Gifts from Gidgit

The following was written in the days immediately after one of many great losses in my life. My emotions were yanking and dragging me helplessly through schizophrenic highs, lows and everything in between. I was numb, devastated and fighting the anger that was stabbing at the veil of my sorrow – I was getting pissed at God, Fate and myself. I questioned my Beliefs & my sanity. Aside from feeling everything that comes with a loss of this magnitude, I felt the one thing I did not expect, and had never felt during a life altering crisis before: Hope.

It certainly was not immediate. I am a bit unclear on where it came from. It showed up in time to reign me back from a cliff on which I was preparing to leap. There wasn’t an abundance; There was just enough to temper my death-slide into an infinite pit of “what if’s, why’s” and a series of absolutes that would have delivered a fate worse than death to a Spirit like my own.

I am sure there is a book on the tip of my tongue about how this Hope and Faith arrived; the struggles we all fight through, tragedies we survive. I felt guilt when I recognized the sensation – like I should be spending more time beating myself up, wallering in things that I cannot change. However, in my current psychological and Spiritual state, the route it took mattered to the sum of zero. To add insult to injury, I was ashamed for the thought that rode in on Hope’s coattail: a new companion.

The very notion of Hope and a new companion were so foreign to me, that I was sure I’d had a psychotic break from the emotional and Spiritual hit I’d taken. I felt as if this stray and illogical thought was disrespectful to the memory of my lost companion.

I reached up and knocked on the side of my skull, as if to re-route the neuropathways – something obviously slipped a track. “How could you even think such a thing,” I said out loud as tears streamed down my face. I was enraged and utterly in shock at myself.

But desperate for a respite from the sort of crying that triggers your stomach to void itself, I thought that I might as well follow the alien idea through – besides, I wanted to see if there was any more proverbial ball bats to beat myself over the head with. There had to be some I had forgotten about, or perhaps some new ones, because the Universe had just taken a huge shit on me, so there must be more.

So I exhaled and connected with the idea of Hope, Faith and that elephant-on-the-coffee-table: a new companion. I allowed it to play out in front of my mind’s eye like a movie. I was in search of self-destructive commentary, so I opened the floodgates and waited for the first tsunami of emotions to end my Soul.

To my surprise, all I could see and feel were the Gifts given by Gidgit, and Kendra before her. I felt the Divine lessons each and every one of my feathered and furred companions had Blessed me with over my life. There was no guilt, no regrets, no ultimatums, just a feeling of being one of the single luckiest human beings on the face of this Earth.

Had my Faith and Beliefs been THAT good to me? Why am I not beating myself up? What the hell is wrong with me? Am I in denial?

I wiped my face and snuffled against my painfully swollen nasal cavities – nope, lots of tears, plenty of acute stabs of loss, and the deep certainty of Gidgit’s irreplacability – not in denial. The tears quickened, and I returned to her memory and those Gifts she and the Divine had seen fit to Bless me with.

I decided to follow through on this feeling. I needed to pay attention to my emotions, honor these Hopeful specters that brought with them the reminders of Blessings. I pulled up my bookmarked Siberian Husky web sites, closed my eyes and clicked. The rest of this story follows:

PAW PRINTS

The moon was waning on the horizon, a pale orange harvest. I could feel Alkmene watching over me, as Nyx, Goddess of the Night, soothed my eyes that ached from loosing an infinite well of tears down my cheeks. The stars were defying the glare of city lights, piercing through Gaia’s atmosphere. Emotional and Spiritual exhaustion had left me in a sort of numb, vacuous stupor.  I was physically exhausted, emotionally drained but petrified at the potential nightmares that were lying in wait. The unusually cool late night/early morning wind coming through the rolled down window was battering my fly-away’s and freeing the better part of my long hair from it’s scrunchie. My Heart was idling down a straightaway on the roller coaster of sharp, unrelenting emotional valleys and summits. My Gidgit was not sitting in the passenger seat, but I felt her presence nonetheless.

I was driving back from a nearly 500-mile round trip that had been mapped by the Divine, random teardrops and Faith. You see, I had been led to a family with a 4-week old litter of Siberian Huskies.

My Gidgit was still brand new at the Rainbow Bridge when I made the decision to invite a new companion into my Heart; surprising to say the least, but there was plenty of room for a new Angel to glide through one of the gaping cracks left in my Heart from her departure from this Earth Walk.

For those that know me, knew Gidgit and my Beliefs, this decision and very quick action, is to HONOR Gidgit and her Gifts that she gave without reservation. To not make a path back into my Soul for another companion would, in essence, be like me telling her that her lessons and Gifts meant nothing. She was my reason – for everything. She was my motivation to get up despite chronic pain from a variety of Lupus that is physically devastating. She was my reason for going out into the world when I was ashamed because of what a medication’s side effects had done to my skin. She was my reason to walk my talk, be Grateful and embrace a wild, natural freedom of Spirit that I have never seen in any other breed of dog.

Maybe during the broken times, we can hear the Divine the best. I say this because a series of uncanny events, coincidences and circumstances came to me during this time of mourning. I do not believe in coincidences. Some call it serendipity, others call it Fate, but by the time I was on my way back, there were more than I could count.

For those who do not know my Beliefs and Faith, I will briefly explain. I believe all animals have a “medicine” or lesson to teach us. I believe that they are actually Angels, who come into our lives, already knowing what it is they are going to teach, and how long they will be with us in order to do so. One of the most basic, but most important lessons these companions Gift us, is that of unconditional love.  There is no judgment, no emotional bartering or anticipation of a payoff. They ask for little and give all of themselves, and take advantage of every moment to make it special.

Gidgit came to me a few months after Kendra, my Life Preserver, passed to the Rainbow Bridge after a 16-year Earth Walk. I mean Life preserver figuratively and literally. Kendra was already a middle aged adult when we met. She was a Great Dane and White Lab mix, with a funny ½ tail. Kendra never let me out of her sight – those soft brown eyes were forever trained on me. It was not some form of separation anxiety – it was her making sure that I was OK. She kept me alive during the darkest days of my life thus far. After Kendra, and I honestly did not think I could ever invite another into my passenger seat again. Her Gifts were by far too monumental, her lessons too awesome. However, Kendra and the Divine made sure I did, and through a series of coincidences and single degrees of separation, Gidgit leapt into my car. Literally.

Gidgit had been kept in a cage and bred every cycle for 3 ½ years by lazy, trashy people earning a living off of a living creature’s labors. This situation was bad enough for the state of Indiana to step in and shut them down. She was placed with a foster family who knew nothing about Siberians. And, like all Siberians, she joyously ran off one day on an adventure – and for her first run ever. Because she ran off, they tied her to a tree and left her there for 14 months.

The foster family was purebred white trash. They allowed their yard and home to become decrepit, overgrown and dilapidated, despite being in a beautiful neighborhood. Plastic toys littered the yard, and the police visited often. One day, the neighbors, including my mother, had finally had enough of the slovenly appearance, and mowed the grass for them. And there, looking the ever-quizzical Siberian, was Gidgit. No one had a clue that she had been there.

They were astonished to see that she had no shelter, no food bowl, and a filthy baby pool to drink from, and the rope was 10’ long that tethered her to a tree. The neighbors, led by my mother, took turns feeding her in secret, while trying to make nice with the “humans” that lived there. My mother did not want to tell me, because she knew that I would have had the police, TV crews, DNR, Sheriff’s Department and Animal Control descend on them like locust devouring a field ready for harvest. I would have done something drastic and very final. The nature of people, I use the term loosely, we are talking about are those that would see fit to retaliate by killing your dog (pure punk, tattooed, white trash, red neck and a wife beater – public record).

So, my mother waited until the male ‘person’ left his wife for a mistress, and the young lady confided to my mother that she needed to find Gidgit (not her name at the time), a home. I met Gidgit within 14 hours of this conversation.

At that meeting, I knew very little about Siberians. I had not had time to research, and frankly did not want to leave her there for a single moment longer than necessary. When I arrived at my mother’s, I parked the car and we walked around the house to where Gidgit was confined. She was wound-for-sound. While I was taking her off that God forsaken rope, she bolted from my grip. I called to her, but as anyone with Sibes knows, that is useless. She bounded down along side my mother’s house, and put her nose to the ground, and  then disappeared around the corner. We chased after her calling like fools, but came to a screeching halt when we turned the corner of the garage.

There she sat, in the passenger seat of my car.

I had a conversation with God while driving to see her for the first time. I told him that I would need more than a simple sign, to know if I should take on this dog. Well, I got one. A giant, neon flashing billboard, sitting very properly in the passenger seat of the Miata.

‘Nuff said.

Some would say that I “worked with Gidgit a lot.” I suppose that is true, but it was as natural and easy as breathing to me. It wasn’t work; it was therapy of the best kind. What she needed I had to give: time and love. Gidgit knew what I needed, and gave of herself without hesitation. She brought with her exuberance for Life I had never experienced from any living being. Her Gift to me was that of “Psykhe,” the Greek word for breath, life, breathing life into, or “animating Spirit.” She energized me physically and emotionally so that I could, well, anything. And it is not that my other companions did not – quite the contrary. But they were at home – and I needed to be out. It would be by far too easy for me to withdraw from the world, opting instead for the solemnity away from a world of pain. Gidgit knew, that without another by my side to give me a reason to fight through the pain for another moment, I would need another to watch over me, and be that “animating Spirit.”

Enter an “Angel.”

Angel was born within hours of my birthday, with mine on May 28, and hers on May 29. She is 4 weeks old right now.  I had been looking on the internet for Siberians from Rescues and shelters alike. But, I kept thinking about safety, training, and how a Sibe must have certain things from the get-go to survive in a dangerous world. A Sibe must have a strong pack leader and learn recall immediately and well – their free Spirits and wanderlust must have boundaries taught and reaffirmed consistently. I thought about my other companions, and their needs. An adult dog unsocialized to cats and birds is a tragedy waiting to happen. I did not want to put my other Beloveds in danger. And I knew in my Heart that I did not have it in me to go through rehabilitation – Gidgit’s was still too fresh in my Soul.

But I had never had a pup; I’ve always had adults. And there are so very many scam artists, and lazy, trashy individuals that earn a living off of repetitive breeding. I knew a reputable breeder would be a long distance – that was not an issue. But, I knew that I had to allow a companion to choose me – having someone else choose and ship a puppy was wrong in more ways that I could count. So, they would need to be close enough for a day’s drive.

I found several pups and litters, but nearly all were sold, spoken for or had a price tag that made me suspicious, not to mention angry, especially with so many that need homes. I was not looking for a perfect conformation, registered and AKC standard breed representation of a Sibe. I was looking for something much more important: a companion.

I was scrolling through some photos, and came across the sweetest face. Her humans named her Angel. Now, with a basic tenant of my Belief system being that companions and animals are Angels in the first place, I had to click on the photo. I was preparing for yet another scam, with the “owner’s moving out of state and need to find homes for the blue eyed miraculous Siberians…but I don’t have a phone, and you can’t come see them” bull shit story. But instead, I found her birthday and lovely description – without double negatives, in proper English, unlike so many bad breeders, puppy mills and scams.

I did not want to get my hopes up; everyone I had emailed turned out to be a scam artist or a kennel with a one pup remaining for $2,500.00 in Colorado situation.

I clicked on a link to see the rest of the litter – no one had been spoken for yet. The price was reasonable – $500.00 with all shots, papers, etc… I read that they were born and are being raised in a house, not a frikin barn or desolate breeding shed. They had a no-cage policy, parents on premises, all contact information including address and phone number.

I decided to email, and wrote away like a crazy person. However, impatience got the best of me, and I decided to call before anyone could answer my letter. I was so drained from sobbing, and needed to keep my mind busy or it would return to memories and more uncontrollable tears. I needed a break, and because Gidgit went with me everywhere, there was nowhere to find a moment of Serenity.

So, I called. The man on the other end sounded more like he and his family were people that I would be friends with: college educated high school teachers, baseball coach for his son’s league, still married to their mother, and they are hobby breeders, and have maybe a litter a year. I told them about myself, and the life I could offer one of their Sibe pups. He sounded genuinely impressed, and we set a time for me to come and visit.

Before leaving, I wanted to get some names in mind; pups name themselves, and even though I had my mind set on little “Angel” as a companion and name, I wanted to be open for whatever. So, I did a search for Siberian names, and hit the first site offered. It had about 200 names. I started with A and read through, making note of those that were special.  I printed it of and stuck it in my bag.

On the way there, I called to let them know an e.t.a. I spoke to the wife this time, and her name is Thea. I was suddenly covered in goose bumps. Thea was one of the names from the list of Siberian names. Thea is Greek for “Gift from God.” The blood ran from my face.

I was stunned; I call companions “Gifts from the Divine,” and call the lessons they teach us Gifts. And I do not say this just occasionally – I say it multiple times a day, everyday. What are the chances I would find this name on a list of about 200 that I was looking through, and on the first web site I pulled up? And to add to the oddity, the husband’s name is Marc, just like my Marc. The chances of him having the same name and spelling, as my Marc was odd enough, but this was amazing. And the symmetry does not stop there.

From the pictures I was looking at, you could not see eye color. Frankly, I don’t give a shit what color they are; I am looking for a companion, not a dog to breed, nor a status symbol. I have a photo of Gidgit peeking out from under a small storage container and all you see are her glacier blue eyes. I named it “Eyes” for that reason. Kendra had Soulful brown eyes like warm velvet. It turns out the little “Angel” has one of each: one blue for Gidgit one brown for Kendra. Windows to the Soul they say.

Windows indeed.

I am not an astrology buff, and pay attention only for fun. But I have found many of the traits to be true, although I would not hold it up to a scientific lens for scrutiny. The Sign that these pups were born under is Gemini, the Twins. Not only are we sharing the Gemini astrological sign but also our times of birth are very close as well despite being on different dates. And the eyes!

I could go on with these serendipitous moments, but the fact is my Heart, despite being eviscerated, still yearns for a new companion. I do not know why: It is certainly not that there is a replacement for my Gidgit, just like there will never be for Kendra. It is not that I cannot function without a companion – quite the contrary. Perhaps Siberians are addictive, like so many of the people who share their existence with them say.  Or, maybe the Divine, and those K9 companions I have so deeply loved, have gathered for a conference in Heaven, and seen fit to carry my wounded Soul down the beach, so that my Spirit may heal/heel and allow the next Guardian Angel that they have chosen for me into my Earth Walk.

I close my eyes and imagine the Immaculate Embodiment of the Divine, my Gidgit and Kendra, carrying my shell-shocked body and Soul along the shoreline of a beach in Mexico. I feel the first twinge of anger begin to surface, at the unfairness of taking Gidgit just as she had begun. And as I allow my eyes to drop from horizon to sea, and on to the sand below, I am surprised not to see paw prints from those Angels who carry me.

OPALS DOWNUNDER: A STORE REVIEW

OPALS DOWNUNDER: A STORE REVIEW

14.53 CT 23.2 X 14.0 X 5.4 mm Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

My name is Cruz, and I am an avid fan of opals – Boulder Opals in particular. I have been lucky enough to have come across a store of exceptional gems, amazing customer service and honest representation; I would be remiss not to share this with others that also have a passion for opals.

I am writing this without gain. I am not being paid, cajoled, or otherwise compensated for my positive review herein; I am simply so taken with the quality of opals, accessibility and honesty, that I felt I must honor those people who help me make my opal collection so beautiful. The store I am speaking of is Opals Downunder, which can be found on eBay. All of the opals I am showing here are from my own collection, and cross a range of prices. They are truly more brilliant in person than a photo could hope to show.

First, allow me to tell you in brief my background with Boulder Opals:  In a fairly short time, I have purchased about 45 Boulder Opals (more if you include Mexican Fire Opals, Ethiopian Opals and Black Opals), all on eBay, from a number of sellers. All of the sellers I purchased opals from had a minimum 99.5% positive feedback score, had sold at least 1000 items, and was an eBay Top-Rated Seller. I have done outside research on opals, their origins, value and so on, as well as looked at other online auctions (not eBay) for opals, and browsed through dozens of non-eBay stores.

11.70 CT 13.8 X 11.8 X 8.3 Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

3.97 CT 13.5 X 9.8 X 4.7 mm Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

Living in the middle of nowhere, I do not have access to Rock and Gem shows, specialty shops or a wide range of jewelers. Wanting to own and enjoy these unique stones, I discovered the vast variety available on eBay. I was leery about not being able to hold and/or examine the stones in person – buying anything sight-unseen can lead to a number of problems. With many stones, like diamonds, you have a set standard and scales to go by. Reading these classifications can tell an experienced collector or jeweler basically all they need to know. It is just not that way with Boulder

Opals. The classifications for opals may be helpful with assigning value, but cannot tell you about the opal’s unique appearance.

54.72 CT 36.2 X 21.5 X 9.3 mm Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

And yes, I did fall prey to a number of less-than-honest sellers, their small print and some rather clever photo enhancement software. Through my adventures, and misadventures, in the quest for the elusive red flash, I have come up with the critical questions to ask about the gems and their sellers. Although I go over them in detail in my Boulder Opal Guide, the basic list includes description and display of the stone, along with seller/store customer service and purchase options.

23.0 CT 25.1 x 16.0 x 7.0 mm Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

After all of the misleading portrayals and enhanced photos, I was about to give up  my quest when I found Opals Downunder. They met every one of my standards, and exceeded my expectations of customer service and honest communication.

Their customer service was and is, simply unsurpassed: Every one of my questions was answered beyond my initial inquiry. Any additional information they thought would be helpful was given freely, without fear that I would take my business elsewhere if I were armed with additional knowledge. I felt as if helping me with my question was their one and only job.  They treated me like I would want my Mother treated. The personal emails made me feel like I was the most important customer, and that they actually cared about ensuring my overall satisfaction with the entire procedure.

68.46 CT 45.6 X 27.2 X 6.8 mm Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

5.35 CT 22.4 X 7.5 X 4.2 mm Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

The selection of Boulder Opals covers Koroit, Lightning Ridge, Black and Yowah. They have stones that anyone can own, as well as an assortment of premium quality, 5 out of 5 grade gems.  They have several options for purchasing: Auction style, buy-it-now or best offer. They have Boulder Opals that are loose, some set in classic, sturdy sterling silver, and even a few with holes predrilled for cords. They don’t have thousands at once, but instead opt for a cherry-picked 200 or so, hand-selected stones. They know each stone as if it were an individual, and answer every question with care. And for me, one of the most enjoyable aspects of their auction listings is that the vast majority of stones start at $1.00 USD. The auctions are no reserve, so everyone has the opportunity to purchase these truly unique creations from the Earth. Their stones can range from just a few dollars, to about $150.00, and a gorgeous selection of approximately $200.00 to $900.00, and an exclusive collection of the finest opals that can be found anywhere. They are all bargains, from $4.00 to $4,000.00.

24.64 CT 34.7 x 14.1 x 6.0 mm Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

The descriptions, photos and videos of each gem offered by Opals Downunder has proven to be the most accurate representation of any of the other stores I have purchased Boulder Opals from. Each stone is shown and described as accurately as possible, the top quality and the less expensive gems.

8.79 CT 32.4 X 14.3 X 2.7 mm Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

The first time I saw a photo of one of the opals from Opals Downunder, I knew immediately I was looking at something exquisite. I have been accused of having expensive tastes – I can pick out the most expensive anything, without having a clue about what I am looking at: A turbo for a diesel engine, goats or shoehorns, I can pick the nicest, most expensive, best quality whatever, so much so that it has become a bit of a joke in my family.

So, when I saw the colors in that first stone – the flashing blues and greens, flickering reds and yellow – I assumed I was looking at a multi-thousand dollar gem. I clicked on the tiny picture, expecting to see photos enhanced by some editing software, glaring in an overtly conspicuous fashion like someone dripped neon paint on a rock, or perhaps using some misleading lighting. Instead, there was a photo of an exceptional opal, rich and deep, with NO signs of editing from enhancement software. I scrolled down to read the description and see if there were any other photographs – I found many, as well as VIDEO.

With video, it is easy to check for enhancement: compare the color in the stills with the color in the video and see if they match. Many times, sellers will display the gem on black, to make the colors pop better. Or if there is a video, the stone is being held in forceps, not giving you anything for size or color comparison.

37.28 CT 29.8 X 23.0 X 6.8 mm Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

The Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder however, was being held by bare hands in the video, and against a neutral color in the photos. You could see by the color of the hands in the video that it was not enhanced or edited. The skin tone was natural, not overly rich like it had been boosted in some way. You could also gain an idea of size, especially for those looking to set a stone in a ring.  The individual “modeling” the opal knew exactly how to move it to show off each and every color, every millimeter of play, and the iridescent flashes. It was as if I were there myself, holding and turning the opal to watch colors dance and change.

I could not help but to buy that very stone, and a few others.

10.92 CT 25.4 X 7.7 X 4.8 mm, Side A Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

10.92 CT 25.4 X 7.7 X 4.8 mm Side B, Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

When I received my first gems from Opals Down Under, I was awestruck by the uniqueness of the patters and magnificent colors therein. As I pulled them from their containers into the sun, there was no doubt that they were, by far, superior to any opal I’d ever seen, in person or through digital media.  Wanting to compare my new opals from Opals Downunder next to the assortment of Boulder Opals I’d bought from other sellers, I pulled each one from it’s container, and arranged them on the bed. I just could not believe that the Opals from Opals Downunder were so much better than the others!

13.34 CT 28.3 X 16.1 X 3.6 mm Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

There was such difference between the opal from Opals Downunder and the other stones, that I could hardly believe that they were the same things, let alone from the same areas of Australia. I felt as if I had the “Ah-Ha” moment of my opal-collecting career. Aside from obvious differences between each stone, like carat size, dimensions and unique pattern, the comparison in color, flash, play of color, luster were so much better, that it was hard to believe they had anything in common at all.

common at all.

I have kept careful records of which stone came from where, how long it took it arrive, my thoughts on service, cost, and so on.  I have lists with price being the factor in order, as well as one for carat size. To my amazement, the stones that I received from Opals Downunder were less expensive or very close in price, than those that were smaller, and much, much lower in quality.  Along with records, I kept the eBay ad for each stone I bought, which includes the photos and videos. The only Boulder Opals out of the 45+ in my possession that came close to matching their ads in word, photo, or video, were the opals from Opals Downunder. Each stone was EXACTLY as it appeared in the ad. I could hold the stone up next to the computer screen with the video playing, and there was simply no difference in color, flash or play. None. Every detail, good and bad, was pointed out for you. It was the most HONEST depiction of the many stones I had purchased.

8.68 CT 15.0 x 14.4 x 4.4 mm Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

In short, the good folks at Opals Downunder have won my heart with the personalized customer service, honest representation and wonderful buying options. It is apparent in each opal that they are experts in their field, and go above and beyond to find the finest gems to offer to their customers, for the best prices possible. Whether you are looking for an upscale piece for a ring, or a predrilled focal for a necklace, a loose collectors gem or a large stone for a cuff bracelet, this is THE place to find them. Honesty and effort has been put into each and every opal they offer.

11.18 CT 23.5 X 11.4 X 3.7 mm Boulder Opal from Opals Downunder

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I’d like to thank those who have chosen to read this, and share in my love for these amazing gems. I would also like to reiterate that I am writing this without anticipation of gain from Opals Downunder, or their other store, Aussie Opals. In this day and age of underhanded sales tactics, and shoddy customer service, I felt compelled to give credit where credit is due.

So if you are looking to add to your collection, you have a little or a lot of money to spend, or are going to create a master piece to be used as a novel engagement ring, I cannot recommend another store as highly as this.

Blessings to you and yours,

Cruzlin Picabo Schubert

About Me – Random Thoughts

I am new to this blogging thing, but certainly not new to writing. It seems to me, that you’d like to know more about who I am before diving into one of my stories, or Random Thoughts. The following information is posted under the “About” section, but it is a bit hard to see due to the photo I have chosen as a background. So, I decided to move it to an actual “post.”

Alright, alright. I give. It seems that every time I turn around lately, something wants to know about me. Facebook, a review I leave for something I’ve purchased, and now, my very own blog. There is of course, no way anyone can truly give another person an idea of who they are in a little box. There is no way to do an exhaustive description without writing a biography. Instead,  I sat down, computer in lap, and wondered, what would someone want to know about me? Everyone shares information based on whom they are talking to. For example, I am going to tell a Professor of the Science of Philosophy very different things than I am going to tell a dairy farmer. Both sets of information are true, but dependent upon the audience. It is certainly not that this is a dualistic example of intelligence vs ignorance – on the contrary. IT is an example of the spectrum of experiences, knowledge and lives of human beings.

In my quest to write a bit about myself, I continually run up against either being so blunt that I chase away interesting people who may take offence at one of my thoughts, or that I am so “nice” that I white-wash those few things I am a staunch believer in, or passionate about. First, I started with an essay called “I am a study in contradiction:” It outlined my passionate beliefs and a few of my more rigid thoughts, with their caveats and qualifiers. But, afraid that it was too blunt and harsh, thus not showing who I really am, I tried again with one called “I Believe….” But I continued to add caveats, and still came off too bluntly. I even tried diving into my ribald adventures and the sordid details therein, but I would most certainly offend many, not to mention that I’d really be telling on myself! So, I decided to ask the Divine to keep one hand over my mouth, and just type away.  The boring basics are first, and beyond the educational rhetoric, are quips and thoughts about life, how I try to walk my talk, and live in, and with, the world. Some of the issues and ideas I hit on will be essays for a later date, and others are just free-association thoughts on me Here it is:

My name is Cruzlin Picabo Schubert. I am currently located in the middle of rural Indiana, the joke being that my U-Haul broke down and I was stranded in the land of stagnation and fear. Although born in the Midwest, I spent the better part of my life in Arizona. My move there was prompted by my talent on horseback; in Arizona training year around is easier than in Indiana. So, at age 12, my mother and I packed and went West. The other reason for the move was my mother’s wisdom in having me grow up in an area with a broad cultural, religious, ethnic and economic base – away from the small town mentality and wanton ignorance of an isolated community of less than 2000. I did not know it then, but I had been the punch line is several racist jokes, and a number of gossip-fueled stories about my heritage. I was clueless until my early 20’s concerning the extent of the small-town tales.

Once in Arizona, I truly felt at home. I loved Arizona enough to stay for most of my college education. I attended Pima Community College and earned an Associates in Liberal Arts, the University of Arizona where I studied Women’s Studies as a major, with a minor in Philosophy. From there, I attended a top ranked Massage Therapy School – the switch was due to my own chronic pain demons, which was diagnosed in 1994 as Lupus. After the one year intensive training at the Desert Institute of the Healing Arts, I returned to U of A for post-Bac studies in Women’s Studies, psychology and Physio-Immunology.

While I was finishing my graduate studies, my mother moved to Indiana to be close to her parent’s as they became more fragile in their old age’s. Missing my mother, I followed in suit about a year and a half later. What I thought would be a year or two in this culturally retarded land of white supremacy and country music, has ended up a decade, with one of the two family members we returned to be closer to, is still, by the grace of God and good genetics, alive @ 94.

When I first arrived in Indiana, I returned to my University studies at Indiana University – or IUPUI, as Purdue has joined forces with IU in so many of it’s off-main campus endeavors. I would have continued my studies @ University regardless, but not necessarily in the medical field directly: the region was and still is, so socially and culturally retarded by at least 25 to 30 years (retarded in the true meaning of the word), that at the time, someone with a broad based liberal arts background, coupled with Massage Therapy, Life Coaching and graduate work in Physio Immunology and Psychology was considered to be a fringe witch doctor. So, to gain credibility, I chose to study for a BS in nursing, as well as additional post-Bac studies in psychology.

Now, nearly everyone has heard of, and or has participated in some variety of holistic (wholistic) health care. I choose to spell it with a “w,” to imply that the whole person is cared for. I assisted people, as individuals or in groups, to reach their highest goals and standards for themselves, using a mixture of cognitive emergence theory, psychology and sociology, physical health and therapy. I was a Life Coach long before it was called Life Coaching.

Onto other things –

I cannot be classified or categorized, I don’t take “the party line,” and I make many people crazy because of it.

I am a Spiritual Soul, my beliefs being a mix of Buddhism, the Teaching’ of Jesus (not the Christian “church”) & Native American based Spirituality. I agree with what Gandhi said about Christianity: “I like your Christ, but not your Christians.”  I believe that simply going to church makes you as much of a Christian as standing in a garage makes you an automobile.

I see many sides of a thing, be it a physical object, a life situation, political conundrum or problem in general. I like to think critically, and read between the lines. I attempt to have all the facts of any given event prior to opening my mouth, and believe others should follow suit.  I believe that common sense and critical thinking go hand-in-hand, and that it, no matter what it is called, is so lacking in today’s mass populace as to doom us all. . I think there is always more than meets the eye, whether it is a person, situation or event. I love to explore beyond the surface to see the real genesis of a thing, but also the how, why and what fors as well.

I think communication takes more than a thought being verbalized – the listener must not only hear it, but also understand the meanings that the communicator has imbued each term with. I think the Internet has opened up an array of new opportunities to connect and communicate with friends old and new, but that it lacks the “body” and fullness that fills in the gaps of meaning. Body language, tone and expression play a far too important role in making a connection and understanding one another. Communication is dynamic, multidimensional, not a 2-D flat screen, texting lingo IM. The infamous example is the many ways the word “fuck” can be used. If you see it written out, capitals or not, you are going to miss the gist. It could be calling someone a name, an exasperated response to something unbelievable, another way to say “Oh no!” before you hit the pothole on the road. I do love Facebook and letters, they are like sitting on your front porch in your neighborhood, watching what people are up to, but for deeper, more meaningful connection, I will always choose face to face conversation. However, in my current regional prison, the Internet and Facebook have nonetheless allowed me to find others of like mind to converse with, share thoughts and ideas – a Blessing beyond words.

I am giddy to be alive, and find that I am happiest when helping another person.  Most of my “day dreams” are centered on this very idea. It is the single finest sensation I know.

I detest violence, but support our Troops with my whole heart. There are only 3 things in the world that might move me to broach physical violence, and they are 1) the harming of an Elder, 2) the harming of a Child, or 3) the harming of an animal. By harming, I mean emotionally, Spiritually, mentally and physically. Other than this, there are two things that truly make me crazy: Hypocrites, and the wantonly ignorant. With these in mind, little else will raise my blood pressure. I understand that people are people, and we are all on this Earth Walk to learn. Mistakes are made, and accidents happen. Accidents and mistakes not done with harmful or evil intent are just that: accidents and mistakes, not “on purposes.”  We learn and move forward with the new knowledge engaged – this is the cycle of Things. I understand people’s frustration and heartbreaks, as I have had many of them too, and that this anguish can sometimes come out in ways that are not always good.  It is the intent behind the inappropriate ways in which these feelings of anguish and disenfranchisement that defines character. It’s not the hand you’re dealt, but how you deal with the hand.

I am pro-spanking and I wish that my mother had turned me over her knew a few times, as I really believe it would have spared me trauma in my adult life. Discipline and beating are two entirely different things – one is done in anger, the other love. A “bop” on a diapered bottom for back talking is not the same as being told to go choose your own whip off of a willow tree. I think child abusers should be taken out and shot, and that death is too merciful for those who do the same to animals. I believe that all life is sacred, and each has a special place in the world that has been given to all creatures by the Divine: I take spiders and turn them outside, catch the occasional mouse and return it to the field (although I have been known to kill the occasional tick that catches a ride on Gidgit’s fur). Because of this belief, my views on those who kill with malice in the forethought or torture for thrill, have not come to this Earth Walk through the Divine, and should be shuttled henceforth to the hell in which they were spawned. I also believe that the person/people who bore and raised such a thing to be held responsible: it was their non-parenting that created the Soul-less monster capable of such deviant, evil behavior. I believe that you can build a gun and give power to it’s shot, or you can create the vehicle through which a new peace in the Universe can be created. It is akin to taking responsibility for your actions (or non-action) – you make the mess, you clean it up. If I make the mess, I clean it up. You mis-raise a child by going out and partying all night, or being an alcoholic and beating your child into the monster they now are, or you molested that child and they are now a sexual predator, you take responsibility for your unspeakable actions.

I do not have human children – and I never wanted them. More women than men have been moved into fury at the very idea that I did not want children. They would tell me, “Wait until you get older, then you’ll want them,” or the truly amazing “Who will take care of you when you are old?” The most common answer from other women on the topic was the wait until you fall in love comment. I was in love – and still didn’t want them. It would make me wonder on occasion if they were actually mad that they never thought of not having children as an option for themselves. And it is not that I don’t “like” children – I think children are the single more important assets for the future. I believe they must come first. My decision is based in part on the acknowledgement of that import.

I would not get into a relationship with a man that had children, unless he was a single parent on a fulltime basis or a widower, and even then with great caution. Children MUST feel safe, secure and loved by people WHO WILL NOT ABANDON them in order to get a new piece of ass. This may be harsh, but it is still true. Children may say, “I don’t care if you date Mom/Dad,” but this is simply ridiculous and patently untrue. Children will say whatever it is to make the parent happy. Children are not developmentally capable to make an informed decision of this nature. Once mom or dad is all giddy about the new person, the child feels threatened, and is so, therefore acts out. A recent case in the news of a woman and her new husband killing her 4 year old child so she can have her man. This is not an isolated case, and there will be more, and more. If children really “do come first,” then   prove it. Put them before your hormones, or whining that you never had a chance to be a young person and go out on the town, or that having children doesn’t mean that you don’t get to have “a life.” Because it does – at least the kind of life they are thinking about.  The creation of a child means inherently that your life now is all about that child’s happiness, health and well-being. Not yours. My mother showed me how it should be done when raising me. My Mom’ is typically right (much to my amazement!).

I believe in living and behaving as if the world were as it should be, regardless of other’s actions. Just because someone cuts me off in traffic, or breaks my heart, does not give me the right to reciprocate.

I have companion animals that I love dearly, that center my very Soul.  They have saved my life in more ways than one, and are my reason for being. I have a Lilac Crowned Amazon named B.C., an African Gray named Epiphany (Piffy), two cats, Mama Kitty and Ocelot Monster, and Gidgit, a Siberian Husky. Each of these companions have come to me at different times, in different places, and under different circumstances. But, they all have in common one thing – they are all rescues, and each is a Life Preserver for my very Spirit. I take my responsibility to these companions very seriously, as I believe that they are Gifts from the Divine. I believe that these companions teach by example the most precious and priceless thing: unconditional love. I thank the Universe everyday for gifting me with such Blessings.  They help me walk my talk, and live as if the world were as it should be.

I would do anything for a friend, but never ask the same for myself. I love the beach, log cabins and the warm glow of oak. The smell of burning mesquite on a cold night reminds me of being young, much as an old favorite song would. I have changed more than I have stayed the same; I call my journey through life to this point “Life’s Boot-camp.”  I love to smell the Honey Suckle in the early morning hours, when I get up early to meditate. Their white and yellow flowers are like little, delicate creatures – so fragrant and unique that I am assured of the Divine’s presence.

I believe that each Soul is like a Super Nova – so much power, glory and light. I do not think that people realize their potential, and by not realizing, it cannot be tapped and focused. I see this explosion of gamma rays in each person – they are like a finely polished boulder opal, each with it’s own colors, fire and flash. My deepest heart’s desire it is show each person what I see, and give them courage to dive into the possibilities. I believe that animals have Souls, and that their Spirits are higher than our own, as I truly believe that the Divine sends us the most important lessons through them: Unconditional Love.

If I had a perfect day, something just for me, I would never even need to leave the house. I am surrounded by gifts from the Divine, and don’t need to go further. Add wonderful conversation, good food and I can think of nothing more I could ask for (Well, for this to be on a lovely beach, but I am already so lucky and Blessed, that I honestly could not ask for more). I look forward to curling up in bed, and watching one of my favorite shows, with my companions but my side, a fireplace glowing and snow falling. I look forward to getting up early in the morning, and watching the color develop in the early summer sky sitting on the front porch with a cup of Moose Munch coffee from Harry & David’s.

I love to stop and pick wildflowers and the lilies that grow unabashedly along country roads, and the smell of the dessert after a monsoon rain. I love top-down drives in the roadster, good music playing, fresh air and my Siberian Gidgit as co-pilot. The music can be anything except country – blues, cool jazz are always close at hand. I love to laugh, especially at myself and the ridiculous things I do. I talk to myself without inhibition, and find that it can be the genesis of “ah-ha” moments, creative thought and on occasion, a witty response.

I will choose chopsticks over a fork, and watermelon over ice cream. I would rather buy gifts for others than receive them myself. If I have a choice, I spend money on my companions – a fact that is apparent when you visit! I’ll go for the white cheddar before the yellow, and don’t care what it costs, because if it is nasty, it’s nasty! I love sushi and sashimi, but find 99.9% of ham disgusting. I choose Lush’s body butter bars over body lotion, and soybu shirts over silk … if I have to wear clothes at all.

I will choose a boulder opal over a diamond, and love to give gifts on my birthday.

Novica, National Geographic’s worldwide art market is my favorite place to find gifts for humans, although most of my money is spent at Petsmart. If I want a girlie – treat for myself, it comes from Lush. I have my jewelry made, and choose the stones myself, and have let the Divine lead me to that person who Creates them for me.

I don’t wear make-up, and will henna my hair before I dye it. I believe all women are beautiful, like fine pieces of art, and should be complimented without thought to gender. A good man in my eyes is Spiritual first and foremost – no hypo-christians please. The perfect man is sensitive, intelligent and not afraid to cry. I think the sexiest thing is smarts, and would take David Krumholtz (Charlie Epps in Num3ers) over any populace favorite pretty boy.

I have two dream houses: The first would be on an isolated beach in Mexico, with one end all glass facing the ocean. It would be small, and as long as I had my companions, air conditioning and a few good books, I could spend eternity there. The other is a small, 2-story house, built into the side of a foothill in the dessert. The second story would be a loft, and one entire face of the house would be glass from ground to sky. The more likely scenario is me in a giant RV, able to take all those I love with me wherever I may roam.

I think one of my most radical beliefs has to do with humans breeding: there are too many people for the planet to support. This isn’t fascist it’s basic, scientific fact. I believe if you do not have the money for a child, including help with her college education, you simply do not have one. It is no different, but far more important, than wanting a flat screen TV, or expensive car: If you cannot afford it, you DO NOT GET IT.

I believe that a mother and father should have a maximum of 2 children If the union is broken, and either the father or mother wants another child, too bad. Each already has one child to replace them on the planet when they die. Just because you can breed, doesn’t mean you should, or have to. The Bible may say, “be fruitful and multiply,” but it also condones concubines and slavery. The children that these people have already given life to always feel abandoned when mom or dad gets a new piece of ass and creates more babies. The self-centered and selfishness of the adults in this situation never ceases to amaze me. How quickly they believe that the first children are “OK” with it. What’s worse is that these adults go ahead even if the first child say is isn’t “OK.”

My favorite analogy from childhood has to do with a banana being compared to a person’, and harsh or cruel words to toothpicks: If you put a toothpick into a banana, even though you pull it back out, that spot will never heal, it will turn brown, and rot. When you say something to someone with intent to harm, you have, for all intensive purposes, stuck them with a toothpick. You can take back the harsh words, but that person’s heart/ feelings will not heal. Sorry is a word, not a cure-all. I believe we have the ability to control ourselves, so when a harmful thing is said, I believe it is done with intent.

I believe that the best advice I’ve ever been given came from my mother, and given to me when I was very young. She told me that to judge a person’s character, see how they behave with my animals. She told me that people who do not have compassion for a creature that gives unconditional love, are not the sort of people you want to be around. And, as always, mom was right.

I expect honesty and will give it in return; I think that there is always a better way to say something that may hurt a feeling or break a heart.

If I won the lottery, I would set aside what I need to live frugally, and the rest would be sit aside into a Foundation of my own creation. This foundation would go for a few very specific things: First, a women’s shelter where the pets come with the woman. They would be cared for as members of her family, and none left behind for the abuser. Secondly, a mobile, no cost/free spay-neuter clinic. If people cannot bring the pet in, we go to them, do the surgery for low to no cost, and return the pet afterward.  The remainder would go to charities like the Animal Defense Fund (League), Humane Society, a Military Working Dogs Foundation to equip MWD’s in their specific protective roles, and ensure the Pets for Vets program is successful. I would set a small bit aside to do one of my favorite things: Find out who in a community is in need, and of what. I would buy whatever it is – food, clothing – package it up, ring the doorbell and run. The recipients would never know it was from me.  All I ask in return is to be able to see the good it does.

I like to drive with the top down in snow, sing out loud (badly) and dance for joy in the headlights. I love roadside taco stands in Mexico and 7-Seas Soup at the Friendly Dolphin. I could walk for miles looking for shells on the beach, and would enjoy swatting ignorant Americans with a rolled up newspaper when they are giving the waiter a tough time in a Mexican Restraint. My best memories include laughter – the laughter that hurts your face and makes your sides ache. The subject matter isn’t important, only the joy.

I am not a fan of alcohol, unless it is to clean a cut. I think marijuana should be legalized, and alcohol banned, as one kills far more than the other. I do not do drugs, and I believe, that if there were such a thing as demonic possession, addiction is it. Addiction is a disease, and should be treated as one. If we really want to stop “the drug problem,” stop the demand, not the supply – it’s basic Economics 101. As with any commodity, if there is a demand, there will be a supply. Hence, if there are no addicts, the “drug problem” will dwindle and die.

I am a recovering perfectionist, and try not to take myself too seriously (Although the spell check button is getting a bit tired of me). I believe in the wonders of science and Evolution, as well as the Divine. To me, there is no problem of their coexistence, as I see cosmology, astronomy and biology as intertwined Magic, explained by the minds Gifted to us by the Divine.

I can tell who has suffered a tragedy by the way they see miracles in butterflies, as I see those miracles as well. I am awestruck by flowers leaning to meet the sun, and evolutionary adaptations from the Galapagos Islands to Decorator Crabs.

I am forever stunned with the Blessings I am Gifted despite my flaws.

I love to study the differences in each person, culture and land, as I see these differences not as broken bonds, but the mass that makes us strong. I love to listen to stories and experiences others have had – I breathe them in like fresh air.

I believe “God was a Woman,” and patriarchal constructs to be based in some of the most vehement evil and fear that ever existed. I knew this in my heart by age 5 – when I put together who had babies. I asked my mother several questions about God and church, a few tough “whys” and “how comes.” As a Christian, she was taken aback, but as a woman and a mother, she told me that if I was mature enough to ask these questions, I was mature enough to decide if I wanted to attend a church where things did not make sense.

I must say that looking back, I am stunned at her calm when answering my young query. She has not been known for her control over her emotional state in times of stress. I know now, though that this question of male making babies, if Eve was framed, and so on, had probably been bubbling around in her heart for years, whether she was aware of it consciously or not.  It just seemed to be begging the question to me. When the “whys” make no sense, and “facts” and traditions are based on syllogistic fallacies (phalacies), the issues are bound to show up somewhere, subconscious or otherwise.

The thing is, I do not care if someone calls the Divine He, She, it, Great Father, Goddess or Zeus. The Leap of Faith is just that – a leap of Faith. It cannot be argued, confronted or shaken. I have come to believe that Faith is important, more than I would have ever admitted in my Sophomoric years as a rather angry Atheist.  Belief and religion are two entirely different beasts – one controls, the other elevates the Spirit. Religion and it’s constructed, manipulated text and rules have sullied what was a beautiful and peaceful ideology. Buddha, Gandhi, Jesus and Mohammad belong in the same basket: Individuals of Peace, compassion and love. Religion has convinced us that the differences are insurmountable, not the intangible bond of love.

I have Faith because of the Gifts and things I have been able to survive, not because I was “raised” in “it.” I am not a lucky person – it is actually a bit of a joke that Mr. Murphy follows me around to make new laws. If there is something that can go wrong, it will go wrong for me, if there is something to trip on, I do. The majority of the time I find it hysterical. But with all of the life altering crises, surreal to the tragic, I have somehow come out the other side with perspective. There is simply no way I could have lived through some of these things without the Guidance and Love of the Divine. No way. This is the biggest reason I Believe.

I Believe that there is power in naming, whether is it a child or defining a new statute. I think we depend on a person’s clothing, cars and accessories to tell us about who they are way too much, and that nudists have the right idea for equalizing the proverbial playing field.

I believe that recognition and complements can change a person’s confidence in themselves enough for them to change the world. I think we should celebrate birthdays with reckless abandon and joyous zeal, as they celebrate the beginning of an Earth Walk for the Soul, which is a Gift in and of itself, from the Divine. There is enough sorrow in the world to overlook those things we can find happiness in.  I find that writing this for others to read and enjoy makes me smile – and that is enough for me. How could I ask for more.

Fucking Skunk: The Wanton Follies of Gidgit LaRue

WARNING: THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS EXPLETIVES.

DO NOT READ IF THEY OFFEND YOU.

“Fucking Skunk”

(The Wanton Follies of Gidgit LaRue)

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, you know the stench: that rancid garlic, pungent, noxious punch in the face that can only be one thing: a fucking skunk. If you’re lucky, it’s just a drive by, or maybe the critter is simply passing the country house on a pre-sunrise stroll. Perhaps he is merely lingering nearby, contemplating his existence on a more existential level. If Lady Luck has not smiled upon thee, then you know the scenario: Rover has had a close encounter of the stinky kind.

If there is a silver lining, it is that you’ve realized the direct hit on Fido before he goes on a rampage through the house. However, if you are like me, and the Universe has great fun at your expense, the realization comes about 5 seconds too late. You open the door and Rover rockets through the threshold, into your once serene domain, bringing with him the unforgettable, one-of-a-kind, straight-up stink. Fetid and oily, it sticks to the back of your throat, resonating through your nasal cavities as if you’d eaten an entire can of skin-on mackerel.

By the time you’re done swearing like a drunken sailor, the damage is done. Your loyal canine has raced through to the bedroom, hopped on the bed, jumped down and rolled on your great aunt Mary’s Oriental rug. You watch in horror, as the dry cleaning bill and laundry count click off in your head like ticker tape. The morning dullness hasn’t quite been burned away by your first cup of Java, the mug of which now in your hand is slightly tipped, coffee threatening to spill over the edge. You are stunned into numbness at the sheer magnitude of the situation, your mouth hangs open slightly, and your right eyebrow twitches. You are only jolted from your stupor by your alarm going off for the second time.

By the time Fluffy puts the brakes on after a victory lap through your kitchen, you are weighting the pros and cons of just burning the house to the ground.

“Fucking Skunk,” you mutter under your breath.

These days, events like this are commonplace at my house – I have a Siberian Husky.

First, let me introduce the main character in this story: Gidgit, the Siberian Husky. Gidgit is a rescue that came into my life in August 2009 when she was 5.  She had never been allowed to run, play and enjoy being a dog before I was Blessed with her companionship. Siberians are a naturally independent breed, and having 5 years of pent-up energy with no social skills, a run in with a skunk or 4 was definitely in her future.

Needless to say, when I opened the door only to be smacked in the face with skunk, I ‘t surprised – Gidgit thinks that everyone should be her “friend.” Owning an adventurous, high-spirited canine like a Siberian Husky, especially one that is 5 years old going on 6 months, means that there is always something when I open the door. Earlier this week For example, I walked out the front porch to discover that she had decided to dig trenches parallel to every mole tunnel in the yard … And the neighbors.  Or, the morning I came out to find her proudly sitting next to new “friend,” a definitely deceased, full-grown groundhog. So, when I received a nose-full of skunk, I just had to shake my head and laugh.

For most people facing a de-skunking, it is a task that can be completed in fairly short order. They could turn on the hose, take them to a groomer, visit a do-it-yourself doggie wash, or even put their foul smelling Fido in the bathtub; they could probably even wait until they returned from work or errands to take on the task.

For Gidgit and me, it is not that easy. First of all, I live in the middle of nowhere – a novel retailer’s nightmare – with the closest metropolitan center – Indianapolis – over an hour away.  Grooming may not be an exotic profession, but the nearest one to us is more than 15 miles away, and as for a do-it-yourself, most folks around here have never heard of such a thing. Secondly, doing it later is simply Not possible – Gidgit accompanies me everywhere I go. The closest do-it-yourself doggie wash is approximately 65 to 70 miles from our house.

With this in mind, one may consider attempting the bath themselves, using their own tub. But, holding an A.D.H.D. Siberian Husky still long enough to soak her completely (through a winter coat no less) baste her for 15 minutes in the vet-prescribed peroxide/baking soda/Dawn mix, and then rinsing, shampooing, rinsing again, and drying her before the wet-dog-mad-dash through the house begins, is basically impossible to do, especially alone (I speak from personal experience here). And this doesn’t even take into account the now vaporized skunk-dog funk that wafts through the house on the humidity from the bath, settling into every fabric fiber, coating every surface of what was once a lovely little hide-away.  Not even a truckload of charcoal will absorb an odor as pungently acrid as this. I’ve tried. All I accomplished was a house that stunk, clothes that were wet and stunk, a dog that was wet, still stunk, and careened through the house scaring the cats.

So, no, it’s a trip to Indy. With a shrug and sign, I set about to gather all of the things we will need for the trip and task: A bucket for the kitchen chemistry ingredients to baste  & de-skunk Gidgit with, a complete change of clothes for me, and new bedding for Gidgit (at home and in the vehicle). And, let us not forget the garbage bags for the nasty bedding post-bath, and the standard issue brown paper bag for my head when I take them into a Laundromat to wash out the polecat.

I scoop up the sheets, clothes and bucket, and head outside. I look at the options for transporting my odiferous dog: Miata or SUV.  If it were Spring, we’d drive the convertible, which would be nice because there would be less bedding to change in the small car, but mainly, it would mean a much needed hiatus for my olfactory receptors and gag reflex. But alas, it’s wintertime. And with the cold comes the unpredictable, bad weather that has turned the roads into an ice rink at best, not to mention the bitter cold we’d experience if the top were down. Gidgit is Siberian, Mama Cruz is not. Hence, not the convertible.

This leaves me with but one option for safe, 4X4 transportation: The Heep, I mean, Jeep.

For those who’ve not had the pleasure of seeing my refined-for-canine, retrofitted Heepster, allow me to give an overview. Since Gidgie goes everywhere with me, the front seat has been modified to accommodate her:  The passenger seat has an empty cat litter pail on the floor in front of it in order to create a larger area for Gidgit to sit. More room allows her to curl up comfortably, rest her chin on the dash and watch passing cars (or hang out the window like an idiot, either way). On top of the seat we have 3 doggie beds: The bottom one has a non-slip surface to keep it still on the leather, and the two on top are thick and plush, so Gidgit has a boost to watch out the windows. Between the 2 front seats is a console; I put a pillow on top of it to add even more space for Gidgit. A huge sheet covers the back seat, and in the rear cargo area are miscellaneous coats without owners, more blankets and rawhide bones.  And to round it all out, we have the consummate snot smears on the glass, muddy paw prints on the door and a few slobbered-on toys that have seen better days.

I mentioned earlier the change of bedding that I need to include for our trip. Today however, I will need more than what we would normally need. Typically, Gidgit stays in one place when we travel in the Heep. However, I have discovered that a prerequisite to harmonious road trips with Gidgit for anything beyond a 10-minute errand is a minimum of a one-hour exercise session.  Circumstances being what they are, we will be going straight to Indianapolis without the traditional stop at the farm to play with her friends. The extra sheets will be needed for when she begins to bounce al over the SUV like an A.D.H.D., rubberized boomerang with a bushy tail.

You’re probably thinking, why not distract her with a tasty bone, or yummy treats? If Gidgie were like 99.9% of dogs, food, treats and a bone would indeed keep her busy. However, Gidgit is one of those rare animals that are not food motivated. There is no juicy bone, dog treat or rotisserie chicken that interests her. The only thing that might keep her occupied is a leg-o-road-kill, and after that trip to Cincinnati, I have to draw the line somewhere (Now that is an entirely different owned-by-a-Siberian tale). What’s worse is that we are taking an interstate, so she cannot hang out the window like an idiot. Anything over 45 mph during the freezing winter months in Indiana seems to be even too much for her taste. So that’s one more thing she cannot do to pass the time.  I roll my eyes in resignation to my upcoming fate, smile and laugh.

“Fucking skunk.”

Since Gidgit’s arrival in August 2009, we have learned so much about each other. However, one of the things I still have a tough time with is discerning whether or not she actually has to potty, or if she just wants to drag me around a rest area. With circumstances being what they are – no morning run – I just have to prepare myself for her to be hell-bent for election. We will be stopping a number of times along the way regardless of reason: To potty or not to potty, that will be the question. On the bright side, we’ve taken this route many a time, so our stops are well known. Being a single female, I have made it a point to only stop at heavily populated rest areas or businesses. This is a great safety tip for me, and a statement of doom for all those innocent people who are going to be exposed to the foul green cloud of skunk-funk attached to Gidgit. It is at this point I just hang my head and give a chuckle. If they didn’t remember us from all of the other times we made potty stops, they certainly will this time.

So, with a deep sigh, I turn to call for Gidgit, and she’s not there.

Crap.

“Fucking skunk,” I say aloud.

My neighbors already think I’m a bit odd, like the crazy cat lady down the street. But instead of 25 cats, it’s a Gidgit. They have witnessed me playing Frisbee and conversing with her as if she will be answering me, the luxury set up she has on the front porch, and best of all, me chasing her though the neighborhood in my PJ’s at 6 in the morning. Getting her back while there is snow to play in will not be easy; Recall and the Siberian Husky could be a book in it’s own right. I have to employ every training aid ever created to get her to come back to me: High-pitched noises, arm flapping, and my very favorite, getting onto the ground in a play-bow. She is in play mode 24-hours a day, 7-days a week. She is so good-natured and full of fun, that if Gidgie were a child, she’d be the one that took candy from strangers and climbed into the windowless, unmarked van. She’s not met a person yet that she didn’t like … well, except for Santa Claus, but that’s yet another story (I mean really now, a full-grown, adult man in a Santa suit & fake beard with a pillow stuffed under his jacket, that smells like a petting zoo in Atlanta in August? He probably deserves a wary-look at minimum, and not just from the dog).

I look around again – nope, no Gidgit.

Damn.

Sibes are beyond independent. They were bred to be that way from their origins 3000 years ago. And since my little ding-dong never had the opportunity to socialize and learn correctly, she is even more of a pistol. And recall? Oh please. Little booger actually runs the opposite direction when you call her name. So, knowing that nothing the professionals have shown me works, I do the one thing that does: start the car, turn it around and call out, “Gidgit, mommy’s going to ‘PET-MART!’” Count to 5 and here she comes like a bullet – mouth open, tongue hanging out the side, goofy look and all I physically brace myself for the pounce. She takes a flying leap into the air, through the driver’s side door, landing on my lap just long enough to leave a few dirty paw prints, and then bounces into her seat.

Crap. I’ve been second-hand skunked.

“Fucking skunk!”

She looks at me with her big blue eyes as if her romp through the neighborhood was in no way naughty. Well, at least she’s here, I think to myself. I reach over to begin strapping her into her seatbelt harness, when it hits me – I will need a different collar and seatbelt harness to put on her after her bath.

Crap.

If I want to use the same collar and harness for the ride home that I use for the ride there, I will have to somehow scrub them both while we are there before I put either back on her – that vile substance will just rub off right back onto her.

Rats.

Do we stop at Petsmart to get one before her bath, or pay extra for a new one at the rather ritzy do-it-yourself “salon?” I look at Gidgit, who is loosing patience with not being on the road yet. The horror scene plays in my head like a movie trailer with the theme from Jaws playing in the background:

Shiny, happy people browsing through Petsmart, minding their own business, their trusty, well behaved and well coiffed, April fresh pooches by their sides, when suddenly (Dunnn, dun. Dunnn, dun), a fluffy, back-carried tail pops up from behind a wall of cat litter boxes, like a shark fin from the ocean. (Dunnn, dun. Dunnn, dun). The nice people begin to politely wrinkle their noses.  Their dogs raise their heads and sniff the air (Dunnn, DUN). The Owners exchange glances, looking confused and slightly concerned. When suddenly, the tail stops, wags a bit (Dunnn, DUN). The tail pivots and heads the other way, gaining speed. The smell begins to actually cause tearing in the eyes of the nice clean-cut people. And then suddenly (DUNNN, DUN), a beautiful, blue-eyed Siberian skids into view from the rawhide isle. The people look on with stunned amazement as they realize the stench culprit. Their dogs perk up, ears erect, heads cocked. (DUNNN DUN, DUNNN DUN, DUNNN DUN). And the Gidgit lurches forward, tongue waggling  – the nice dog owners look on in horror as Gidgit heads directly for them. I try to lean back, digging my heels into the floor. Then, just as I feel that I am gaining a better grip, The leash catches on a display, knocking it over. I trip in an attempt to avoid stepping on the cans of dog food rolling around pell-mell, and land face down on the floor, watching helplessly as the Gidgit bounds joyously toward the horrified crowd …

I snap out of my daze.

Nah. I’ll just take my chances and spray it off when we get there

So I get the Gidgie fastened in, and she is excited to go – she thinks we’re off to the farm and her playmates. She reaches over to give me some of her very meaningful slurps – I allow her to give kisses – and I realize that she’s been cleaning her fur! Uuggggg! I now have skunk-smooches across my nose and cheeks.

“Fucking skunk,” I laugh out loud, wiping my face with my sleeve.

So off we go. Gidgit is hopping around, hanging out the window like a lunatic, making her special Sibe talk-sounds. It doesn’t occur to her until we get onto the interstate that we aren’t headed to the farm. She looks at me over her shoulder as if to say, “Boy, are you in for it.” Like I don’t already know. I reach back to see if one of her squeaky toys is in reach when my stomach growls. In the chaos of leaving for the doggie-wash, I totally forgot about chow for Gidgit and myself.

Crap. One more thing. Fucking Skunk.

One of our normal potty stops is a McDonald’s along the interstate, so we’ll pick something up when make that inevitable stop. I wonder if I’ll be arrested if I put the paper bag on my head when we go through the drive through? Probably.

On down the road a way, we arrive at McDonalds. There is a short-ish line – we pull up behind the car ordering, and pray that it moves along quickly. I order a few sausage egg breakfast sandwiches and dig for correct change, hoping it will lessen the time some innocent bystander has to deal with the sensory biohazard that is Gidgit. I pull up to the first window and try to hand the change off as quickly as possible. Of course, the wind was not in my favor – or the Mickey D’s employee’s. It was blowing right through the Heep, across Gidgie, and right smack into the face of the young woman at the window. That sharp, rotted garlic and battery acid odor must have hit her like a Mack truck – the look on her face was one of a kind. I give her a sheepish grin. Her expression is frozen in a cross between shock and disgust. I smile bigger. She hands me my receipt and points to the next window without a word.

We pull up to the next window, and through the glass, I can see the young lady who took our money telling another employee about the assault on her nasal passages. They look over at me, their eyebrows raised, and stare at me as if I were pregnant and having a martini. I parade wave and give a ridiculous grin. What else can I do?

Gidgit is now sitting up in her seat, her ears and face a perfect example of the quizzical Siberian expression. She is watching all of the people in the dining area having breakfast and smelling the yummy aromas coming from inside. The nice McDonalds folks are probably wondering how such a lovely dog could smell so very badly. Then they look at me, shame and disgust is practically oozing from their pores. I can tell by their body language and read their lips enough to make out various commentaries on my inability to keep my dog clean, that I should not take her in public until she’s bathed – as if I encourage her to befriend cranky skunks.

After several stops at blessedly vacant rest areas, we finally arrive at our destination. Now, the fun really begins. The store is located in an upper-class neighborhood on Indy’s Northeast side. It sits amid a strip mall filled to it’s fancy landscaping with over priced organic food stores, boutiques attempting to be eco-chic, and of course, the do-it-yourself-doggie wash. My guess is that most of the people who frequent this particular pet store have never even seen a skunk, let alone dealt with the aftermath of a face-to-face. The “over-priced imported Brazilian Crested Foofy-Yippen creature for a dog crowd” should really appreciate Gidgit and me. Heh, heh, heh.

With a knowing smirk, Gidgit and we head in.

Now, this is a great little store, with a nice selection of organic and better-made dog foods, along with the expected over-priced eco-conscious beds, clothing for the Foofin Yippers, and fresh baked dog cookies, with The bathing area in the back. Now, Gidgit HATES being bathed nearly as much as she hates being restrained. And here, we will be doing both – at once.  She’ll climb into a stream or baby pool, but heaven Forbid you bathe her! We have been here once before, so I know the ropes … and I know what Gidgit’s response will be.

We head over to the counter where the nice young man is setting out some freshly baked doggie-Biscotti. He has already gathered our bathing necessities – apparently he could smell why we were there. I leaned on the counter while he eyeballed Gidgit, who was wiggling about proudly. The clerk has his pups behind the counter with him – 2 little toy-sized critters, both of which are immaculate and sleeping in their recycled soda pop bottle beds. One of them raises his tiny head and sniffs the air – if I didn’t know better, that dog actually “humphfed” at me, before putting his head back down, as if to say how un-amused he was with our disheveled appearance and nauseating stench. I had to smile and laugh. I looked up to see the clerk mirroring his dog’s expression. I gave a big grin and said, “I’ll follow you.” He nodded, and looking as empathetic as possible, made his way out from behind the counter, trying not to inhale through his nose, motioning toward the back.

The three of us follow the clerk: Me, Gidgit and the cloud-o-funk attached to her that was quickly evolving language skills and opposable thumbs. He shows us to our tub and suggests the de-skunking shampoo. Knowing that there is nothing in a bottle that will work on such a magnificent odor, I hold up my bucket of homemade de-skunking supplies and thank him for the suggestion.

Gidgit already knows what’s about to happen, so I thank St. Francis that she weighs less than 50 pounds, pick her up, and rather unceremoniously deposit her in the giant tub. I get her clipped to the leash ring and say a prayer that it holds – she pulled an entire porch support down in an attempt to get to me after I met her or the first time, so I don’t hold my breath for the tiny ring and weak welds on the pole. I asked the clerk to go to the back & adjust the water temperature so it was not too hot. I thought that it was sort of common sense that Northern Breeds would be sensitive to hot temperatures, but from the look on his face, you would have thought that I’d asked him to collect a stool sample. I pretend not to notice, and gave him a brief explanation on the difference between thermoregulatory systems of Northern dog breeds, (and people) verses those who evolved in a warmer climate. He tried to be polite, although it did not really work. He said, “No one has ever complained.” I managed to be civil, and told him that it wasn’t a complaint, just a request.

Once the soaking commences, the stink transforms into a heavy, humid, magnificently offensive stench, that thickens with the humidity, emanating throughout the store. It hovers heavily in the air, increasing in potency, like passing gas in the shower.  A few snobby women browsing up front in the store look through to the back at us like we’re a carnival side show (and they are the one’s with their tiny pooches dressed in warm up suits and hair bows).

“Fucking skunk,” I laugh to myself as the smell hits me full on.

I try to hurry the process along – being restrained is traumatizing at best for Gidgit. With the de-skunking shampoo a no-go, I scoot my peroxide/Dawn/baking soda mix over with my foot, reach down and scoop up a cup of my homemade brew to begin basting her like a Thanksgiving turkey. The vet recommended I do this for 15 minutes, but we never make it that far; I am happy just to have the redolence blunted somewhat. Besides, having a semi-stinky dog is part and parcel of owning a true outdoor athlete like a Siberian; I already know that as soon as we get to the farm, she’ll find the nearest dead thing uncovered by melting snow and roll in it. Mama Cruz knows that a dirty dog is a happy dog – ergo, Gidgit is delirious.

I finish basting, washing and rinsing – quite a chore with a Siberian in a fully plushed-out winter coat. Right as I reach to turn off the water, an overly fake-tanned woman with an inch too tight face lift, probably in her late 50’s, walks into the back with a dog-in-a-bag, and begins to talk with the groomer.  I was preparing to turn off the water, when I got that sensation – the one you get when you just know your dog is about to do something. The orange skinned woman and groomer were standing a mere 3 feet from us, talking about her yapper-in-a-sack’s upcoming doggie-day spa.  Just as I put my hand on the shower’s handle, I notice Gidgit beginning – in slow motion – that body twist that comes right before a good old fashioned, after bath shake.

No sooner than I turned the handle, than Gidgit let loose with a level 3 hurricane of still malodorous rinse water. I had never seen so much water go flying through the air from a dog in my life. Huge drops of rinse water went flying like it had come from a yard sprinkler hooked to a fire hose. If a sponge company could figure out a way to package Gidgit’s fur, it would be the new Sham Wow – Sham Woof. She shook so vigorously for so long, that I had ample opportunity to flip through my “Doggie Justification Files” for the most sincere sounding apology possible. She isn’t bad, she’s just ridiculously happy.

I froze. I did not want to look at the water damage. Instead, I unhooked Gidgit and begin my apologies simultaneously. I managed to undo the clasp from the grooming lead, but I was not quick enough with bracing myself for great escape from the tub. Her leash slipped right out of my still wet hands, and off she went on an “I’m free!” full-out rampage through the shop… Which was now full of customers.

Crap.

Pandemonium ensued. Gidgit was bouncing, spinning and leaping about, all the while loosing more category 3 rainstorms from her sopping wet coat. In between skids, shakes, and greeting unsuspecting customers, she looked over to me, did a play bow, and took off again; At Any other place, people probably would not have been stunned stupid by the sudden entrance of this wet, overly excited Siberian, running loose through the store like an intoxicated Fraternity Pledge streaking through the campus during Rush. Either They did not have a good enough grip of their wits to grab her leash, or they DID … Now that I think about it, they may have preferred the streaker.

At some point during her campaign of wet-dog-meet-&-greet, the orange skinned face-lift lady had lost her fashion accessory pup to the fun. Out From the back comes a mere handful of canine, in pursuit of Gidgit. My guess was that was the most fun he’d ever had! At the same time, I am trying desperately to be the horrified pet owner, acting as if I am in complete disbelief that Gidgit would be capable of such behavior. I scurried after Gidgit, making the necessary polite-society apologies to each person she mobbed during her outburst of glee. Gidgit is thinking that this is a fun new game, and everyone there is participating just for her! And she has a new little friend!

I finally get Gidgit – only because she is on the floor playing with her new friend, the tiny Terrier. I snagged the leash and turned to the lady that had lost her pint-sized yippen-yapper to the mad doggie dash through the store. Her silk shirt was dotted with the overspray of Gidgit’s first giant after-bath shake (not to mention that she now smelled – a point of fact I was NOT going to mention). Her shirt probably cost more than what I make in a week. While I was trying to apologize, I saw from the corner of my eye her pint-sized pocket-pooch and Gidgit playing. Gidgie is on the floor, and the little tenacious terrier is hoping about, play-sparring with her. It was really adorable – both were having a great time

From the look on the woman’s face, I don’t think she’d ever see her dog play with another dog before. I assured her that they were not fighting – considering that this little pint sized dog had Gidgit on her back, with him perched on her chest; I really don’t think there was a thing to be worried about, but if you have never seen dogs play, you might think that it was more than just fun. Gidgit has always amazed me with her ability to instantly change her play depending upon a dog’s size and personality. She can go from what I call “heinous Beastie mode, sprinting and body-slamming like a professional wrestler, to gentle play sparing, allowing the pup or smaller dog to have the upper paw.

It was then that I realized just how badly Gidgit still smelled, and that she was ever so generously sharing it with this pocket-pooch – and the cashmere sweater he had on. More dry cleaning bills. I rolled my eyes.

“Fucking skunk,” I said under my breath.

Before the orange skinned woman could put two and two together with the swapping of stink, I finish my apology and grab a towel to start drying Gidgit… and everything in her wake that was now soaked. “Good Dog Gidgie!” I told her while we played “where’s the Gidgit” with the towel. An encounter with a real K9 will do her good (it certainly did the imported crested 7 pound yippen-foofer).

After I helped the groomer and clerk mop up Gidgit’s trail through the store, I took her up front to pick out her own toy – a ritual we have each time we go to shopping. She is very picky about food, even pickier about toys, and really isn’t interested in chews, treats or rawhide. She has one favorite, which is probably one of the nastier things I can think of, but I’m not a dog: Bully Sticks. The first time I saw the name, I had a good idea of what they were – and re3ally not stunned that Gidgie thought they were just marvelous. I wasn’t surprised to see them in the store, nor the huge price tag. There were several of them in a wicker basket, like a floral arrangement or something. They were at least 3 feet long, and curled in a corkscrew shape. The clerk walked over and told me that they only carried “the finest organic bovine penises.”

“Great,” I reply, “my dog has a fetish for freeze-dried cow wankers.”  For some reason, it struck me as hilarious. Maybe it was exhaustion and I was getting a little punchy, or that The day had already been such a laughable ordeal with the antics of an energetic Siberian, but I had no power to block the laughter. I don’t think the clerk was as amused as I was. He was probably even less so when we arrived at the counter with the largest freeze-dried organic bovine penis they offered – with Gidgit carrying it up herself, nearly knocking several things over with the ends sticking out of her mouth.

“Good dog, Gidgit!” I tell her with a pat and a smile, ignoring the shock on the clerks face.

On the way home, Gidgie slept on her clean passenger seat bed, just like an Angel. Me on the other hand, was still wet despite a change of clothes, stinky, out a decent chunk of change, not to mention exhausted.  I sighed and thought about the enormous pile of laundry that Shakespeare would have defined as “The rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril.” I shift in the seat, and Gidgit reaches over and puts her front paw across my arm. She opens her blue eyes enough to look at me as if to say, “good mommy,” and close them again. I cannot help but to smile, and thank the Goddess for my many, many Blessings, and all of the adventure and joy my furry and feathered companions give me each and everyday. And it surprises me not that I even thank that fucking skunk.

Random Thoughts

Alright, alright. I give. It seems that every time I turn around lately, something wants to know about me. Facebook, a review I leave for something I’ve purchased, and now, my very own blog. There is of course, no way anyone can truly give another person an idea of who they are in a little box. So, I sat down, computer in lap, and wondered, what would someone want to know about me? Everyone shares information based on whom they are talking to. For example, I am going to tell a Professor of the Science of Philosophy very different things than I am going to tell a dairy farmer. Both sets of information are true, but dependent upon the audience. It is certainly not that this is a dualistic example of intelligence vs ignorance – on the contrary. IT is an example of the spectrum of experiences, knowledge and lives of human beings.

In my quest to write a bit about myself, I continually run up against either being so blunt that I chase away interesting people who may take offence at one of my thoughts, or that I am so “nice” that I white-wash those few things I am a staunch believer in, or passionate about. First, I started with an essay called “I am a study in contradiction:” It outlined my passionate beliefs and a few of my more rigid thoughts, with their caveats and qualifiers. But, afraid that it was too blunt and harsh, thus not showing who I really am, I tried again with one called “I Believe….” But I continued to add caveats, and still came off too bluntly. I even tried diving into my ribald adventures and the sordid details therein, but I would most certainly offend many, not to mention that I’d really be telling on myself! So, I decided to ask the Divine to keep one hand over my mouth, and just type away.  The boring basics are first, and beyond the educational rhetoric, are quips and thoughts about life, how I try to walk my talk, and live in, and with, the world. Some of the issues and ideas I hit on will be essays for a later date, and others are just free-association thoughts on me Here it is:

My name is Cruzlin Picabo Schubert. I am currently located in the middle of rural Indiana, the joke being that my U-Haul broke down and I was stranded in the land of stagnation and fear. Although born in the Midwest, I spent the better part of my life in Arizona. My move there was prompted by my talent on horseback; in Arizona training year around is easier than in Indiana. So, at age 12, my mother and I packed and went West. The other reason for the move was my mother’s wisdom in having me grow up in an area with a broad cultural, religious, ethnic and economic base – away from the small town mentality and wanton ignorance of an isolated community of less than 2000. I did not know it then, but I had been the punch line is several racist jokes, and a number of gossip-fueled stories about my heritage. I was clueless until my early 20’s concerning the extent of the small-town tales.

Once in Arizona, I truly felt at home. I loved Arizona enough to stay for most of my college education. I attended Pima Community College and earned an Associates in Liberal Arts, the University of Arizona where I studied Women’s Studies as a major, with a minor in Philosophy. From there, I attended a top ranked Massage Therapy School – the switch was due to my own chronic pain demons, which was diagnosed in 1994 as Lupus. After the one year intensive training at the Desert Institute of the Healing Arts, I returned to U of A for post-Bac studies in Women’s Studies, psychology and Physio-Immunology.

While I was finishing my graduate studies, my mother moved to Indiana to be close to her parent’s as they became more fragile in their old age’s. Missing my mother, I followed in suit about a year and a half later. What I thought would be a year or two in this culturally retarded land of white supremacy and country music, has ended up a decade, with one of the two family members we returned to be closer to, is still, by the grace of God and good genetics, alive @ 94.

When I first arrived in Indiana, I returned to my University studies at Indiana University – or IUPUI, as Purdue has joined forces with IU in so many of it’s off-main campus endeavors. I would have continued my studies @ University regardless, but not necessarily in the medical field directly: the region was and still is, so socially and culturally retarded by at least 25 to 30 years (retarded in the true meaning of the word), that at the time, someone with a broad based liberal arts background, coupled with Massage Therapy, Life Coaching and graduate work in Physio Immunology and Psychology was considered to be a fringe witch doctor. So, to gain credibility, I chose to study for a BS in nursing, as well as additional post-Bac studies in psychology.

Now, nearly everyone has heard of, and or has participated in some variety of holistic (wholistic) health care. I choose to spell it with a “w,” to imply that the whole person is cared for. I assisted people, as individuals or in groups, to reach their highest goals and standards for themselves, using a mixture of cognitive emergence theory, psychology and sociology, physical health and therapy. I was a Life Coach long before it was called Life Coaching.

Onto other things –

I cannot be classified or categorized, I don’t take “the party line,” and I make many people crazy because of it.

I am a Spiritual Soul, my beliefs being a mix of Buddhism, the Teaching’ of Jesus (not the Christian “church”) & Native American based Spirituality. I agree with what Gandhi said about Christianity: “I like your Christ, but not your Christians.”  I believe that simply going to church makes you as much of a Christian as standing in a garage makes you an automobile.

I see many sides of a thing, be it a physical object, a life situation, political conundrum or problem in general. I like to think critically, and read between the lines. I attempt to have all the facts of any given event prior to opening my mouth, and believe others should follow suit.  I believe that common sense and critical thinking go hand-in-hand, and that it, no matter what it is called, is so lacking in today’s mass populace as to doom us all. . I think there is always more than meets the eye, whether it is a person, situation or event. I love to explore beyond the surface to see the real genesis of a thing, but also the how, why and what fors as well.

I think communication takes more than a thought being verbalized – the listener must not only hear it, but also understand the meanings that the communicator has imbued each term with. I think the Internet has opened up an array of new opportunities to connect and communicate with friends old and new, but that it lacks the “body” and fullness that fills in the gaps of meaning. Body language, tone and expression play a far too important role in making a connection and understanding one another. Communication is dynamic, multidimensional, not a 2-D flat screen, texting lingo IM. The infamous example is the many ways the word “fuck” can be used. If you see it written out, capitals or not, you are going to miss the gist. It could be calling someone a name, an exasperated response to something unbelievable, another way to say “Oh no!” before you hit the pothole on the road. I do love Facebook and letters, they are like sitting on your front porch in your neighborhood, watching what people are up to, but for deeper, more meaningful connection, I will always choose face to face conversation. However, in my current regional prison, the Internet and Facebook have nonetheless allowed me to find others of like mind to converse with, share thoughts and ideas – a Blessing beyond words.

I am giddy to be alive, and find that I am happiest when helping another person.  Most of my “day dreams” are centered on this very idea. It is the single finest sensation I know.

I detest violence, but support our Troops with my whole heart. There are only 3 things in the world that might move me to broach physical violence, and they are 1) the harming of an Elder, 2) the harming of a Child, or 3) the harming of an animal. By harming, I mean emotionally, Spiritually, mentally and physically. Other than this, there are two things that truly make me crazy: Hypocrites, and the wantonly ignorant. With these in mind, little else will raise my blood pressure. I understand that people are people, and we are all on this Earth Walk to learn. Mistakes are made, and accidents happen. Accidents and mistakes not done with harmful or evil intent are just that: accidents and mistakes, not “on purposes.”  We learn and move forward with the new knowledge engaged – this is the cycle of Things. I understand people’s frustration and heartbreaks, as I have had many of them too, and that this anguish can sometimes come out in ways that are not always good.  It is the intent behind the inappropriate ways in which these feelings of anguish and disenfranchisement that defines character. It’s not the hand you’re dealt, but how you deal with the hand.

I am pro-spanking and I wish that my mother had turned me over her knew a few times, as I really believe it would have spared me trauma in my adult life. Discipline and beating are two entirely different things – one is done in anger, the other love. A “bop” on a diapered bottom for back talking is not the same as being told to go choose your own whip off of a willow tree. I think child abusers should be taken out and shot, and that death is too merciful for those who do the same to animals. I believe that all life is sacred, and each has a special place in the world that has been given to all creatures by the Divine: I take spiders and turn them outside, catch the occasional mouse and return it to the field (although I have been known to kill the occasional tick that catches a ride on Gidgit’s fur). Because of this belief, my views on those who kill with malice in the forethought or torture for thrill, have not come to this Earth Walk through the Divine, and should be shuttled henceforth to the hell in which they were spawned. I also believe that the person/people who bore and raised such a thing to be held responsible: it was their non-parenting that created the Soul-less monster capable of such deviant, evil behavior. I believe that you can build a gun and give power to it’s shot, or you can create the vehicle through which a new peace in the Universe can be created. It is akin to taking responsibility for your actions (or non-action) – you make the mess, you clean it up. If I make the mess, I clean it up. You mis-raise a child by going out and partying all night, or being an alcoholic and beating your child into the monster they now are, or you molested that child and they are now a sexual predator, you take responsibility for your unspeakable actions.

I do not have human children – and I never wanted them. More women than men have been moved into fury at the very idea that I did not want children. They would tell me, “Wait until you get older, then you’ll want them,” or the truly amazing “Who will take care of you when you are old?” The most common answer from other women on the topic was the wait until you fall in love comment. I was in love – and still didn’t want them. It would make me wonder on occasion if they were actually mad that they never thought of not having children as an option for themselves. And it is not that I don’t “like” children – I think children are the single more important assets for the future. I believe they must come first. My decision is based in part on the acknowledgement of that import.

I would not get into a relationship with a man that had children, unless he was a single parent on a fulltime basis or a widower, and even then with great caution. Children MUST feel safe, secure and loved by people WHO WILL NOT ABANDON them in order to get a new piece of ass. This may be harsh, but it is still true. Children may say, “I don’t care if you date Mom/Dad,” but this is simply ridiculous and patently untrue. Children will say whatever it is to make the parent happy. Children are not developmentally capable to make an informed decision of this nature. Once mom or dad is all giddy about the new person, the child feels threatened, and is so, therefore acts out. A recent case in the news of a woman and her new husband killing her 4 year old child so she can have her man. This is not an isolated case, and there will be more, and more. If children really “do come first,” then   prove it. Put them before your hormones, or whining that you never had a chance to be a young person and go out on the town, or that having children doesn’t mean that you don’t get to have “a life.” Because it does – at least the kind of life they are thinking about.  The creation of a child means inherently that your life now is all about that child’s happiness, health and well-being. Not yours. My mother showed me how it should be done when raising me. My Mom’ is typically right (much to my amazement!).

I believe in living and behaving as if the world were as it should be, regardless of other’s actions. Just because someone cuts me off in traffic, or breaks my heart, does not give me the right to reciprocate.

I have companion animals that I love dearly, that center my very Soul.  They have saved my life in more ways than one, and are my reason for being. I have a Lilac Crowned Amazon named B.C., an African Gray named Epiphany (Piffy), two cats, Mama Kitty and Ocelot Monster, and Gidgit, a Siberian Husky. Each of these companions have come to me at different times, in different places, and under different circumstances. But, they all have in common one thing – they are all rescues, and each is a Life Preserver for my very Spirit. I take my responsibility to these companions very seriously, as I believe that they are Gifts from the Divine. I believe that these companions teach by example the most precious and priceless thing: unconditional love. I thank the Universe everyday for gifting me with such Blessings.  They help me walk my talk, and live as if the world were as it should be.

I would do anything for a friend, but never ask the same for myself. I love the beach, log cabins and the warm glow of oak. The smell of burning mesquite on a cold night reminds me of being young, much as an old favorite song would. I have changed more than I have stayed the same; I call my journey through life to this point “Life’s Boot-camp.”  I love to smell the Honey Suckle in the early morning hours, when I get up early to meditate. Their white and yellow flowers are like little, delicate creatures – so fragrant and unique that I am assured of the Divine’s presence.

I believe that each Soul is like a Super Nova – so much power, glory and light. I do not think that people realize their potential, and by not realizing, it cannot be tapped and focused. I see this explosion of gamma rays in each person – they are like a finely polished boulder opal, each with it’s own colors, fire and flash. My deepest heart’s desire it is show each person what I see, and give them courage to dive into the possibilities. I believe that animals have Souls, and that their Spirits are higher than our own, as I truly believe that the Divine sends us the most important lessons through them: Unconditional Love.

If I had a perfect day, something just for me, I would never even need to leave the house. I am surrounded by gifts from the Divine, and don’t need to go further. Add wonderful conversation, good food and I can think of nothing more I could ask for (Well, for this to be on a lovely beach, but I am already so lucky and Blessed, that I honestly could not ask for more). I look forward to curling up in bed, and watching one of my favorite shows, with my companions but my side, a fireplace glowing and snow falling. I look forward to getting up early in the morning, and watching the color develop in the early summer sky sitting on the front porch with a cup of Moose Munch coffee from Harry & David’s.

I love to stop and pick wildflowers and the lilies that grow unabashedly along country roads, and the smell of the dessert after a monsoon rain. I love top-down drives in the roadster, good music playing, fresh air and my Siberian Gidgit as co-pilot. The music can be anything except country – blues, cool jazz are always close at hand. I love to laugh, especially at myself and the ridiculous things I do. I talk to myself without inhibition, and find that it can be the genesis of “ah-ha” moments, creative thought and on occasion, a witty response.

I will choose chopsticks over a fork, and watermelon over ice cream. I would rather buy gifts for others than receive them myself. If I have a choice, I spend money on my companions – a fact that is apparent when you visit! I’ll go for the white cheddar before the yellow, and don’t care what it costs, because if it is nasty, it’s nasty! I love sushi and sashimi, but find 99.9% of ham disgusting. I choose Lush’s body butter bars over body lotion, and soybu shirts over silk … if I have to wear clothes at all.

I will choose a boulder opal over a diamond, and love to give gifts on my birthday.

Novica, National Geographic’s worldwide art market is my favorite place to find gifts for humans, although most of my money is spent at Petsmart. If I want a girlie – treat for myself, it comes from Lush. I have my jewelry made, and choose the stones myself, and have let the Divine lead me to that person who Creates them for me.

I don’t wear make-up, and will henna my hair before I dye it. I believe all women are beautiful, like fine pieces of art, and should be complimented without thought to gender. A good man in my eyes is Spiritual first and foremost – no hypo-christians please. The perfect man is sensitive, intelligent and not afraid to cry. I think the sexiest thing is smarts, and would take David Krumholtz (Charlie Epps in Num3ers) over any populace favorite pretty boy.

I have two dream houses: The first would be on an isolated beach in Mexico, with one end all glass facing the ocean. It would be small, and as long as I had my companions, air conditioning and a few good books, I could spend eternity there. The other is a small, 2-story house, built into the side of a foothill in the dessert. The second story would be a loft, and one entire face of the house would be glass from ground to sky. The more likely scenario is me in a giant RV, able to take all those I love with me wherever I may roam.

I think one of my most radical beliefs has to do with humans breeding: there are too many people for the planet to support. This isn’t fascist it’s basic, scientific fact. I believe if you do not have the money for a child, including help with her college education, you simply do not have one. It is no different, but far more important, than wanting a flat screen TV, or expensive car: If you cannot afford it, you DO NOT GET IT.

I believe that a mother and father should have a maximum of 2 children If the union is broken, and either the father or mother wants another child, too bad. Each already has one child to replace them on the planet when they die. Just because you can breed, doesn’t mean you should, or have to. The Bible may say, “be fruitful and multiply,” but it also condones concubines and slavery. The children that these people have already given life to always feel abandoned when mom or dad gets a new piece of ass and creates more babies. The self-centered and selfishness of the adults in this situation never ceases to amaze me. How quickly they believe that the first children are “OK” with it. What’s worse is that these adults go ahead even if the first child say is isn’t “OK.”

My favorite analogy from childhood has to do with a banana being compared to a person’, and harsh or cruel words to toothpicks: If you put a toothpick into a banana, even though you pull it back out, that spot will never heal, it will turn brown, and rot. When you say something to someone with intent to harm, you have, for all intensive purposes, stuck them with a toothpick. You can take back the harsh words, but that person’s heart/ feelings will not heal. Sorry is a word, not a cure-all. I believe we have the ability to control ourselves, so when a harmful thing is said, I believe it is done with intent.

I believe that the best advice I’ve ever been given came from my mother, and given to me when I was very young. She told me that to judge a person’s character, see how they behave with my animals. She told me that people who do not have compassion for a creature that gives unconditional love, are not the sort of people you want to be around. And, as always, mom was right.

I expect honesty and will give it in return; I think that there is always a better way to say something that may hurt a feeling or break a heart.

If I won the lottery, I would set aside what I need to live frugally, and the rest would be sit aside into a Foundation of my own creation. This foundation would go for a few very specific things: First, a women’s shelter where the pets come with the woman. They would be cared for as members of her family, and none left behind for the abuser. Secondly, a mobile, no cost/free spay-neuter clinic. If people cannot bring the pet in, we go to them, do the surgery for low to no cost, and return the pet afterward.  The remainder would go to charities like the Animal Defense Fund (League), Humane Society, a Military Working Dogs Foundation to equip MWD’s in their specific protective roles, and ensure the Pets for Vets program is successful. I would set a small bit aside to do one of my favorite things: Find out who in a community is in need, and of what. I would buy whatever it is – food, clothing – package it up, ring the doorbell and run. The recipients would never know it was from me.  All I ask in return is to be able to see the good it does.

I like to drive with the top down in snow, sing out loud (badly) and dance for joy in the headlights. I love roadside taco stands in Mexico and 7-Seas Soup at the Friendly Dolphin. I could walk for miles looking for shells on the beach, and would enjoy swatting ignorant Americans with a rolled up newspaper when they are giving the waiter a tough time in a Mexican Restraint. My best memories include laughter – the laughter that hurts your face and makes your sides ache. The subject matter isn’t important, only the joy.

I am not a fan of alcohol, unless it is to clean a cut. I think marijuana should be legalized, and alcohol banned, as one kills far more than the other. I do not do drugs, and I believe, that if there were such a thing as demonic possession, addiction is it. Addiction is a disease, and should be treated as one. If we really want to stop “the drug problem,” stop the demand, not the supply – it’s basic Economics 101. As with any commodity, if there is a demand, there will be a supply. Hence, if there are no addicts, the “drug problem” will dwindle and die.

I am a recovering perfectionist, and try not to take myself too seriously (Although the spell check button is getting a bit tired of me). I believe in the wonders of science and Evolution, as well as the Divine. To me, there is no problem of their coexistence, as I see cosmology, astronomy and biology as intertwined Magic, explained by the minds Gifted to us by the Divine.

I can tell who has suffered a tragedy by the way they see miracles in butterflies, as I see those miracles as well. I am awestruck by flowers leaning to meet the sun, and evolutionary adaptations from the Galapagos Islands to Decorator Crabs.

I am forever stunned with the Blessing I am Gifted despite my flaws.

I love to study the differences in each person, culture and land, as I see these differences not as broken bonds, but the mass that makes us strong. I love to listen to stories and experiences others have had – I breathe them in like fresh air.

I believe “God was a Woman,” and patriarchal constructs to be based in some of the most vehement evil and fear that ever existed. I knew this in my heart by age 5 – when I put together who had babies. I asked my mother several questions about God and church, a few tough “whys” and “how comes.” As a Christian, she was taken aback, but as a woman and a mother, she told me that if I was mature enough to ask these questions, I was mature enough to decide if I wanted to attend a church where things did not make sense.

I must say that looking back, I am stunned at her calm when answering my young query. She has not been known for her control over her emotional state in times of stress. I know now, though that this question of male making babies, if Eve was framed, and so on, had probably been bubbling around in her heart for years, whether she was aware of it consciously or not.  It just seemed to be begging the question to me. When the “whys” make no sense, and “facts” and traditions are based on syllogistic fallacies (phalacies), the issues are bound to show up somewhere, subconscious or otherwise.

The thing is, I do not care if someone calls the Divine He, She, it, Great Father, Goddess or Zeus. The Leap of Faith is just that – a leap of Faith. It cannot be argued, confronted or shaken. I have come to believe that Faith is important, more than I would have ever admitted in my Sophomoric years as a rather angry Atheist.  Belief and religion are two entirely different beasts – one controls, the other elevates the Spirit. Religion and it’s constructed, manipulated text and rules have sullied what was a beautiful and peaceful ideology. Buddha, Gandhi, Jesus and Mohammad belong in the same basket: Individuals of Peace, compassion and love. Religion has convinced us that the differences are insurmountable, not the intangible bond of love.

I have Faith because of the Gifts and things I have been able to survive, not because I was “raised” in “it.” I am not a lucky person – it is actually a bit of a joke that Mr. Murphy follows me around to make new laws. If there is something that can go wrong, it will go wrong for me, if there is something to trip on, I do. The majority of the time I find it hysterical. But with all of the life altering crises, surreal to the tragic, I have somehow come out the other side with perspective. There is simply no way I could have lived through some of these things without the Guidance and Love of the Divine. No way. This is the biggest reason I Believe.

I Believe that there is power in naming, whether is it a child or defining a new statute. I think we depend on a person’s clothing, cars and accessories to tell us about who they are way too much, and that nudists have the right idea for equalizing the proverbial playing field.

I believe that recognition and complements can change a person’s confidence in themselves enough for them to change the world. I think we should celebrate birthdays with reckless abandon and joyous zeal, as they celebrate the beginning of an Earth Walk for the Soul, which is a Gift in and of itself, from the Divine. There is enough sorrow in the world to overlook those things we can find happiness in.  I find that writing this for others to read and enjoy makes me smile – and that is enough for me. How could I ask for more.