Tiger Eyes

Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume

1982

Weight: 4 oz

Method Disposal: Giving Away

It is no secret that, in general, Americans do not have a healthy connection with death and dying.  I sure do not and have been looking for tools and resources on my own in an attempt to get more comfortable with the most uncomfortable of subjects.  I always think I am preparing myself, but there is no preparation and it is jarring and disorienting in the largest, most earth shaking ways when death touched you, even on the periphery.  I am scared to face the death of my loved ones, but I am also determined to be better at being supportive of those I love who are grieving.  Unfortunately, it is not something that you can learn from reading a handbook, and it is not something you can protect yourself from.

I did not pick up this book to learn about death.  I picked up this book to revisit the work of Judy Blume as an adult, and I had also never read Tiger Eyes.  I recognized the style right away, even though I did not know the story.  Tiger Eyes is about a teenager who loses her father to violence and her struggle to overcome depression, anxiety, and grief afterwards.  She must do this within a family of other people who are also grieving.  She wants and needs her mother, but her mother is lost in despair too.  She is not always her best self and neither are her mom, her aunt, her uncle, but they are also not their worst selves.  They are just hurting people.  

I think young adult books like this, centered heavily on character development, are so helpful and important to our emotional growth.  Young adults do not always feel comfortable asking questions and, if they are like I was, they would not even always know what to ask.  You are learning so much so fast, and what you are learning is not just your school curriculum.  If a young adult will read and wants to read, they can learn without fear of judgement, without having to know what is right and wrong to ask, and you are just led through it without even realizing you are learning.  Learning by experience even if you, personally, are not the one doing the experiencing.  Do not get me wrong, you do not read Tiger Eyes and then become a person who knows what it is like to grieve, but you do develop empathy and concern.  There is a template, if you ever need to see one again or if you needed one to begin with, that shows you that there is still life after the death of a loved one.  Books like this one do not make everything better, but their value is subtle and that value collects in your brain, with all the other information you have gained from life, from other books, from other people.  Thank you, Judy Blume, for tackling the hard stuff, even though it is not easy to face the darkness.

Love, Death, and the Changing Seasons

Love, Death, and the Changing Seasons by Marilyn Hacker
1995
Weight: 7 ounces
Method of Disposal: Donation

This book would have been even better if I had discovered it in the 90s when there were so few books written by and for lesbians, but it was great now too.  Hacker writes passionately about a woman she meets, falls in love with, and loses.  Many of the poems are erotic and charged with the excitement of finding someone completely irresistible.  The overwhelming and strong feelings behind desire, lust, and loss are feelings I am sure almost all of us can relate to at some point in our lives.  As a married person, it makes me not miss the heartbreak of loss at all, though that magnetism you feel with someone when you first start falling for them is delightful.  The security and depth of lasting love is the best, but I hope I never find out what the loss of that does to a person like me!

Other things I wish:  That I could work from home and write about my life, lesbianism, love, grief, despair, and everything else.  Le sigh.

Giselle's Bucket List

Giselle's Bucket List by Lauren Fern Watt
2017
Weight: 1 lb
Method of Disposal: Lending library at a shelter

This ended up being my beach read in Sanibel because I had absolutely no time for reading, and this is something you can fall in and out of easily.  It reads quickly and is full of pictures of an incredible and sweet mastiff, Gizelle.  The author is a young, confused woman who is trying to figure out her place and meaning in the world--I can still relate to that, and I am just under ten years older than her!

 I am only slightly kidding.  I remember being 25 years old and being desperate for meaning and answers.  It was very frightening and it all felt so urgent.  I only made it through because of my dogs (and ultimately meeting my wife).  It is a scary age to own a pet because a lot of 25 year olds cannot afford the medical bills or know what it takes to truly commit to a dog for life, but I believe it is a time when many people would benefit from having a pet.  Lauren clearly did.

I, of course, cried when Lauren had to say goodbye to Gizelle and could absolutely empathize with her.  My heart broke.  6 years is definitely not long enough.  I am glad Gizelle had Lauren and her family and friends though.

I don't know that this book had a real trajectory.  The author tried to use the bucket list as the glue that bound it all together, but the bucket list did not really seem to be the big, powerful thing.  It seemed like she tried to fit the list into the book instead of the list driving the book.  I think, like in life, she was confused about what to do with herself, her feelings, and her grief and so she wrote a book.  I think she did a good job for where she is at in life, though it did not speak to me as much as it might have when I was younger.  I can still remember and relate. 

I also appreciated her sharing the difficulties she faces loving an addict/her mom.  That was heavy and sad and something else the author was trying to make sense of.  Her honesty in and of itself was helpful, and you could see the love shine through the sadness and frustration in her acknowledgements at the end of the book.  This book is not going to teach most people anything, including the author, but it is a sweet love letter to the dog Lauren adored so deeply and a good peek into what it feels like to be twenty something and not know what you are doing with your life, relationships, and career.

Belle Prater's Boy

Belle Prater's Boy by Ruth White
1998
Weight: 11.2 oz
Method of Disposal: Donating

SPOILER ALERT

This was a surprisingly good young adult novel that was centered on two kids turning into teenagers, Gypsy and Woodrow.  They are both reeling with the loss of a parent.  Gypsy lost her father to suicide and Woodrow's mom disappeared.   Both characters are so earnest and so lovable.  You just want to make everything right for them.  They have such loving personalities despite their struggles and when Woodrow weaves an elaborate tale of magic and two worlds throughout the book you find yourself desperately believing that his mom will come back for him and that she is just stuck somewhere.  It is not until the very end of the book that you too have to feel a disappointment similar to Woodrow's when he admits that his mom left him behind and that she is not coming back.  I wanted to be enraged, but then Gypsy reminds you that, "Aunt Belle had left Woodrow on purpose just like my daddy left me.  Not because they didn't love us.  They did.  But their pain was bigger than their love" (195).  

The United States of Poetry

The United States of Poetry
Joshua Blum Bob Holman Mark Pellington
1996
Weight: 2.4 oz
Method of Disposal: Leaving Somewhere

I bought this book in the 90s and just now read it in 2016, but I am glad I saved it all this time.  I also think it is better it is released now rather than later.  It seems like there is less poetry out there.  I do, however, find it amusing that I am now married to someone who had a total mental collapse when she realized I was reading a book of poetry next to her.  She has some deep-seated disdain for poetry we need to overcome, apparently.

I picked up this book and read it last weekend, after we had to euthanize our beloved Chihuahua-Potato, Bayah.  I thought she would live for at least two decades and never imagined we would lose her in the 8-12 year old range.  She was rescued with her baby, Aires, from a puppy mill and brought to PAWS Atlanta around 4.5 years ago.  Harriet and her then boyfriend, Connor, took Bayah in as a foster.  She was seemingly young and feisty.

She was adopted out and about a year later she came back looking terrible.  She was overweight, had hair loss, and her teeth were completely rotten.  Harriet had moved back to England, and there was no room at the shelter.  Having started falling in love with the now single Harriet, I could not let anything happen to her foster pup and so I took Bayah home as my own foster.  I fell in love with her too.  And hard.  I tried to adopt her out, but when she came back a week later (she wasn't housebroken) I was so relieved to scoop her back up.  I finalized her adoption that day--April 18, 2013.  I was able to be her family for a little over three years.  That's it.

She was my little hot potato and my co-pilot. She was the dog I could take with me everywhere.  She was relaxed and loving and not at all worried about adult strangers.  Children were slightly alarming, but she would not hurt them, and I always made sure they were sweet with her too.  She fit perfectly in my arms.  She would not lay down or rest until she found a comfy bed to rest on but, if you put her in a bed, she would not budge again until you made her or until you took out some food.  She loved to eat more than anything else in the world and on her last night we gave her chocolate and chicken jerky, which she scarfed down as ferociously as ever.

She developed a head tilt and was diagnosed with vestibular disease, but three weeks went by, and she did not get better.  We got a third opinion.  We were told she had a brain tumor and our time with her was short and, even with the warning, there was not enough time spent together.  There never could be.  That's the thing about death.  No matter how much life allows you to prepare for it you cannot prepare for it.  It feels sudden or unexpected even when it is not.  If it doesn't feel that way then you have likely suffered terribly and for awhile.

That last night was the first time she flinched when someone went to hold her or when her canine best friend, Savannah, got near her.  She was in pain.  The tumor was putting pressure on her eye.  She had gone blind in that eye just a few weeks before. The only option was surgery, and she was not a candidate for surgery at her age and in her condition.  She left us before we left her, and our hearts broke into a million Bayah-sized pieces as we drove away from that hospital and home to a house that felt empty even though it was full of dogs.  I funnel my affections into her best friend and my other dogs, but nothing touches that place within me where the memory of her lives.  It is heavy and damp, soaked through with my sadness.  I know that as time goes on it will fill with positive memories and funny anecdotes, but right now I just miss my beloved little Chihuahua and the tongue that always hung out of her mouth as she sauntered along.  The low, sweet bark she let out when she got really excited and the warmth of her small body resting next to me.  I will love you forever, Bayah. 

Rescuing Sprite

Rescuing Sprite: A Dog Lover's Story of Joy and Anguish by Mark R. Levin
2007
Weight: 10.4 oz
Method of Disposal: Leaving in a Lending Library in Decatur

The plumber came by to investigate an obnoxious and overwhelming smell that infiltrates our house every time we take a shower, wash dishes, or clean our clothes.  He walked in the basement and saw my mementos and memorial boxes of the many dogs I have loved and asked Harriet if they were for deceased dogs.  She said yes, and proceeded to lead the poor guy down the road of "Laura is actually crazy."  She decided not to admit I was a shelter manager, which only makes me look worse.  I do not intend to keep them forever, but I want to find the best way to memorialize all the dogs that have touched my life and, in almost ten years of work at an animal shelter, there are a lot of them.

I absolutely understand why other people and write and read books about rescued dogs and the families that love them, but I never understand why I do.  I read Rescuing Sprite, inevitably crying a bit, and thinking I hear so many sad animal stories on a daily basis.  Why am I doing this to myself?  This is like answering the phone at work on any given day.

But it is not really.  It is wonderful to hear about a nice, loving, generous family who loves the senior, ill dog that they adopted and does not blame the shelter for the things they could not know.  It is refreshing to hear about that dog's retirement and how good it was and how grateful the family was to know Sprite.

I am going to leave this one in the lending library and hope it opens someone else's eyes to rescue.

The Story of Growl

The Story of Growl  by Judy Horacek

2008

Weight: ½ lb

Method of Disposal: Left in a parking lot in East Atlanta, along with an empty journal

My father has reminded me over the years about a time we went to Florida together as a family.  My brother was social and made new friends on the day we arrived.  He always did it really.  It did not matter what time we got in or where we went.  My brother always surrounded himself with new people right away.  At that time, I did not have a lot of friends.  At home, it wasn’t for a lack of trying.  I was always socially awkward.  At the beach, though, it was because I did not see the point.  One day, he asked me why I did not talk to any of the kids my own age.  I immediately responded with something along the lines of “Why would I want to get attached to any of them if I will never see them again?”  I spared myself the heartache.  That is how I have always been.  I do not want to develop friendships that are not meaningful and long-lasting.  It is really an unfortunate disposition, and it does not spare you from hurt.  It probably just makes it worse.  

I expect to grow “older and wiser,” but I am surprised to find that I never completely ousted the child.  I am still her.  Why make the investment if the return is not worth it?  The pain of loneliness is nothing compared to the pain of loss.  Loneliness even has perks.  Lots of them, really.  Maybe I missed some key life lessons or chose not to listen to them.

I am getting rid of The Story of Growl, which I enjoyed a lot when it was given to me, in recognition of the missed lessons.  It is an adorable children’s book about a monster that loves to growl but is no longer allowed to.  Eventually, she has to growl at an intruder and the people realize the value of growling and so she is allowed to revel in her passion.

Phoenix, 1997-2010

The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein
2009
Weight: 9.6 oz
Method of Disposal: Not sure, but I want it gone.



On August 16, 2010 I stayed up late reading the ART OF RACING IN THE RAIN while my baby foster kitten ran up and down the couch. Phoenix, my old man, laid beside me and would give the kitten a sniff from time to time that would cause her to blow up into the tiniest little poof ball. Phoenix’s tail was wagging, and he was given a good pet. The next morning I woke up, left the house to go to work telling Phoenix my usual, “Don’t worry, I will be back. I don’t want to leave either.” I got off work an hour early. I stopped by Walgreens for a totally unnecessary soda and then went home. I opened the door. Phoenix was lying crumpled and dead on the floor by the window. I started yelling at him to get up and fell over the items that blocked my way to him. The consensus is that it was probably a heart attack.

I adopted Phoenix from a local animal control around 11 years ago, and they guessed his age to be two years old. He was a big, scared, black dog with snot hanging down to the floor. It was raining that day, and he was scared to get into our car. They thought he might die since he was so sick, but he recovered. His shelter name was Sprocket and, because I was in 9th grade and he had overcome so much, I named him Phoenix. Later, he would also be known as Fiend, P-Beast, and Feenie.

In his early years, he would bolt out the front door if anyone attempted to open it. He would run straight into children, knocking them over, and then walk away without a second thought about it. He was always terrified of thunderstorms. He was also my best friend, despite the fact that I was a teenager and had trouble showing it. He was there when I broke up with my first love, and he was there for all the trying times I have had since then. He met everyone who was important to me, and he impressed almost everyone he came into contact with. In his older years friends of mine would proclaim that they wished he was their dog or that they wanted a dog just like him. We would use him to socialize other pets that were more timid, and he helped Vallan and I foster ten or more other beasts. He moved 5 + times to new houses and neighborhoods, but he always took it in stride. New smells, new people, new friends. He was cared for by Vallan, my mother, my grandmother, and myself. Every one took care of him in different ways, and he loved all of them. He ended up being the best-behaved dog I have ever had the privilege of calling my family member.

Phoenix was a traveling dog. He loved car rides. He had the opportunity to go cross-country several times, and he was also able to live with my mom on top of a mountain in New Mexico. He never cared for swimming or baths, much to my dismay. He was so afraid of water I am surprised he ever drank any out of the bowl. He did like to lick the water off my ankles when I got out of the shower, and I always hated it, but I would let him, thinking I would miss it one day. I do.

The night before my best friend died, I was reading a book from the perspective of a dog about his love for his owner and his own dying. The book was sometimes trite, and it was often way too human-centric—mostly man-centric. The women characters left a lot to be desired, and the man was the ideal life form. I really don’t care about all that right now though. The book did make me cry often, and I did read it fast. It was good and, for some, I think it would be comforting. I had no idea I would lose Phoenix so soon after reading it and now I want it out of my life. It is not the book’s fault, but it has to go.

Good Bye Fiend Man, I will always love, respect, and cherish you. 1997-2010.