Redirect, Please!

Hello - and welcome to the final post of Mockingbird's Nest.

I sincerely hope you've enjoyed these posts of mine. I know I've enjoyed writing them and reading your comments, both here and on Facebook, where I linked the posts.

The Nest has been around for ten years, which is an eternity in Internet years. I've decided to move to a different platform that would give me more flexibility and I'm not going to re-attach all these posts, choosing instead to keep this content here and start anew.

The Nest won't go away for a while, but nothing new will be added. If you've enjoyed this site, please navigate over to my new site, which takes the best of what I've learned here (both about blogging and about the content!) and follow me there.

Thanks! And I hope you enjoy Splendor InTheSticks!

With love and gratitude,

Mockingbird

Spooky 2003 - 2017

Super Spooky!

In October of 2003, I was walking my dog, a lovely black and tan almost-Gordon setter named "Fearghus," in the scrubby woods across from my little apartment in Boiling Springs when a skinny, unkempt white shepherd-looking thing stepped out of the trees and into my heart. She had a leather strap around her neck as a collar, but no tags. She was friendly, but dreadfully thin - she hadn't just jumped the fence for an adventure that afternoon. Not sure what to do, but being unwilling to leave her to her own devices with a busy road nearby, I rigged up the leash to walk the dogs in tandem and took them both back home.

After a visit to the vet to determine if the white dog was healthy (she was), I learned that she was about 9 months old, that her ancestry was Labrador, shepherd, "and a few romantic evenings a couple of generations back," and that she hadn't been fixed. A generous friend helped with the cost of the spaying and general shots, and I had myself a second dog. (No, I didn't put up signs. She was thin to the point of being bony and I didn't see signs for a missing dog that fit her description. Whoever had owned her hadn't taken good care of her and she wasn't going back to that.) I tried out a number of names that seemed to fit the white-dog-in-October-in-the-woods situation - I remember trying both "Ghost" and "Casper" - but "Spooky" was the one that stuck.

FryDaddy and the Spookster

Fearghus, who always was a runner, eventually was re-homed. (Seriously, that dog needed a hundred thousand acres in Montana.) Then, at least for a few years, it was just the two of us and we had ourselves a number of adventures. For instance, Spooky technically had a police (dog) record for hi-jinks that I'm still pretty sure Fearghus started which involved getting out of the pen at that little apartment and ended up with a wounded pet duck. With Spooky by my side, I bought my first "by myself" house. I presented at my first conference. I wrote my first book. And throughout it all, I stayed sober. In the tradition of sobriety that I follow, there's a focus on surrendering your will and your self to a "Higher Power." Many, but not all, call this Power by the name of "God." I won't go quite so far as to say that Spooky was my Higher Power, but it's worth noting that "god" spelled backward is "dog" and there were at least a few nights when knowing that Spooky had never seen me take a drink was a powerful incentive to last another 24 hours. Hey - what works, works.

Spooky in the Snow!

In her youth, Spooky loved running after balls, although she remained fuzzy on the concept of "fetching" them back to the thrower. Friends entered our lives and a few left. Spooky and I took long rambles, with her often wearing a jaunty backpack to carry her water dish. FryDaddy came onto the scene and quickly figured out that he needed to win over Spooky to have a shot with me, so early on, he brought her treats from a fancy dog bakery in Charleston. Cupboard love eventually gave way to honest affection.  FryDaddy and I married (Spooky kept my name, forever remaining "Spooky Koontz") and we added a kitten to the household. Spooky continued to shy away from anything that looked like a snake when we were out walking, be that a cable, wire, or thin tree branch. FryDaddy went away to Tennessee for graduate school. We continued to present our work at conferences. Spooky popped up in examples in various communication classes I taught. A second book was written, this time by both FryDaddy and me. Spooky never liked dressing up for the holidays, but would put up with it to a point. We added a second cat, this one a street stray with a goofy walk. We had an actual snowstorm, and Spooky got to play in the snow-covered street.  Our first cat passed away. My walks with Spooky grew shorter. A shadow on a routine mammogram led to a year of worry, treatment, and joy. A calico cat adopted us. A third book was written. A garden was planted.

A very patient dog!
(Or "Stranger Things" Spooky!)

This past summer, Spooky began to dramatically slow down. She lost too much weight. She didn't hear very well. We changed her diet to softer food designed for older dogs. She began having trouble getting up after a good night's sleep. Her gums lost their rosy pinkness and became anemic-looking. Then, a few days ago, she stopped eating, even refusing cheese. She barely touched her water dish. She was telling us that it was time. The compassionate vet - the same one Spooky first saw nearly 15 years ago - confirmed the news. There were tests we could order and bloodwork that could be done, but that would really only narrow down which organs were failing. I had to lift her into the car to drive her home.

So together, FryDaddy and I decided what was best for Spooky's comfort and we spent most of yesterday telling Spooky stories and just enjoying our gentle girl. I took her to town for a slow walk on the courthouse grass and I wore a backpack to carry her water dish, hoping I could convince her to drink at least a little bit. She spent most of the evening just lying on her side on the soft carpet of the hallway. People were unfailingly kind and a young girl and her wise mother who have known Spooky for the girl's entire life (they had been our next-door neighbors and now only live two streets away) come over to say good-bye to her. The girl petted Spooky and then read Dog Heaven to her. She helpfully pointed out the illustrations of fluffy cloud beds and an endless supply of ham-sandwich-biscuits to Spooky while I tried to hold it together.

I want to think we gave her a good life. I need to think that, because I can't repay this dog for what she's given me. And even though I know that allowing her to rest is the right thing to do - it's one of the most difficult moral decisions I've made in my life.

Thank you, Spooky. Now go run with the rabbits. And yes, you can chase the ducks as much as you want to.

You're a good girl.

Always.

The songsters were right - Love was kinda crazy
with a Spooky little girl like you.

No Such Thing as Too Much

Here it is, the beginning of October. The weather here in North Carolina has broken from the heat wave we've been having and today has been just lovely - crisp enough to justify that "basic white girl" pumpkin spice coffee this morning, and late Sunday afternoon I actually built a fire in the fire pit while I shoved yard furniture around and fussed over the placement of a few pots of chrysanthemums. Started my seasonal purge of summer clothes, too.

All that has been to help clear my head. Ever since the "Tiara Challenge" finished a few weeks ago, I've been thinking how to move forward on the principles I've been trying to put into action. I'm surprised by how difficult I've found that to do, so let me explain a little.

I went back and re-read my posts for 2017 - it's interesting. In a yoga class early this year, we were asked to choose a word to meditate on; something that we wanted to experience in our life. I chose "delight" and I think this entire year has been about finding personal delight in my everyday life.

I'm finally understanding the value of play, both as a learning tool and as a goal unto itself. Resting, recharging, and valuing my own experiences has an inherent worth that my Puritan ancestors would frown upon. Then again, they routinely died of malnutrition and childhood diseases, so what did they know?

On my next birthday, I reach the half-century mark. I am a bit bewildered by that - most days I feel like I'm in my late twenties, although I know I wasn't as self-aware at that time of my life. It's a big birthday and I expect to do something large for it, although I haven't quite figured out what that is going to be. (Bob Ross painting party, maybe? Human "Hungry, Hungry Hippo"?) Stay tuned!

I've also become more and more convinced that the results of my ongoing self-care efforts have helped me become far more comfortable in my skin. It seems to me that society usually wants women to hush up and take up as little space as possible, especially as we move beyond the peak of our traditional "hotness." Some of that is physical - the current American beauty ideal tends to be thin to the point of being unhealthy. (I long for the days of Lillian Russell!) But we also like our women to be sweet, demure, tasteful, and above all - quiet. Basically, we're often given the message that it's really best for us to be ornamental.

I'm not. Don't get me wrong, I can rock a strand of pearls and a twinset. But I also can work leopard print and a protest sign.

I'm often too much. Too loud, too boisterous, too indignant, too demanding.

The kicker is that, after yearsandyears of fighting that, I like me. And I'm beginning to think that there's no such thing as "too much." Passion, zest, exuberance, sparkle - all of these things are in woefully short supply in a world that often is characterized by rat-racing and workaday cares. We dismiss these other qualities as impractical, childish, and frivolous.

I suspect that's rooted in fear. (I know fear, so I can recognize the landscape.) I mean, what if everyone just went around busting out of proscribed, narrow roles? Chaos, I tell you. Chaos.

Or maybe that's what joy looks like. And I choose joy.

I intend to continue in my current vein and I fervently hope you'll join me. I expect to spend the months leading up to my 50th birthday in preparation for my "year of living outrageously." I want to trade practical flannel for bias-cut satin. I want to wear sharp cat-eye eyeliner and bloodred lipstick. I want to casually explain that I can't make that last-minute meeting because I have a date with my husband to try the tasting menu at the McNinch House. Not for our anniversary; just for a Tuesday. In short, I want to take up room.

I've already started a couple of lists:

EXTRAORDINARY THINGS I'VE DONE IN MY LIFE

(to remind myself that I can do outrageous things):

• I've galloped at breakneck speed on horseback through thick woods
• I've traveled, gotten lost, and managed to get found
• I've hand-fed exotic animals (like a hippo and a giraffe)
• I've stuck my neck out for a cause I believe in
• I've seen Halley's Comet (then rode home belting out the Beatles' "Here Comes the Sun" - thanks, Jill!)
• I've written a novel (two, actually. They're awful, but I've written them)
• I've made a yummy cake totally from scratch
• I've done a pinup photo shoot
• I've seen the Milky Way
• I've ridden an elephant
• I've been a tourist in a Communist country
• I've fallen in love
• I've admitted that my life was out of control and that I needed help
• I've seen things that make me believe in Divine guidance
• I've dyed my hair outrageous colors
• I've published a book (three, actually)
• I've jumped out of a perfectly good airplane from 12,000 feet up
• I've earned by SCUBA certification and dealt with a broken regulator hose. You can scream all the way up as you ascend!

INCREDIBLE THINGS I WANT TO DO

(plans for the next year or so):

• I want to ride in a hot-air balloon
• I want to wear an incredible diamond necklace on date night with my husband
• I want to go skeet shooting
• I want to test drive an exotic car
• I want to gamble at a casino (James Bond style, not video poker style)
• I want to wear a tiara and throw candy to a crowd
• I want to go to a rodeo
• I want to learn to juggle
• I want to take a trapeze or aerial class
• I want to attend a Seder

In short, I want to experience frequent joie de vivre, or to put it in American terms, I want to rock life. I've gotten at least two extra chances and I have no intention of living quietly and leaving this earth without making a mark upon it.

What are YOUR suggestions?

This amazing lady has also been quoted as saying,

"Never be afraid to stop traffic." 

I want to be her when I grow up!