Bygone Days

When did it happen? And where the hell was I? Am I odd - abnormal even - for wondering where "We" went? I'm sure more couples than I think lose their sense of coupleness. Life's busy. Between school and work and kids and chores...somehow, somewhere in the sea of stuff, we lose sight of us. You and I. Me and you. And then there's just...you...and me.

Over the course of a marriage, things aren't always been a slide on ice. I really don't think I was mature enough to be married when we got hitched. Oh hell - I know I wasn't. I was afraid to speak my mind, to say when I was upset at my spouse. I still can't (it's easier not to. It will be my fault anyway so why mention it?)Lack of communication is a marriage killer. I didn't handle money well or wisely. I've acted like a brat and been downright mean when I felt I was wronged. I've escaped for a weekend out of town just because I couldn't handle one more second without letting off steam. I think I may have even lost my self somewhere along the way. A girls night out at Karen's with my BF or cosmic bowling with her and my niece helped me to remember who I was...who I am. Then there are the small things. Which, more often than not, turn into big things. Big things that cause annoyance and fights until one day you decide its too much energy to argue over or get mad about. Yep, your marriage is in trouble.

But the biggest thing - and I really do believe this - is that couples stop doing couple things. As soon as you lose the romance, stop doing the little things that you did when you were courting, its OVER. Go on dates. Hold hands. LISTEN to each other. Flirt with each other. Dream together. Slow dance in the living room. Watch the sunset. Making time for each other and doing things together (even grocery shopping...really!) as "us" is sososo imperative to the survival of a marriage.

Marriage is hard work. No one tells you just how tough it will be. The preacher or judge doesn't give you a handbook on how to make it work along with pronouncing you man and wife. You both have to work at it, every single day. Otherwise you'll wake up one morning and wonder where "we" went.

The Vick Lie

(Fair warning...this is accompanied by a VERY graphic photo. Not for the faint of heart.)

Michael Vick is a liar. And I totally fell for it.

Its been said that wanting to see the good, or the best, in people is an admirable quality. In most cases I'm sure that's true. However. I am not feeling very admirable today. No, not even a skoosh. I'm feeling pretty much like the most gullible person ever to give her opinion on Michael Vick's 'repentance' voice. After being busted in the most publicized dog fighting ring case ever, he lost his job as a quarterback in the NFL, served 18 months in jail, was ordered to pay for the care of the dogs that survived his “kennel” to be confiscated and sent to animal shelters to be evaluated and rehabilitated, if possible, or simply live until they died of old age rather than the alternative – which was widely touted by law enforcement, the public and even PETA as the best and/or most humane thing to do for these dogs....euthanisation; since his arrest, he has said that he is sorry for his actions, that he regrets his treatment of the pit bull terriers he used for profit and a disgusting form of entertainment, and that he would like to have a dog so he can experience a normal relationship between a dog and its owner. He has even been embraced by the American Humane Society to be a kind of ambassador to teach school kids why dog fighting and animal cruelty is wrong. Oh how those of us who wanted this man to see the horrors he inflicted be sickened by his actions and be truly remorseful believed in him when he stated he was sorry. I got suckered into buying his BS right along with thousands of others. The proof it was all an act was emailed to me this morning – comments made by Vick in this month's issue of GQ.

It's funny how things happen sometimes. I spent last week at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary, volunteering with my good friend, Laura, as we have done in the past. We worked mostly at Dog Town. This is where the worst of the Vick dogs ended up – the ones that no one thought would be able to be rehabbed into good dogs who could be adopted into a loving home someday. Don't get me wrong...there are some of the Vicktory Dogs (as the folks at Dog Town have named them) that will never be able to live outside of Dog Town. These are mainly the 'champions' of the fights. Agression was beaten into them daily while they lived at Vick's estate. Don't be sad for them, though...they will be loved and well cared for by the Dog Town staff. While at the sanctuary, I got to see the Vicktory Dog that I have sponsored for the past year, Ellen. I can't touch her or go into her run – staff only. Court order. But her caretaker assured me that she is the sweetest, most friendly and loving dog who would never in a million years bite anyone. Then she proceeded to go into Ellen's run. Ellen ran over to her, tail wagging like a metronome on speed, stood up on her hind legs and licked Kristen's face for the next 5 minutes. Ellen has almost fulfilled all the requirements of the Canine Good Citizenship test (a program Best Friends animal trainers came up with to teach the dogs how to behave like a 'good dog' should) and once she does that, she will be eligible for adoption. ((sigh)) if I had no animals of my own, I would file papers to take her in a millisecond. Or faster. So after a week at Dog Town, on the drive to Salt Lake this past Saturday Laura and I got into a discussion about Michael Vick, his misdeeds and whether or not he was a changed man, as he claimed. Me, I was defending him, sighting his work with the Humane Society, his comments about remorse for his actions, the statement of wanting to have a family dog so he could experience what it is like to have a loving owner/pet relationship, and his contributions over the court mandated amount to the care of the Vicktory Dogs. Laura was skeptical of his change of heart.

And then it came. Proof. Laura emailed me a link to an article appearing on a dog advocacy website about a sports writer – well-known sports writer at that – for the LA Times in which he more or less called Vick on his lies. On the LA Times' website. The Times article sited an interview that Vick did with GQ Magazine in which he stated that he didn't “know why people hate me” and not only basically blamed his dog fighting on being raised in a poor neighborhood where it was an acceptable practice to make money, but flat out admitted that HE KNEW IT WAS WRONG. And did it anyway. The piece on the dog group site had commentary about Vick and why most of America hates him. Really?!??!



THIS IS WHY WE HATE YOU, MICHAEL. Do you get it NOW????

Ten Years Later, It Still Hurts

I wasn't going to watch today. Honestly, I really wasn't. I didn't even want to listen to the rememberance programming that was playing on the radio when I woke up. The wound left behind by the events of that beautiful fall morning ten years ago is still pretty raw; reliving that day has been a painful exercise every year since. But apparently I am a glutton for punishment and turned on Fox News, bracing for the images and sounds of that fateful morning as they went through their on-air timeline as the attacks happened, as President Bush was informed in front of a room full of elementary school children with the press corp standing in the back, and as those two giant towers came crashing down. Truthfully, I expected to be a crying mess. I made it thgough the timeline without a tear, through the service at Ground Zero up until they tolled the bell marking the minute the second tower fell. As that bell rang, in my mind, my memory, I was at work, sitting in the engineers office surrounded by coworkers, sobbing as we watched in shock and disbelief as that magnificent tower crumbled to the ground. NOW I was weeping. I needed to do something - anything! - to get my mind off that scene otherwise I would be weeping the rest of the day. Muffins! I'll make blueberry muffins and pull myself together. Measuring, mixing, pouring into the tins...then in the oven. Back to the living room and Fox News just in time to catch Paul Simon's amazing acoustic performance of "Sound of Silence." Aaaaaand back came the tears. I wept for the unimaginable fear those trapped in the Towers must have gone through waiting for the rescue that never came, for those who made the choice to leap into the smoke-filled air to meet death on their own terms rather than the painful end that was thrust upon them in the moment of impact, for the 9-1-1 operators who tried to calm terrified, hysterical callers who were inside the Towers while remaining calrm themselves - even after the realization came that those inside would never make it out, for the firemen who geared up and marched off into those buildings and climbed floor after floor of stairs while the occupants rushed down them and away from the burning hell above, for the policemen helping the fleeing occupants of Tower One, Tower Two and the Pentagon by directing them where to go for medical attention and comforting those who were too distrught to move, for the dispatchers trying to direct the NYPD and FDNY amid the utter chaos that had enveloped the city and jammed radios, for the families watching helplessly as the events unfolded in New York City, in Washington DC and recieving those calls from loved ones telling them "I love you" and goodbye. The one image from that horrible day that I will never forget is the one of two ash-covered firemen carrying the lifeless body of FDNY's own Father Mychael Judge from the rubble. Father Judge had been there giving comfort to the victims, reassuring the firemen when the first tower fell, taking his life.

Ten years out from that Tuesday morning in September of 2001 and it's still painful to see, to hear the sounds from the news clips and to remember where I was at each stage. And that's a good thing. Once it stops hurting, it will be easier to forget. We can NEVER forget.