other aspects to the Senior Hunter test, including a “walk up” where I walk with Jet as a bird is launched and shot. He needs to sit until released to go. Another concept in the Senior test is “honoring” where the dog is required to sit through birds being launched for the next dog.

At this stage of the game, it’s all about control.

Jet got his Junior Hunter title two and a half years ago. I had lofty goals for him back then. As we began to slog it out learning all these new concepts for the Senior level, I discovered that what we all originally thought was tremendous drive, was, in reality, some very good drive wrapped up in excessive nervous energy. Since making that discovery, I have been working hard in every venue in which we train, to manage and focus that energy.

It has not been easy.

Last summer, we suffered significant setbacks. As we made our way through the normal progression of drills and field exercises, he simply was not making the progress that is typical for most dogs going through this training. Most significantly, he lacked confidence to go out on a blind. I would line him up and say “dead bird,” which is the cue for a dog to look straight out for the bird. Instead of looking straight out, Jet would start to look everywhere for that bird. Friends and trainers labeled him the “bobble head,” as he simply could not settle down to focus straight out. I could never get to the all important “BACK” command, as his head would never stop moving for me to send him out.

So we went back and retrained on simple concepts. We did this week after week. His marking fell apart, along with his confidence for doing all of it. He sure tried hard, but he just couldn’t do the things he was going to have to be able to do in a Senior test.

With Minnesota winters, training falls off. We did not do much. However, in January, after an obedience lesson, I planted a dead duck I had brought along and sent him on a long cold blind in the snow. It was not pretty, but we got there. Then when it got warm and the snow melted from the park, I set up a couple more and he ran them with confidence.

When it came time for our annual spring training trip, I happened to spot a hunt test being held where we had trained last year. I knew it was premature, but I decided to enter. I needed to regain MY confidence to be able to handle him in public again.

We had a great training week. His marking was excellent and I actually ran some water blinds with him, something I had very little success with last summer. The catch was that I was totally dependent on the e-collar to correct him when he did not respond to my whistles or casts. That said, the transformation from a year ago was remarkable, and I headed for the test feeling at least that I would not embarrass myself.

Saturday, we completed the land series and while he did a great job on his marks, his blind was pretty bad. To my surprise, we were called back to the water series. When I saw the set up for water, I cringed. It was a tiny pond with birds falling within 30 yards and making big splashes. During training earlier in the week, Jet had been unable to remain seated while the bumpers were tossed in the water and rushed in prior to being sent. This is called a break. In the Saturday water series, he broke on the first bird, but I was able to get him back. In Senior, you are allowed one “controlled break.” After getting him back, I neglected to actually tell him to sit, the second bird was launched and he was off to the bird before I could even get any commands out of my mouth. So that was our Saturday fail. I never even got the opportunity to determine if he could do a water blind, as we leashed up for the honor. That, in and of itself was like trying to control a bucking bronco. I was humiliated, but not surprised.

Today, our land series did not go well and again, I felt we should have been dropped. I had to handle him to his second bird, and did not do it quite correctly, even though he got the bird. As he came in, one of the judges said to me, “don’t worry, you’re still in it.” They then explained to me how I had not handled correctly, but told me they wanted to see his water work. Inside, I just shuddered. But after Saturday’s experience, I had a plan for how I was going to handle his shenanigans. If he broke, I was going to call him in, leash him up, and that was going to be the end of it.

As we gathered for the briefing for the water series, I was struck by how generous these judges were with their time and their explanations of things that they observed in the land series that would often be cause for disqualification. They then told us that, for them, it is about the teamwork with the dog and the effort the handler is making to continue to work with the dog, despite what terrible things might be happening. As they were noting all the things that would likely get a team dropped, I was making mental note of how I was going to try to get Jet from one holding blind to the next without careening into the judges’ tent or the duck holder, even into the pond.

But then, as I went to get my dog, I marveled to myself at how fortunate I was to even be in this position: to have an opportunity to work with him one more time, on water, in test conditions.

As we started down the hill, Jet began barking joyfully, as he is wont to do. I hissed at him to be quiet as we continued to the first holding blind. I knew he was exhausted. We had traveled almost four hours on Friday, run the test Saturday and now were in a spot where he probably figured it was time for some good old fun in the water. As we moved into the final holding blind, I was certain his excited/nervous panting was drowning out any conversation the judges might have been trying to have. I sat him in the blind and waited for the dog before us to come out of the water and move into the honor spot.

As I removed his lead and shoved it into my pocket, I felt immediate gratitude that he did not take that opportunity to jump into the pond. We were less than ten feet from the shore. When invited by the judge, I grabbed the handler’s gun and we slowly made our way toward the water’s edge. I should explain that this was to be a walk up, meaning at some point a shot was going to fire and a bird was going to land in the water. He would need to sit while the second bird was thrown before he would be allowed to leave.

As the shot went off, I tweeted my whistle and we stopped, Jet trembling in a crouched position (his version of sit). I slowly swung around for the second bird. It was launched, it splashed, and he was in the water. I shouted “HERE” and whistled. He came back out. It was a controlled break. I then sent him, but he went for the first bird instead of the second. As he swam out confidently, I smiled at the judge and said, “well, that’s that.” She advised me to just breathe and relax while he was on his way.

When he returned with the first one, I lined him up for the second one. Unfortunately, his break had interfered with his memory, so when I sent him on his name (which we do for marks), he floundered around in the water and came back to the bank. I tried again, to no avail. At this point, the judge said, “just handle him.” So I gave him the BACK command, which we struggled with for an entire summer. And in he went. I was overjoyed. The judge also conveyed her enthusiasm and I got him to that bird with just a few casts.

At this point I figured we would be done, as we were the day before. But this judge said, “you are going to get that blind.” At this point I was stunned. Tests are not about training. And dogs are not to be rewarded for doing things incorrectly. But this judge wanted us to have our blind.

When Jet came back from that second long swim and gave up the bird, he laid down. I knew he was running out of gas. But we had to press on. Not for a pass, but for this judge, who was giving us the opportunity of a lifetime. It seemed to take forever to set him up. He was engaging in avoidance behavior. The gallery was watching. I felt like jumping in the pond and getting the bird for him. But we finally lined up and I kicked him off with the BACK command.

In he went. On a water blind. With no collar pressure. In a test.

Once he was in a ways, he started bee lining for where the previous bird had been. The next few minutes became surreal as the judge coached me through handling him off of that prior fall and over to the other bank where the blind was planted. There was more than one time I was convinced I was going to just need to call him back in. But this judge would not allow it. WE handled Jet to that blind.

It might have been at this point that I first felt the tears sliding out from under my sunglasses. I know I told her that she had been more than kind. Her response was that this is all supposed to be FUN.

As I put the lead on to go to the honor spot (which is what you do when you have failed), she told me to put the lead in my pocket. At this point I thought perhaps she had lost her mind. But she said it again, and so I had to obey. That, too, was pretty ugly. I actually grabbed at his scruff as he almost bolted on the second bird down. But the working dog was released and we were finally excused.

As I made my way back up the hill, I was overcome by so many emotions. I was ashamed of what people in the gallery might have thought of a judge actually HELPING a competitor who clearly had failed the test. I was confused as to why she might have chosen to do what she did. But in the end, I was overwhelmed by her generosity of spirit. By her kindness. By her courage and willingness to fly in the face of tradition in this particular event.

And then the tears really came. Unsolicited kindness will get me every time.

There’s the saying that life is about opportunities. I will never forget and forever be grateful for this one.

Navigating the Terrible

It all started 52 days ago. I was out for drinks with Cousin Jim and we were relaxing and reminiscing. My cell phone rang. It was my mom asking me to come over and help get my dad off the floor. This was not the first of such calls, in fact, they were beginning to become more frequent over the last year. In the past, I had urged my mom to call 911, as it seemed the more prudent approach. But, just I did not call 911 when I fainted and hit my head, she has been reluctant to make that call.

Thankfully, Jim was free and could come with me, as I do not believe my mom and I could have gotten my Dad up. He was so weak. We could not tell why. He has been prone to fainting spells of late, but this time, he remained fully conscious. He just could not lift himself up, nor could he assist us in any way. We were able to get him into the family room, where we pulled out the sofa bed and put him there for the evening. The next day, my mom could not get him to move, so off to the hospital they went.

He was admitted that evening with a urinary tract infection.

The next day, the doctor came by on his rounds and informed us that Dad could be discharged in a matter of days, but that it would be to a rehab facility, not home. While this may have come as a shock to my parents, I was not in the least bit surprised. He had been in a slow but steady decline for the last couple of years. All my attempts to get my parents to focus on more practical living arrangements had been met with resistance. They did try to sell the tri-level town home two years ago, but a series of significant calamities made the process virtually impossible. Plus, there was not a single interested buyer in the several months that the property was on the market.

The next day, when I called my mom to make plans for returning to the hospital to visit dad, she was hysterical. She had been in contact with the social worker that morning and been informed that the plan was to discharge my dad that day, directly to the rehab facility. Now I must add that my mom spent the better part of a month choosing a new insurance plan when the premiums for their old plan were due to increase. While I was only able to sit with her for an hour or so, wading through the plans and co-pays, co-insurance and deductible numbers, she made a ton of phone calls and compared plans and second and third guessed herself until she ran out of time and had to make a choice.

What she knew about her new plan and Medicare was that if my dad did not stay in the hospital for THREE days, his subsequent stay at the rehab facility would not be covered by insurance. My parents would need to pay out of pocket, as the social worker so nonchalantly informed my mother.

This was stunning. I put in a call to the social worker, but was forced to leave a voicemail. I urged my mom to pull herself together for dad’s sake and we met at the hospital. I immediately took a nurse aside and explained the dilemma. She told me that she had observed a rash on Dad’s back that might be a reaction to the antibiotics he was on and that could provide the basis for additional time in the hospital for monitoring.

My conversation with the doctor did not go as well. I explained to him that if, in fact, he was planning to discharge Dad that day, we would be taking him home, as we did not have the resources for him to go to a rehab facility without any insurance coverage. He became quite defensive and tried to explain that it was the system and not he that was the problem. He also emphasized that he could get in trouble by “fraudulently” keeping Dad an extra day. I couldn’t have cared less. Here was an 87 year old man with advanced Parkinson’s and a UTI and this doctor was going to declare him medically appropriate for discharge after less than 48 hours in the hospital. His assertion that he would have to somehow misrepresent the need for an extra day’s stay was mind boggling.

As it turned out, Dad was not discharged that day, nor the next, as there was no availability at any rehab facility. So much stress for absolutely nothing.

Dad was in the facility 47 days. There were many great things about this particular place. Lots of therapy offered, good food and lots of stimulation: bingo, prayer services, current events updates, books, TV, and my absolute favorite, an aviary, where a dozen or so beautiful little birds flitted about filling the room with their unique songs. We had a care conference where we were informed that at some point, when it was determined that Dad was no longer benefiting from the therapies, he would no longer be covered under Medicare and would thus be discharged. Plain and simple.

It was at that time that my mom gave me one of the “Evidence of Coverage” books that she had received from her chosen insurance company. As I glanced at it, my first thought was that there seemed to be no extra coverage beyond what Medicare covers. I will have to make a call to have this explained to me. It would seem that, by paying a monthly premium, my parents should be entitled to something beyond basic Medicare. Otherwise, what is the point?

And in the meantime, their townhome had to be rearranged. My mom hired movers to relocate the upstairs bedroom to the main level. The adjoining bathroom was equipped with medical equipment that is not covered by insurance. Astounding when you consider that it was listed as a required item if Dad was to be allowed to go home.

Several days before discharge, my dad underwent a video swallow study which revealed that he has significant dysphagia, or difficulty swallowing. Because food can pass into his lungs, he is at a high risk for aspirate pneumonia. So now all his liquids have to be thickened and his food needs to be moist and easily swallowed.
As far as I can tell, none of the dietary aids that he will need (possibly for the rest of his life) are covered by insurance. In a phone conversation with my mom, I first heard the term “pureed bread mix.” Neither of us had any idea what that was. Thank goodness for Google. I was able to find all the pertinent products on various websites and make some initial purchases.

My dad has qualified for several weeks of home health care coverage. We were not given much more by way of details, but both my mom and I worry that 2-3 weeks might not be enough.

While discussing our predicament at lunch with a friend, I learned about hospice care and what it really is. The word hospice always brings to mind someone with terminal cancer and three weeks to live. However, I have learned that it can start as a six month increment and be extended if the patient is still alive. The kinds of things that are included in hospice care are amazing things that every elderly patient and his family should be entitled to: 24/7 access to medical care, social workers, speech, physical and occupational therapists, clergy or other counselors and trained volunteers. These things are 100% covered through Medicare. The trick is being determined to be eligible for coverage. A doctor needs to certify that the patient has a terminal illness with less than six months to live. This period can be extended if the person is still alive after 6 months, but it is a bitter pill to swallow (no pun intended) to request that your doctor make this certification.

The day after the swallow test, my mom called me late in the evening, sobbing as she told me Dad’s weight was down to 143 lbs. His appetite had been decreasing over the last year, but he always seemed able to eat things he liked. Apparently, after the swallow test, he was given his dinner in the form he was now supposed to consume it. No surprise, he rejected it. And then told my mom about it.

The next day I spent about a half hour talking with a wonderful nurse who works with Dad’s GP. We went through the criteria for hospice care, one of which is a 15% decrease in weight. Dad seemed to be getting close. However, I surmised that he might do better once he got home. But one of the things I was hoping for was emotional and psychological support for them as they go through what might be the last chapter of my dad’s life. And who knows how long this chapter might last? That type of support is covered by insurance through hospice care, but does not seem to be covered anywhere else.

What a shame! This chapter is challenging, to say the least. My mom vacillates between feeling completely overwhelmed, to asserting that she can do it all. My family uses humor as a coping mechanism and laughter has been our go to remedy during the last 52 days. I am fortunate that I have the financial wherewithal to assist my parents by providing them with the thickening liquids and pureed bread mix that might not otherwise be within their reach. I am so proud of how we are all managing to muddle through this. But trying to figure out insurance coverage should not be something that a Parkinson’s patient and his elderly caregiver should be saddled with at this stage of the game.

And so, I will continue to advocate for getting them the best care we can find within the insurance coverage they have. Thankfully, it’s something in which I have experience. :)

A Brave New Job: Finding Comfort Outside My Comfort Zone

One by one they filed into the small meeting room in the offices of the non-profit land trust organization. It was a diverse mix of neighborhood residents, business owners, professionals and representatives from the Minneapolis Police Department and my office. We were called together to discuss concerns about two properties in the neighborhood that had become hotspots for criminal behavior. This particular neighborhood has a crime rate of 168% of the national average, according to one website.

Here is an excerpt from the minutes of that meeting:

Concerns voiced- Bullets in houses, gun shots throughout day and night consistently, people being shot at, drug dealing, vandalism of property and vehicles, including repeated broken windows, broken screens, fences damaged, fighting, intimidation and retaliation. Frustration and fear very real. Length of time has been last two years with the last 10 months showing large increases in these concerns. No police presence. Lack of police response to calls and resident needs.

But I need to further elaborate, because until this evening, I would only read about such things in police reports, the newspaper, or online media.

I listened as one resident described a group of African American males of unknown age “take over” spots on a sidewalk, areas outside a grocery store, or even the middle of the street. I listened when people described these individuals showing guns and shooting at each other. I listened as someone described an individual setting a chair down on a sidewalk and conducting drug deals. They have taken over the corner store for drug dealing and the store owner and employees refused to come to the meeting, for fear of retaliation.

The people that came to this meeting want their neighborhood back. They are homeowners who are paying a mortgage. They have jobs. One resident, a younger African American woman, described how she opened her window to yell at those out on the street to “take it somewhere else, don’t y’all know I have to be up at six in the morning???” Another resident, also African American, commended her on her bravery and responded that she would never have that kind of courage to confront these people. There were a couple of older white women who also expressed concern at the delay in response from the police.

I pressed for details on the individuals involved in these activities. Do you know them? How old are they? Apparently many of them may be juveniles. One of them told one of the residents he could not go home until he made some money. She estimated his age at around 12 years old. My investigator noted on one arrest report that the person arrested for drug possession lives right up the street.

So why aren’t the cops out there talking to these hoodlums? In Minneapolis, it is against the law to walk in the street when a sidewalk is available. It has never been clear to me why people walk in the street, but after hearing some of the people at this meeting, it seems to be something that is done as an expression of power or intimidation.

And here is where the seeds of controversy are sown.

I recall a time last year, when I sat in my ivory tower of criminal prosecution and declined to charge a case because it was based on officers stopping a couple of African American males for walking in the middle of the street at 2:00 a.m. Once the officers stopped and identified the males, they discovered that one was an unregistered predatory offender. I was greatly offended at this highly pretextual stop and opined to the submitting investigator that this would have never have happened to me walking in the street in my neighborhood.

And, in doing so, I spectacularly missed the point.

Is it really wrong for police officers to approach these individuals to ask for ID? Is it wrong only if they are a minority? What about if it is 2:00 in the morning? What if it is in a “bad” neighborhood? What if it is in a “good” neighborhood?

I had to wonder if the lack of response in this particular neighborhood was intentional on the part of the police department. They have recently been put over a barrel. If they respond to a domestic assault and someone interfering with the process gets killed, the immediate presentation of the incident is that this person was executed while handcuffed. Now days, police officers are accused of racism and overreaching for doing exactly what law abiding citizens in many of these tough neighborhoods are asking them to do. Nothing has made this more clear to me than that meeting last week. The prevailing message that gets the biggest headlines is that the police are intentionally harassing and looking to shoot minority individuals. So far this year, 10 law enforcement officers have been killed in the line of duty; 8 by gunshot. That is a headline that is buried deep beneath all the calls for justice for those individuals who have been killed by police officers. Is one plea more important than the other?

A variety of suggestions for how to tackle this issue were presented. The vast majority of them involved police action. I struggle with predicting how this story will end. In the six weeks I have been in my new position, I have attended a significant number of meetings involving police representatives, from beat cops, to Inspectors in charge of entire precincts. I can state, unequivocally, the motto “to protect with courage, to serve with compassion” is alive and well. I can only hope it survives the relentless onslaught of negative perception that is gathering momentum with each passing day.

In the meantime, I find my perspective expanding….maybe even shifting. It’s one thing to view an issue in the abstract. It is another to live it.

30 Days of Gratitude: Encouragement and Inspiration

As my 30 Days of Gratitude project comes to an end, I have to acknowledge the person who suggested I do it in the first place.

I met Jess in the summer of 2011 when CM and I were in an open level obedience class at Tails Up. She was in that class with Mac, her Flat Coated Retriever. I have liked FCRs for a long time. Many who know me well, know I am a “one dog one breed” person; meaning, I have a list of breeds I hope to have share my life, as long as I am capable of dog management.

I have to laugh when I think back to our first few conversations. Jess is reserved and I…..well, I am not. I am sure I just gushed over Mac. Mac is a beautiful and exuberant boy! I marveled at how enthusiastically he did the open exercises and how cheerfully he accepted correction, tail wagging the entire time. CM, on the other hand, as is true of many Tollers, was much more serious, even sullen at times. She challenged me, as a first time trainer in advanced obedience. But having Jess and Mac in class helped us get through the rough patches.

Jess and I got to know each other better over the fall. She sent me the link to her blog where I discovered what an absolutely brilliant writer she is. I recall being moved to tears by some of the raw emotion she wrote about when describing her response to the loss of her heart dog, Jay. We discovered that we share a love of nature and the outdoors. She impressed me with her photography as well as mixology skills. In November, she shared that Mac’s sister Bea had been bred and was due with a litter in January, 2012. She planned to take a puppy from that litter. I started thinking that maybe I was ready for my next puppy. Unfortunately, all the pups in that litter were spoken for, with a waiting list 3-4 deep. I then set about researching breeders and planning my next move.

In February, Jess went to see the litter to pick out her puppy. I so remember that weekend! Jess messaged me through Facebook and said “There is a really nice boy in this litter who should go to a show/performance home instead of the pet home he's slated for....Just throwing that out there. :)” I was shocked. Excited. Nervous. I wasn’t sure how that all would work. Jess convinced the breeder that I was the right match for this puppy. The first Saturday in March, I flew to Chicago to meet him. The rest is history.

Jess has been a wonderful support for me as I move through this journey as a novice owner of a FCR boy. Fortunately, my golden retriever Molly prepared me somewhat for the high energy that Jet has brought to our household, but Jess is always ready with answer to a specific FCR question. Jet absolutely adores her. We have field trained together and have been back in obedience class together with the brothers. I shared her grief in the passing of Bea last year and we have supported each other through other health issues with our dogs. Over the last couple years, Jess has evolved from just a dog friend. She is now one of the first people I contact when something significant….or amusing….is happening in my life. When she ran the marathon for the first time this year, I brought the dogs to cheer her on. I am so proud of her for accomplishing this formidable goal. She is the source of those most beautiful photographs of me and my pack that I will cherish forever.

I have written previously about people in my life who have influenced its trajectory and Jess is another one of those people. I marvel at the fact that I have such a strong connection with someone who is 13 years my junior. After all, our paths simply would not have crossed 20 years ago. But Jess has an old soul. Her writing reveals that. Last year, she encouraged me to take up writing again and helped me set up a blog. I had enjoyed writing as a school aged person, but, like playing the piano, it had been put on a shelf to make room for other things. Although I was a little intimidated to start, I have really enjoyed the process of putting my own thoughts together and the art of choosing the perfect word.

When Jess suggested I do the 30 Days of Gratitude project, she encouraged me to share it on Facebook. I must admit, it made me a little nervous to share some of my more personal feelings and ideas. But the experience has been wonderful. I realized, about halfway through the month, that many people have responded positively to my posts, for a wide variety of reasons. Writing is a powerful way of connecting with others.

Today I thank Jess for sharing her dogs, her writings, her humor, her cocktails, her photography skills and most importantly, her soul with me. I thank her for encouraging me to do this project and share it with you. I am a better person for having her in my life.

30 Days of Gratitude: Facebook

So…it is pretty clear that I have an active relationship with the Facebook! :)

I first joined FB six years ago. I was a relative latecomer to this particular social experience. I recall being so excited those first few months as I reconnected with people from all segments of my life. As a middle-ager, I had lots of prior life segments. One thing that has always been important to me is that my FB friend list closely mirrors my actual life social circle. Meaning, I have to have had some sort of relationship with you outside of FB in order for us to be FB friends. I have always been a bit amused at getting friend requests from people I may have encountered exactly one time. Or those that I may see fairly regularly but to whom I have never actually spoken. Or, there’s the time a fellow member of a Hosta FB group tried to friend me after I posted a picture of my hosta garden. Apparently a mutual admiration of hostas was enough in this person’s mind for us to be FB friends.

In an OCD moment, I printed out a list of my FB friends. I then subdivided them in a fancy pie chart….see if you can put yourself in the proper slice of Debbie Russell’s life. The numbers are only approximate: 12 family members, 19 friends from childhood through high school, 24 from college, 13 from law school, 73 from work (including friends I met through friends from work) and 6 that I only know through FB. The remaining slice? DOG FRIENDS!!! I suppose if I did not have to go to work, I could have continued to subdivide the dog slice into smaller slices of agility, flyball, obedience, field training, Toller and FCR. I have one very good friend who started out as a neighbor, but now can go in the dog slice. :) It sure is amazing to think that dog ownership can expand one’s social circle by so much.

What has been interesting to me is to see how people approach FB differently in terms of what they post. For many, it is an opportunity to promote political views. I try to tolerate most of those posts, but I have found that the “unfollow” button can be a useful ally when the entire content of a person’s posts are political memes. I am not a fan of divisive memes. I also employ the “hide post” button on occasion, like when someone posts the meme of our president photo shopped to look like a terrorist. For me, those buttons help ME to make MY feed about what I want to see. I can like you as a person, but just not like the things you post. On the other hand, I adore hilarious memes. Can’t get enough of them!

It also seems that people either respond to the Facebook with love or hate. A good friend quit FB earlier this year and has no intention of coming back. People reacted rather extremely to this, even going so far as to suggest she had become ill. That would be hilarious if it weren’t so stupid. In trying to figure out what went wrong for her, I think that perhaps her more relaxed approach to friend requests may have led to this feeling of suffocation.

I have tried to assess where I fit on the FB Spectrum. I know that I am careful with what I post. I have to be, considering my job. But I also have no desire to launch grenades. We have enough of that in the real world. I subscribe to pages that make me happy. I join groups where I think I might learn a thing or two. One friend told me straight out to my face that I posted SO MUCH. I responded by customizing my posts so he doesn’t have to see them. I admit I spend A LOT of time on FB. As far as I’m concerned, FB is perfect for the outgoing introvert.

I think the bottom line is that FB is what you make it. If it is a relentless cause of frustration, maybe you are better off giving it up. Another option is to modify your newsfeed so that it brings you cheer, not exasperation. Finally, if you look at your friend list, do you know everyone on it? Can you identify when, where and how each person came into your life? I can, and for that, I am grateful for FB. It allows me to maintain contact with people who may not be near to me geographically, but will always be near to my heart. :)

30 Days of Gratitude: Reconciliation

Thanksgiving Day, Brett Favre came back to Lambeau Field to have his number retired. When he was playing for the rival Vikings in 2009-2010, I absolutely despised him. What a difference five years made for me and countless other Packer fans. Our attitudes had changed and we welcomed him back with open arms. This past summer, he came to Green Bay and spoke in an honest and unscripted way that did so much to patch up the bad feelings that developed when he left the Packers and ended up playing for a division rival.

Reconciliation often is not easy. Depending on the circumstances, deep wounds can exist that are difficult to heal. And both parties need to be at the table in order for there to be success.

I don’t know if it was merely coincidence, but I experienced a couple of major reconciliations during my month of gratitude. They came about in totally different ways. Both individuals have been significant and dear parts of my life for a very long time. With one person, I had committed the transgression. As far as I can measure, it was a little over a year ago. In the interim, I had tried desperately to mend fences. What was most difficult for me is the fact that I crave clarity. As much as I kept pleading for that clarity, it didn’t come. But what finally happened was that I was able to sense a subtle thaw. Again, I don’t do very well with subtle. But because I have started to be more mindful of how I am contributing to any situation, I gave up my relentless efforts of trying to chip away at the block. Instead, I opened my heart to letting it all go and respecting the way that this reconciliation was going to materialize. And in this month of gratitude, the thaw became complete. Best of all, I no longer doubt its authenticity.

The second reconciliation was much clearer, but took a lot longer to achieve. Four years ago I abandoned one of the closest friendships I had at the time. I simply had enough. I felt betrayed and hurt and in response, I lashed out and cut this person out of my life. We continued to interact, as we shared a common activity, but it was all superficial. As much as I missed this person’s presence in my life, I felt no need to try to patch things up. And the less interaction we had, the easier it was for me to just forget about all the good times. Except there were those picture books commemorating fun times. And those times when I wanted to share something that I knew only this person would understand.

Last month we had a nice conversation and I felt my heart actually soften. And then, in my month of gratitude, I felt this strong push to extend an olive branch. In doing so, I acknowledged the part I played in the demise of the friendship. I acknowledged how much I had missed this person. And I acknowledged how important this person had been to me. It was an amazing moment in its pureness and honesty.

What I have learned about reconciliation, is that there is no correct way to go about it. But if it is from the heart, there is simply no way it can be anything but just right.