Not a laughing matter

Until recently, Brian and I lived in the red light district of Warsaw. A few years after we moved in to our house an establishment opened up a few blocks down the street named, "Dating Dynamics and Exotic Massage." If that doesn't scream HOUSE OF ILL REPUTE, I simply do not know what does. We heard reports of them being busted for soliciting you-know-what, and on several occasions I saw women walking in who, I assume, worked there. I don't think one technically needs thigh-high stiletto boots to enhance a deep tissue massage. Still, I relished the fact that we lived in the red light district. I fancied it our own private Amsterdam.

Sadly, they were busted one too many times. Restrictions were placed on them allowing them to be open only between the hours of 9 a.m. and 9 p.m. Frankly, I don't think much of their business took place during daylight hours. They could not weather the storm. They went out of business, placing a sign on the door asking for help in fighting the powers that be who had obviously, and unfairly, set them up for failure. I was already sentimental, missing the days of secretive and illicit goings-on down the street from my quiet home.

But then, something much better moved in. A JAPANESE MARTIAL ARTS DOJO! Now we have lots of little Taekwondo and Karate studios around town. But a Japanese martial arts dojo! They are sacred and cared for spaces. And it looks so awesome! So as we've been driving by I've been planning which combat skill I'd like to develop. And I've settled on bojutsu, stick combat.

So, I keep on talking to Brian about how I'm going to join the dojo. His response? "I will laugh at you every single day if you join that dojo. You know that don't you?"

Yes, Brian, you will laugh at me every day...UNTIL I LEARN TO KICK YOUR KEISTER!!!!

Then one day, my friend, you shall walk into the house. I will be waiting and will step wordlessly and silently from the shadows of the dining room. My stealth will leave you speechless...with fear. I will be dressed in black (complete with a black band tied around my head), all ninja and crap. And I will be carrying my very large stick. Then, the laughter shall be over for you, sweet Brian. You shall laugh no more.

Sick Husband

So Brian was home sick yesterday (a Monday). We had a church picnic on Sunday and he possibly ate some gamy potato salad or a deviled egg gone wrong. Who knows. He felt all urpy and miserable.

So I tried to convince him that he needed to poo or vomit - or both - in order to rid himself of the taint, whatever it may be. Finally on Monday, while I was at a funeral, he made himself throw up. He did not feel better. And he had thrown up, which is not really anybody's favorite thing to do. He was very derisive of my advice.

I was getting kind of worried. I went tubing with some friends. (It was a beautiful day...don't judge me.)

THEN, I made a spinach salad for dinner. A really good one with hard boiled eggs, bacon, cheese, tomatoes, and onions. Yum! Brian was hungry, a good sign, so he topped his with honey mustard and ate the salad up.

He immediately threw up.

But then he felt so much better. The sparkle was back in his eyes. He went to work today and is fine.

I cleansed him of his sickness with my spinach salad.

I'm so proud.

Dog Update

Well, I'm happy to report that the tin can of quarters has worked marvels. Reggie finally has learned the walking game pretty well.

He no longer insists on stopping to smell every sign, or flower, or random clump of grass. (He still stops plenty but he knows I'm not going to let him mark the entire trail.)

He no longer poops twice a walk, forcing me to carry around small steaming black bags of grossness.

He knows when I pull the leash in to get on my right side.

He does not bark or lunge at passersby, walkers or bicyclists. Mostly...he's still not fond of the sneak attack (aka bicyclists who come from behind us).

BUT, he is still one big wimp of a dog. I like to walk two miles in just less than a half hour. He way kills my time, what with his panting and falling behind, and looking pathetic, and stopping to catch his breath. I had to stop several times to let him catch up. Then I'd pet him and tell him what a good dog he is (gotta keep the morale up). I don't know what I'm doing wrong here. I have seen him chase a frisbee non-stop for an hour. I have seen him chase a four-wheeler at full speed with great tenacity. But go for one pleasant two mile walk and all of a sudden your a frail little old man dog? Will we ever reach the walking utopia that I dream of?

Creating Memories

What happens when you take two gals from the Midwest, stick them on a train headed to Chicago, and drop them off there for 24 hours? Crazy adventures ensue and fun memories are created.

My friend Heather and I spent about 24 hours together last weekend. We hopped on the South Shore train from South Bend and spent an evening and day in Chi-Town. It started with a great train ride. I can say no more because it will incriminate myself. But we had fun...and people stared at us. A great 2 1/2 hours to catch up and ponder life's greatest questions. (i.e. "Have you noticed how sexist some of the commentators of the Olympics are?")

Dropped off in Chicago we hightailed it for our hotel. A few wrong turns later we made it. Heather embarrassed us in front of the desk staff...but because of that we got a sweet room at the Inn of Chicago. The location and room were superb!

We headed to a play at the Goodman Theatre, had an excellent supper next door, and then hit the city looking for Blue Chicago. Blues has got to be one of my all time favorite types of music to see live. But in order to see great blues bands, one normally has to go to a blues bar. This leads to lots of interesting encounters. The band was so great! The crowd was hilarious. Let's just say the men in the bar were WAY more interested in being band groupies than hittin' on the ladies. (When the lead singer, a man, sang the line "I need you to love me," the men yelled out "WE LOVE YOU!!!") Refreshing. And the 45 year old white women were totally enamored with the lead guitarist and singer of the band. They were shamelessly throwing themselves at him. All this and we heard such great blues that evening! What fun.

The next morning, we got up bright and early and headed to West Egg Cafe where good eggs were had by all. (Complete with avocados!) We did an architectural boat tour down the Chicago River. We took a water taxi that had a very intense captain. We shopped at Lush, spent way too much money on organic hair products, and met Nate - who told us that we are his favorite customers because of living in Warsaw, IN (because that's where "American Teen" was shot). Heather ate her dream donut from Dunkin' Donuts, we grabbed a sandwich from an extremely inefficient Subway, and then it was back on the train and home. (I'm not going to lie, we were EXTREMELY exhausted when we arrived home.)

One of the important things about weekends like this are the memories created. I have come to realize that it is impossible for me to stay close to people when we cease creating memories together. There is only so long that you can remain friends with someone when the only things you have to talk about are the "good old days." Now, I'm not saying you have to travel with someone to create memories. Memories can be created at run-of-the-mill gatherings where someone dumps a plate of food on you, or an arm gets broken playing dodge ball. (I'm sure there are also "nice" ways of creating memories.) But memories are a powerful glue that holds us together and gives a community identity. History, after all, is just a collection of memories. (I'd like to think that all the memories I'm gathering are writing the textbook of The History of Lisa Lynne Schmucker Showalter.) Families need to share their memories and to create new ones for this reason.

But, I'm convinced that friendships need this even more. Family ties remain regardless of participation (although there are exceptions and ties can be damaged) but friendships have to be attended to. After high school and college I realized that it isn't really all that easy to forge new friendships, at least not for me. If you don't work with people your age, how does one make new friends? For me, it doesn't just happen. It's intentional and it takes effort. I'm now really cherishing my friendships that have stood the test of time. And it is because I value friendship, (I really think one has to have these apart from familial relationships) that I like to create memories with friends. And I like to talk about those memories. And I like to look at those memories, which is why I take SO MANY pictures. This is one reason that my annual vacations with my friend Heather, and our sometimes companions Andrea and Janice, are so treasured by me. I am so thankful that I get to have that experience each year. In a few weeks we are all heading to Santa Fe, NM. It will be the 10th vacation for Heather and me. I can't wait to create some new memories, to form tighter bonds, to deepen good friendships...to write the next chapter in my history book.

Free Lovin' Hippies

We went to Mad Anthony's on Friday night, which is a local restaurant within walking distance of our house that we just love. Every Friday evening is open mic. night and since we were there eating a bit late, we decided to sit for a spell. The performers are mostly guys with acoustic guitars ranging from old country singers to young, tortured, artists. It's always interesting. But last Friday was special.

We watched an older guy go up to the host of open mic. night, Josh, and introduce himself. "A new guy," I thought to myself. I quickly sized him up. He was in his 50's, wearing jeans, a plain green T-shirt, a pair of hiking-type tennis shoes, and he was completely bald. He had sort of a soft, gentle demeanor. Now he could have gone several ways with his music - BUT - I said to Brian, "Look at that guy. He's a hippie." I could just sniff it out.

For those of you that don't know, I am hippie obsessed. Very few things tickle me more than seeing a hippie, speaking with a hippie, watching a hippie exhibit hippy behavior, etc... And I like running into former hippies, you've probably all known a few of these in your life, cleaned up but still clinging to their earthy ideals. I really think I was born in the wrong era. I long for the simple life of a hippie. Someday I'll find a little plot of land on this earth...and I will live off of it, and love. Someday.

So, the small man sits down with his guitar. I wait with great expectation to hear the first strains of music. Will my instinct be on the money? For his first song he plays a haunting rendition of Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd. Hmmm, definitely not country but does not yet confirm his hippie-hood. Then it happens. He announces his second song. In his soothing voice he says, "This is a song I wrote. I call it My Treehugger Song." !!!!! Brian knew at that moment never to question my intuition again. And, oh, the song was all the hippie glory that one might expect. The chorus talked about us keeping the earth for our grandchildren's, grandchildren's, grandchildren. It talked about how we were poisoning the water and might end up living in bubbles. It was written in a minor key and was complete with Native American chanting. (Heeeey, ha, ha, ha.) It was a glorious moment for me.

He then sang a rendition of Fire and Rain by James Taylor that made me misty eyed.

Small hippie man, thank you. Thank you so much.

NOT a walk in the park...

Some of you may know about the relationship I have with my dog Reggie. In short, I believe he is perfect; handsome, funny, sensitive - basically if he were a human man I would probably leave Brian for him. But, we have had a large rift in our relationship this summer caused by his misbehavior on walks.

Here's the deal. I decided this summer that I need to take him on walks. According to the dog whisperer, walks are imperative to keeping a healthy and happy dog. And, I really wanted to get walking for myself too, to get healthier (and happier), and I thought having a little companion would bring lots of good fun. I was wrong.

First of all, he can be a total wimp on walks. Oh he starts out all guts and glory on the walks, pulling on the leash so hard he's wheezing and carrying on from the lack of oxygen he's receiving. But at about mile one, there is a marked change in attitude. He falls behind, he's panting, sometimes he just lays down. Unbelievable! I have to constantly give him pep talks and tell him that he can make it...then he speeds up a little to catch up with me only to fall behind again. The first two times we walked I thought I was going to have to pick up his 55 pound body and walk it back to the car. He was that pathetic. Now I know that he has short legs and I am aware also that his muscles need to be conditioned just like ours do. But I kind of think we have a pansy of a dog. But this isn't my biggest problem.

No, my biggest problem on walks is much worse. After a few walks Reggie decided he is king of the trail. We have a very nice trail to walk or bike on here in Warsaw (we actually have several) that opened up last year. And the great thing is that lots of people use it. And the bad thing (for us) is that lots of people use it, and Reggie has decided that he is the great defender of the path. It is SO EMBARRASSING. Now, this is the dog that loves all people, that would lick a person to death. But on that path, he hates everyone almost equally. He barks or growls at people walking by. And the biggest threat to Reggie are the bicyclists. Oh how those anger and upset him. Lovely people, out enjoying the fresh air, aggressively lunged at and attacked by a dog with short legs. Oh the shame he brings down on our household. And me, all the while, begging him, "be good, Reggie, be good" or "No Reggie, NO!" (said in an authoritative whisper). Little children pull over on their bikes when they see him coming, small children in strollers scream, adults on bikes apologize to me for angering my dog. So embarrassing! I WANT TO BE THE PACK LEADER DANG IT!!! So our walks would end with me frustrated and angry, yelling at him that he was never going on a walk with me again. (But then he would look at me so excitedly the next time I put my walking shoes on and I couldn't bear the heartache of not taking him.) So I wasn't walking very regularly because the whole thing had become a big disaster.

But there is hope in this tale. I happened to find an offhand comment by someone on a blog I was reading last week that suggested that for poor dog behavior one should carry a tin filled with quarters. Shake it in their face when they display the bad behavior and it should make them discontinue. I decided it was worth a shot. (And for all the animal rights activists who do not approve of this method, it is better than me kicking him square in the jaw which I was seriously tempted to do on many occasions.) So, I filled my little tin with spare change and before our walk that evening, I gave it a test shake. Reggie winced and ran behind Brian's legs for protection. I took that as a good sign. Off we went on our walk. Yes, I looked like a crazy lady, walking my dog and shaking a noisy tin in his face while yelling at him. Half way through the walk he seemed to be reconsidering lunging at innocent passers by. The tin was working. But to be sure, I took him on a second walk with the tin. Here is the measure of success. There is a kind looking lady, with a basket on the front of her bike, that is always riding her bicycle on the path no matter what time Reggie and I go for a walk. And he always lunges and barks at her. As we approached her, I became short of breath, my heart racing, whispering to Reggie to "please be good." As we passed he did not react at all to her...and she yelled out, "GOOD DOG!" Which affirmed two things: 1. My dog has a bad reputation, 2. The tin is a success!

The tin is successful enough that I am thinking of carrying one with me at all times. Who wouldn't stop doing whatever it is that's annoying me if I shook a can full of quarters in their face? And as for Reggie and me? Well, I think we're ready to go on another walk.