Epitaph to A Squirrel

Tildy and I are walking in the door with an armload. It is noon, and we have just come from the library. I let Daisy, our beloved and decrepit, ancient dog out, as we walk in. I empty my arms, and then I turn to walk back out to get another load.

And in this split second somehow a squirrel has appeared who is struggling desperately to get out of Daisy's mouth.

Instinct kicks in. I run over to Daisy wringing my hands and yelling, "No, no Daisy, what have you done!" practically flinging myself prostrate kicking and crying in grief on the ground. But since Daisy is deaf - and a dog - she looks at me puzzled-like. And then politely drops her plaything and steps away so I can share.

I am left with - not a dead squirrel as I expect - but a very frightened and scared and broken squirrel. He is breathing quickly and when I come close, he gathers strength and pulls himself away from me. And then I notice his friend up in the tree. So I figure I will let the thing die in peace - last moments and all that. I gather up Tildy and Daisy and retreat inside.

A half hour later, Tildy is asleep, but that darn squirrel is not. He has dragged himself onto our back porch, and is still crying and chatting with his friend.

What would you do?

Obviously the logical thing to do is to put the creature out of his misery. Could you kill an injured squirrel with your bare hands?

This is not a question I expect to be faced with - well, ever.

I briefly consider plunging the squirrel in a bucket of water and drowning him, but realize in a micro second that this is a no-can-do for me. Create a Dead Thing? Never.

So I contact everyone I can think of to help. The Internet is a wonderful thing.

I call my husband, who mocks me: "Just pick the thing up and wring its neck! Or let Daisy back out." I guess he is in a busy, highly efficient sort of mood. Geoff isn't thinking of the squirrel germs on poor Daisy. Or me.

I call a woman who supposedly conducts squirrel rescues. She hangs up on me when she hears I do not have a car to load the creature into for delivery.

I call the Wild Animal Sanctuary in Keenesburg, Colorado. They save lions and bears, why not a squirrel? And the woman who answers is very understanding: "The best thing to do would be to help it along, but I couldn't do it. The line between a squirrel and a rabbit is so fine, and then the line between a rabbit and a cat... I would be holding it in my lap while it died."

I search around the neighborhood for someone with a killing instinct who might owe me a BIG favor. The closest I get is the guy across the street, who doesn't owe me squat: "I don't have a BB gun. Have you tried calling Animal Control? Why don't you call Animal Control first, and if they don't help you, I'll come over with a shovel."

Meanwhile, the squirrel has managed to scramble all the way across the porch and into the flower bed, and two hours have gone by!

I call Animal Control. The woman on the phone is very patient with my squirrel story, but clearly thinks I'm insane: "We usually say 'Let nature take its course' for this sort of thing, but I'll ask dispatch to give you a call and see what they say."

At this point, it no longer matters. I am out of time. It is time to pick up the kids from school, and with the plans of the day, we won't be home again until after seven o'clock that night.

I say my goodbyes to the squirrel. The flower bed is a cozy, sheltered spot for a squirrel's final moments. Please forgive me for your pain.

At 7:15pm the kids and I come home after soccer practice. We pause on the way in to check the flower bed. It is dark and cold and creepy. The air now has that Halloween feel to it with leaves blowing and rattling. We thoroughly check the flower bed. And check again. There is no dead squirrel in the flower bed.

After tucking Oscar and Tildy into bed, it is 8:00pm. Marek and I take a flashlight and explore the yard hoping to find a carcass. Nothing. Nowhere. Even Daisy on the leash can't sniff it out. But I think I hear something in the bushes.

At 9:00pm, everyone is asleep and I am alone with Daisy on the leash. We head outside again for one last look. As we open the back door and step down the stairs, a squirrel scampers away from us. It stops and looks and scampers some more. It kind of looks like a drunk when it scampers. It has the wobbly look of a biped, rather than the smooth lope of a squirrel. And it doesn't go up a tree like it is supposed to. This is the supposed-to-be-dead squirrel. It is now scampering. I feel chills. It is Stephen King's Pet Sematary come to life. I backtrack quickly into the house and lock the back door. Any squirrel with powers over death like this one, probably can turn door knobs.

It is time for action. I call Geoff again. I told you he worked late hours.

"If I come home early to kill this squirrel, I am going to KILL this squirrel!"

But he appears with his shining armor glinting in the moonlight.

We tiptoe outside together. I shine my flashlight all over the yard peering under bushes and in flower beds. Nothing. And then I spot it. And it is dead! I can't believe after all this, the squirrel dies right after I break down and ask Geoff to come home.

Geoff blows this theory away when he scoops up the squirrel with his shovel. "This squirrel is stiff. It's been dead for a while."

How can this be? I know I just saw it scampering an hour before. I run inside and look up "rigor mortise" online. Sure enough, rigor mortise takes three hours to set in. Great. I am now being haunted by the squirrel I couldn't kill.

As I am pondering this one, Geoff comes in. "Well, turns out you did see a different injured squirrel. I let Daisy out and she caught it again. It's over."

Geoff's autopsy report: The Mom died, and the cute little squirrel that Daisy got - twice - after all my efforts - was the baby.

I am befuddled. I feel relief that the crazy squirrel is no longer in my backyard where my children and dog play. But I am annoyed that all my efforts to keep the dog away from the injured squirrel were for naught. I mean, I could have just let Daisy kill the squirrel ten hours earlier and saved everyone, squirrel especially, a lot of pain.

"Let nature take its course."

Marek has another theory. "You know, Mom, how Daisy has been trying her entire life to catch a squirrel? Well, her life is almost over, and now her wish has been granted so she can die in peace."

Rest in peace, Daisy - I guess soon.

Rest in peace, Squirrel.

So - could you kill an injured squirrel with your bare hands?

A Letter For When You Are Sad

Right after my father passed away, I stumbled upon a letter in my baby book. It is a letter written by my Dad the day I was born.

The letter is written to the nurses at the hospital thanking them for the wonderful job they did delivering me (even though he was not allowed in the delivery room as he very much wanted to be!). It is written by his hand in his very personal cursive writing, just on standard yellow notebook paper, but it is in my father's voice - at least the voice of my father at 26 years of age, very excited after the birth of his first child.

For obvious reasons I treasure this letter.

When my first child was born, one of the first things I did after I made sure he was breathing and all that, was sit down next to him, and write him a letter. Since then I have written him and Oscar and Tildy each a letter at least every year.

Mainly these letter are just filled with information about them - developmental milestones, friends, vacations, interests, quotes - but I also try to include my thoughts on life and its issues, questions that might come up after I am gone, and I hope that my love will seep through in between the lines. The letters are written to them as young adults. I have very rarely shared them.

A while ago I wrote my first-born a very non-standard letter on depression. This was in addition to his annual update. I stored this letter away in his baby book just like usual, and figured maybe I would hand it to him in high school. But recently Marek has been going through some tough times, and I felt like it might help. So I pulled it out and read it to him.

And then after I read it, I thought I might as well share it with the world.

TO: MAREK
WITH ALL MY LOVE
FOR WHEN YOU ARE SAD

Dear Marek,
I worry about you sometimes, because you seem so sad and serious. I worry that you are a person that must fight depression. I especially worry, because Dad and I both have experienced this fight. You are one of those people who take life very seriously, as am I. Much too seriously. Most things really don't matter that much. It's better to laugh. It's so easy to say "Lighten up," but so difficult to do. Here are some ideas for when you're down:

1) LOVE - You are so loved. Even if Dad and I are not around, know that somewhere we are loving you unconditionally. We loved you into existence, we've cared for you your whole life. You have love. You are not alone. But I know this is sometimes not enough.

2) SLEEP, EAT, BATHE - Everything looks better on a full stomach after a good night's rest. Care for yourself and you will feel better. Your mind won't function correctly without care. Depression is a disease of the mind, after all - keep the chemicals well balanced.

3) EXERCISE - Everything looks better when you're run (swam, biked, danced, punched) yourself into exhaustion. Getting the blood flowing and your lungs breathing helps restore optimism.

4) STAY CLEAN - Say "No" to substances. Alcohol and drugs might bring a short high, but they will bring you lower in the end. And they are addicting, so you must always get more to feel better - and even more next time.

5) ACT - It doesn't matter what you are doing - get out of your head feeling sorry for yourself and do something. Solve the problem with activity. Problems rarely go away on their own. Keep to your normal schedule and at least try to maintain.

6) SOCIALIZE - I know you aren't a people person - neither am I - but there is nothing worse for depression than sitting home alone dwelling in your mind. You don't have to throw a party - though you can. You don't have to interact one-on-one - though a walk with someone might be just the thing. Just get out in public, see other people and know whatever you're experiencing, you are not the first and you are not alone. Go to the park or the library or movie theater and people watch. Or volunteer for an organization and HELP.

7) ENVIRONMENT - Make sure you are not adding to your sadness with unneeded downers. Are you listening to sad music? Reading a sad book? Watching too much news? Surrounding yourself with negative people? Ruthlessly remove the extra downers. Replace with uplifting materials.

8) NATURE - Reconnect with where we are supposed to be living. Take a walk in the park, go camping, drive in the mountains, work in a garden, go to a plant store. Smell, touch, and feel real energy.

9) ART - Make some or experience some. Write, draw, or sing out your sadness. Absorb yourself in a good book or movie. Escape into the creative.

10) IMPORTANCE - Know that your life, like all life on this planet, interrelates and connects with everything else. Your life has value, meaning, and importance. Even if you don't feel this today, there is no telling what might happen tomorrow and what possibilities you might create. You can help and share your life and love with others. It is so important.

---------
My worst depression was when I was twenty. I had been a ballet major and decided to quit dancing. I went home for the summer and felt like I had nothing left. My passion was gone, and I had no friends in the area. I remember laying around staring at walls finding it even hard to reply to my parents when they asked me a question. After a few weeks of this, my Mom found me a job mowing lawns for Saint Mary's. I was too depressed to care. With this job she gave me life again. I had something to do, a place to go every day where I could interact with my peers, and a job that gave me exercise and connected with nature. I met a lot of friends, and ended up having a lot of fun. By the fall I was back on a path towards modern dance. A new passion and a purpose. Though I have never thanked my Mom for this intervention, I consider this one of my life's defining moments.

I love you!

Mom

Tea With Tildy

It is almost time for our guests to arrive to Tildy's birthday tea party. In my hands is a delicate blue and white doll-sized plate. It is old - given to me by my Grandma from family ancestors - and made of china. It is very breakable. It even feels thin and fragile in my hands. I take extra care washing and drying it before I carefully place it aside with the rest of the tea set.

It is my intention to place this set in the hands of Tildy and her three-year-old friends.

Next I look around for something to serve our "older" guests - the five-to-eight-year-old crowd that will be sitting at another table. I don't want to use the plastic or metal sets that Tildy typically plays with, and there aren't enough pieces for this anyway. So my eyes dart through our kitchen and land on our china cabinet.

Now I'm sure you have one of these also - a china cabinet filled with beautiful sentiment that is hardly ever to never used. Geoff and I have laughed about this, and vowed to someday use the "good china." But we have never dared.

And I still won't dare for this occasion - or will I? What about the silver tea set? Sure it is old and a family heirloom, but it's made of metal. I decide, though a tad tarnished, this is perfect for the occasion and begin washing.

Geoff walks in, and I give him the rundown of where I am at with things.

"So I plan to use the blue and white china for the three-year-old table, and the metal wedding tea set for the big kids."

"You're going to let the kids use our tea set?"

"Sure. It's made of metal. I don't think they can actually hurt it. And in my experience by the time one is old enough to use a breakable tea set, one is too old to want to use a tea set. So I thought I would actually use good dishes. The kids can be warned to be careful."

"Do you know how much value is lost if there is even one ding?"

Shoot. I forgot Geoff is a metalworker and might even have a preference on this matter.

"If you're talking about monetary value lost, it's irrelevant because I would never sell the tea set, so it has no value." I point to the delicate very breakable doll china. "I'm using my Grandma's set."

"Christa, I don't care if you use your family's set. That is yours. And if an item is replaceable, you can do what you want with it, but the silver tea set cannot be replaced. I enjoy admiring it in the cabinet. It is up to you to decide, but I strongly recommend that you leave our tea set out of the party."

Darn. I hate it when he does that - that manipulation by being a nice guy. But the silver tea set did come from Geoff's side of the family, and he does so rarely have an opinion on any household matter. I think through our guest list. Since all of the kids have been playing here since they were infants, they are perfectly at home and don't need to pretend to be shy or polite. And like any group of comfortable kids, they are prone to loudness and energy.

So I take Geoff's advice and begin digging around for another pitcher-like device for the older kids. But I am grumbling. Like should I put a plastic cover on the couch next? But I know I'm being somewhat ridiculous.

After the party, we are cleaning up. I am carrying in the last of the china tea set. Amazingly enough it is all totally intact.

"Well, you got lucky with that one," Geoff comments.

This rubs me the wrong way. Was it luck, or were we all especially sensitive and careful?

"We were careful."

"Oh, come on, Christa. I saw the table almost get completely knocked over."

"Geoff, I feel like every time I use a breakable dish, I am taking a risk. There are dishes I only use on very special occasions, just because I know that statistically in MY hands anything breakable has a very short life."

And this is true. I break most everything in our house. Last week alone I broke several glasses, and an irreplaceable crock pot lid. And until all the tea set pieces are washed and packed away securely into the basement, they are still at risk. After all, it is I who will be cleaning them.

But what are we teaching our kids about possessions through our action or lack of action? There seems to be a fine line between taking care of an item, and overemphasizing its value. Even if something cannot be replaced, the space can usually be filled with something else. Like that crock pot lid. I couldn't buy a new lid. So I bought a new crock pot. It's smaller. Turns out I like it better anyway.

So even if a dish had broken, I am glad my Grandma's china tea set was used. It is my daughter's third birthday party. What greater event than this would be worthy of unpacking the good stuff?

THINGS TO DO: Be a Yes, Mom - Play in the Mud

Okay - I must admit I was not thrilled when this project transpired unexpectedly yesterday. What is fun and cute when the child is two and tiny and exploring, and it is 90 degrees out, and there is plenty of time for clean up, is not so fun when the child is eight and the clothes to wash are almost as big as mine, and the event transpires a half hour before the beginning of soccer practice.

BUT - every now and then I have to remind myself of the mother I intended to be before the busyness of three kids and school and making a living and life stepped in the way. I did vow a long time ago that I would try to say "No" only when I really had a reason to say "No." I wanted to be a Yes, Mom instead of a No, Mom.

And so when I turned around and saw Marek covered in mud, I gulped back my yells of outrage, and went and got the camera. Meanwhile Oscar joined in, and Tildy took her clothes off.

Ah, mud. Smooth and squishy, cool and gooey. Mud is simply so viseral it is just hard to want to keep your hands clean.

We've had a dirt pile in the backyard for years, and the kids have not taken an interest in it for a long time. I've lately been thinking I should fill it in with wood chips. Judging by Tildy's amazement she has no recollection of her brothers turning into mud monsters ever before.

"Mud is yucky," says Tildy.

I just get out the hose.

On the way to soccer, I am feeling sluggish pulling the loaded trailer behind my bike. Oscar zooms by me.

"You know why I'm so fast today? I feel light. When I feel light I can go really fast."

Hmm. Maybe I should try one of those mud treatments.

Rumble in the Walmart Parking Lot

Tildy and I are just leaving Walmart. She is barely visible sitting piled among our bags of household accruements. The cart bumpety-bumps along the blacktop and we are merry. We have just purchased many blue items for Tildy's blue tea party birthday on Saturday - blue jello, blue Gatorade, blue cotton candy, and blueberry tea, of course.

Suddenly and unexpectedly the car that we are right behind begins to back up. I do what any sane person would do in this circumstance. I back peddle while yelling loudly, "Stop! We are right behind you! You have to look before you back up!" And I cut the driver with my most scathing look, which my husband tells me, can be pretty frightening.

And does this driver do what any sane person would do in this circumstance? Like maybe apologize for almost just running over my daughter? That would be my expectation. That is what has happened in the past to me with incidences like this. But no. That does not happen today.

Today the driver of the vehicle stops the car, and gets out. Not to make sure we are okay. Oh, no. He gets out of the car to intimidate me and make sure I see who I am yelling at. I look at this driver - he is young. Maybe he is a high school drop out. Maybe he is 25, I really can't tell other than he is furious and has one of those inverse ear holes and looks like he could maybe pull a weapon out of the car along with him, and not a foam sword weapon like my children's either.

I must admit I am also furious. It doesn't help this situation that careless drivers around pedestrians are a pet peeve of mine. Words are exchanged. Apparently this driver operates on his own rules and believes pedestrians should steer clear of cars that just happen to pull out when they are right behind them. I think he should go back and retake his driver's test. By the end I am scanning the parking lot for a police officer and wishing I had a cell phone.

But I let him have the last word. "Watch out for cars when you're walking!" I am shaking I am so angry, and we have attracted the attention of several friendly shoppers.

I am struck by the similarity of experience I once had while fighting over a parking place in downtown Fort Worth, Texas. A car knowingly crept in and stole a parking spot that we were obviously waiting for, and I began to roll down the window (yes, it was a while ago...) to exchanged heated words. My friend stopped me this time: "Let it go. Remember where you are. It is not worth it."

Wise words from someone who thought of the environment in the heat of the moment. After all, the high schools of Fort Worth have metal detectors. And this was BEFORE Columbine.

I do not usually run across gangsters in the middle of suburbia in the middle of the day. I know that our town does have some economic friction, but at the grade school levels where I spent most of my time, it is not yet obvious. There is still hope that we can teach our youth to talk out their problems instead of fighting out their problems. So to be so confronted is shocking to me.

I remember hearing about Columbine when it happened - a nice suburb just down the interstate - and wondering at the time how parents would be able to send their kids to school without fear after this incident. Years later, now that I have my own kids in school, I have found I have never really feared for their safety in this capacity. Sure I have worried they were being teased, or bullied, or overlooked, but I haven't worried about their physical safety, and this is odd, because I am a worrier. But in the moment, life is just life. How can it possibly go wrong?

Once when I went to pick up Marek from kindergarten, I found the school in lock down - all the doors were locked up tight and the blinds were drawn. No one could get in, and the pick up process was delayed until the school could sort through a problem. Even this did not phase me. Instead it actually reassured me, because, wow, the school really does have a plan in place to implement in abnormal emergency situations.

The car at Walmart backs away finally, and I spend what seems like minutes just staring at the car and its contents. I think they are thinking I am glaring at them - maybe I am - but really I am just trying to figure them out. The gangster is driving, and in the front is an older blond. His mother? His wife/girlfriend? Is this who he trying to impress with his discourtesy and recklessness? And why are they driving a nicer car than me? And in the back seat are two little boys. Are these his sons? His brothers, cousins? Is he role modeling? Are these future classmates of my children?

I think about those who live in the inner city and live with this friction every day - or at least as it is pictured in the movies, because, really, when have I ever seen it? But I imagine the helplessness - to know that one is in the right, but that the ignorant have the power.

"Let it go. Remember where you are. It is not worth it."

Obviously I could have used a friend next to me today, when the gangster stepped out of his car. It would have been wise to let him intimidate me. It would have been wise to step around his car, rudeness, and endangerment. But what if it happens again while the Mom pushing the cart is digging in her purse looking for her car keys?

Tildy is oblivious to the whole episode. She is still happy with thoughts of a blue tea party. We get home and she asks me, "Are you happy, Mommy? Because I'm happy."

Jog-A Thon

"On your mark. Get set. Go!"

And they are off - over 140 sets of little legs, topped by enthusiastic smiles, and with a real racing number stamped on their back obviously supplied by the Bolder Boulder. The participants have a long way to go, but the afternoon kindergarten classes and first graders of Lafayette Elementary are not deterred - especially because most of them have no concept of time. They begin their 35 minute participation in Lafayette Elementary's Jog-A-Thon with hopes of running THE WHOLE TIME. They are advised to not use all their energy up at once, but what fun to watch the crowd take off like a shot and by lap three start to straggle around. They are just TOO CUTE. And my camera is forgotten at home.

I let Tildy jump in at lap three. She is way excited by the energy of the crowd and the shiny, happy people music blaring. By the time the event is over Tildy has run 3/4 of a mile and she is wondering when she can go to school.

The Jog-A Thin is my favorite fundraiser for our school. I love that it creates community, competitiveness of self and others, teaches discipline and the value of exercise, and raises money based on - nothing. No coupon books, no fast food restaurants, no junk food, or junk to add to the earth. (School Fundraisers) Just the power of the human body.

As I am watching the event, it is announced over the loudspeaker that the students of Lafayette Elementary have collectively run over 900 miles so far at this point in the day. I have no idea of the final count, but I think last year the approximately 650 kids ran all the way to the Mississippi River. And I am struck by the unspoken environmental message so obviously illustrated by the herd of kids.

If each one of us were to walk instead of drive a few miles each day, the impact on our fuel consumption and environmental pollution would be HUGE. Our individual efforts do matter when they are taken as part of a whole. After all, this collective of little legs adds up to the sum of pollution free cross country travel.

THINGS TO DO: Make Paper Shoes

A long, long, long, long time ago, back when Marek was a newborn, my niece and nephew came to meet their new cousin for Easter. This was back when I had time on my hands - all I had to do was make sure my newborn was fed, clean, rested and breathing (breathing being the most important). And so, with a niece who was four, and a nephew that was ten - Wow! - they did more then blink and burp at me. We could actually do real live interactive projects, like make paper shoes. So we did.

I had actually been furnished a paper shoe pattern at some point, which I dug out. Basically the shoes were made by:

1) Trace around the pattern (which could easily be another shoe) for the size of the shoe bottom.

2) Cut several layers of cardboard for each shoe bottom.

3) Cut a band or bands to attach over the top of the shoe, sandal style.

4) Glue the band(s) over the first layer leaving room for the foot to fit, of course, and attaching underneath this layer.

5) Glue the rest of the layers together which helps to hold the band(s) in place.

6) Place shoes on and try to walk in them. Shoe will rip apart.

7) Tape shoes back together decoratively using duck tape, electrical tape, or packing tape.

We wore our shoes on this occasion for our Easter Egg Hunt, and then I kept those shoes around for years - probably until last year when I did an entirely too thorough cleaning of my basement. I am still discovering missing items that I must have got rid of that I don't remember getting rid of that I sure wish were around.

Like those paper shoes.

Because I few days ago Marek started cutting up cardboard boxes to make paper shoes for Oscar, Tildy, and himself. At least the original paper shoes lasted long enough to inspire Marek, because now that I have three kids of my own that do more than blink and burp, I find it much harder to do things like make paper shoes with them.

Marek had a slightly different paper shoe making technique having no instructions to draw upon and no visual other than his memory and imagination. He traced the foot directly onto the cardboard, made the shoe in one layer (which was probably easier to walk in), and directly duck taped the heck out of the shoes. In fact, he ran out of duck tape before he completed his own pair.

Oscar and Tildy enjoyed theirs. If you had run into us at assessments last week you might have noticed Oscar gliding around the school hallway in this unusual bit of footwear. I would not recommend paper shoes for riding your scooter however.