Author Archives: Sandi LoConti

Due September 7th

Posted on by

I thought that I might enter Real Simple Magazine’s essay contest entitled “When did you know you were a grown up?”  I’m sure some people are born old and that I am one of them.  They are the transcended soul of someone who has seen much and was taken too soon.  But “grown up”? That is a conceptual thing that can elude them.

On September 6th, 1991 I found myself on the verge of one of those nights that I would remember for the rest of my life.  My husband of nine years was out with a friend, that I didn’t particularly care for, and I was starting to worry.  He hadn’t been himself for quite some time and I naturally blamed it on this new person in our lives. For two years I had been watching changes in him that made him seem eerily like his father. 

His father was a domineering man, manipulative and troubled.  We all lived in fear of his outbursts and shifts in temperament.  All of the six boys had grown up in an abusive environment that was made more volatile by the sickness and ultimate passing of one of them.  Their mother was a wonderful woman who had long ago been convinced by him of her unworthiness.  I feared I was becoming her, I feared he was right about me and I feared my husband was becoming him.

I was home alone with our dog, Toby, and even he was acting strangely.  Toby was a Doberman we adopted from a litter that was far too big for the mother to handle.  He was the runt of that litter and weighed in at a mere three pounds so he was losing the fight for a place next to mom.  I have pictures of him standing next to my wallet and the wallet was slightly bigger. 

That dog and I went everywhere together.  He was my first dog and the bond was immediate and strong.  I fed him Nutrical off the end of my finger to get some weight on him and he grew up to be strong and healthy.   But on this night he was not himself.  He was lethargic and foggy.  He laid at my feet for what seemed like hours. 

Then he took himself outside in the far corner of our yard.  I had heard that dogs will go off to die when they are ready.  I had heard that they know how to die far better than humans.  I had heard and I panicked that my time with this dog was running short.

Our house was meant to have dogs as evidenced by the dog doors.  One was built into our back door the other was built into one of the screens of our porch.  On this particular night it became clear that this would have to be changed.  Once Toby went to the back of the yard I had to exit the screen porch and go through our gate to get to him.  This would have been fine but carrying back a 90lb Doberman through all these doors wasn’t easy.

I carried him in but, again, he tried to go back out. I made him sip water. I stroked his head, his back, his paws, I begged him not to die.  I left his side for one minute and he went back out into that yard.  That damn dog door.  I carried him back again through the many doors.

11pm, Midnight, 1am. Lying next to him on the bed listening to his shallow breathing, crying.  2am, crying, crying, crying. I was alone, alone, alone.  2:30am.

My husband finally came home, seeming wild eyed. His initial reaction was to yell at me for being up. The fighting that ensued was ludicrous, my dog was dying, he couldn’t breathe, what the hell do I care where you’ve been.  You weren’t here, you were somewhere else. 

His humanity did surface through his haze and he became manic about getting the earliest appointment at the vet; calling at an ungodly hour and leaving a message mixed with desperation and anger and regret and sorrow.  I would later see many nights with all those emotions mixed together as a result of what I would come to find out was his addiction to cocaine. 

We got the earliest appointment and wrapped our little Doby in a blanket that had been mine as a child.  I thought it would wrap him in love, I thought it would save him.  We carried the dog to the car together.  Looking over the top of him, I’m sure I don’t know how I carried him in during the night alone.  You gather strength when you have to.

Speeding to the vet, we were stopped by the police. My husband’s first words as he wheeled around to me were, act sick. I would hear that again in similar situations and I would comply.  I don’t know why, it just seemed easier I guess.

Getting to the vet in silence was a Godsend. They met us at the car, they took our observations and then they tried to pull the blanket out of the car to see if they could get a reaction from Toby.  He laid down right there in the parking lot. I thought my husband would jump out of his skin at the vets.

We got him into the examining room.  They didn’t want to lift him onto the table yet.  I suppose they thought it best to do that after we left.  And we did leave.  We left that dog in the corner of the exam room on that blanket.  Alone.

We fought all the way home; I would have preferred the usual silence. The fighting, the accusations, what did I do to the dog, where were you, no more partying with your friends. 

The update call, there’s a tumor in his liver.  The next call…It never occurred to me that that dog would die. I let that boy die alone.  I never said goodbye.  I was alone now; I knew for sure this would affect the rest of my life and that forgiving myself was out of the question.

I became a grown up on Sept 7th, 1991 when the love of my life died alone.  I became a grown up on Sept 7th, 1991 when I knew I would be alone for a very long time. I became a grown up when I came to the realizations that my husband was not himself and that he was in terrible trouble.  I didn’t know then that he had become addicted to cocaine and that his family would be no support, and I had much to do on my own to try and save a marriage.

It lasted another 15 years.  I became a grown up at 35 years old.  I found peace at 52 years old when I left and took my first breath in over eighteen years. I have still not forgiven myself for letting Toby die alone, but I know he was in good hands and that the people at the veterinary hospital were kind and compassionate.  I know I have never let another dog die alone. I know that I am what I am today for the hardships I endured and I am grateful for that. 

Indeed some people are born old, and they continue the hardships of the soul that preceded them; the one that was taken too soon.  But I also know that they can be the ones to experience the joys that those other souls never got to enjoy for their early departure.  I am blessed to be where I am now, I know that everything happens for a reason and full circle moments do come to you when they should. 

September 7th has a different meaning now.  While I honor the spirit of that wonderful Doby, rather than mourning his death, I can celebrate a life.  I am blessed to be in the company of very good people one of which was born on September 7th.  She is a piece of good fortune for which I can never fully repay the universe.  Never mind the contest, Happy Birthday Muriel

Pause point: Built in hairstyle obsolescence?

Posted on by

 

Isn’t it true that within 48 hours of the perfect hair day you can wake up looking like Bomba the Jungle Boy and there isn’t a thing you can do about it?

I had my hair styled two weeks ago by a “master stylist”, first chair, the mentor of “junior stylists” at a very lovely full service day spa.  You know the place, lush wallpaper, marble floors, mood lighting, music, aroma, and lovely people moving back and forth at your beck and call. Would you like coffee, tea, cappuccino, fresh baked mini muffin?

Why?  My hair got long, and wide, and red…and it seemed the very smart thing to do at the time. Go to the master so that he could create a style to match my features, my lifestyle, and my personality.  Wow every one with your new transforming makeover!

Seventy dollars, a sales pitch for new product and a smile and wink later I was thrilled.  My hair looked great…for exactly…two weeks.  So today I woke up looking like Bomba the Jungle Boy and I had a fit.  The text to my best friend went something like this: 

Ok 70$ later my hair sucks, can’t wait 6 weeks to fix it so ur in charge of my next f’n haircut. 

Thank God she does not take these challenges lightly.  Not three hours later she called (from Memphis where she was stuck in the airport trying to get home) to talk me off the ledge and let me know she’s got me covered.  I, of course, finished my ranting and raving with, “its like built in obsolescence of the hair”. 

Which got me thinking? …I know you’re shocked by that.

·         Built-in obsolescence: a product becoming obsolete and/or non-functional after a certain period, also planned obsolescence.

·        Planned obsolescence has potential benefits for a producer because the product fails and the consumer is under pressure to purchase again.

·       Purpose of planned obsolescence is to hide the real cost per use from the consumer, and charge a higher price than they would otherwise be willing to pay.

·       Planned obsolescence stimulates demand by encouraging purchasers to buy again sooner if they still want a functioning product.

·       There is, however, the potential backlash of consumers who learn that the manufacturer invested money to make the product obsolete faster; such consumers might turn to a producer (if any exists) that offers a more durable alternative.

God Bless Wikipedia…

I am that backlasher consumer.  My hair is thick and wavy, it stays where you put it with very little “product”.  I now color it myself saving 120.00 and it holds that color a relatively long time.  What I need is a barber! 

I love my best friend who has found a barber (former master stylist, savior of backlasher consumers) who will cut my hair for 17.00 plus tip.  She will supervise the style and make it perfectly clear to this man that I do not use a lot of “product”; I rarely use a dryer, and don’t like to shampoo the shit out of my hair every day.  She will set up the appointments for every six weeks and we will meet at her house for cappuccino and make it a girls (her mom included) outing.  I’ve been saved…this consumer will win.  Back to the Jungle Bomba…

 

Of two sisters one is always the watcher, one the dancer… Louise Gluck

Posted on by

Today is my sister’s birthday. She is younger than I am and definitely the watcher.  She has been watching since the day my mother scooped her up after a dog bite when she was four years old.  She watches me dive into things without a life preserver, she watches me dance on the edge of my universe and she watches me move from one life to another in a never ending string of transformations.

She is the “good one”.  She is the smart one. She is the shy one, the conformist and obeyer of rules.  She is the saver, the comparer of prices, the one who shops for Christmas gifts in September.  She has the smaller nose, the better eyes, and the curlier hair.  She has all the ailments, she’s had many operations, and she struggles with Diabetes and her weight.

She is the light of my life and I dance always for her.

Happy Birthday Terri

Pause point: In Memoriam

Posted on by

I received a card from a friend today that informed me of the death of her cat Vlekkie.  The oh no that sighed out of me was for the passing of this dear cat and for my friend who had seen more than her share of loss lately. 

For those of us who are animal lovers, the loss of a pet can be more devastating than the loss of some humans.  The reliance we have on our pet’s company, listening skills and unconditional love is bigger than we think.  Many times we only realize the magnitude upon their deaths.

For those who are not lucky enough to be animal lovers, I have given up trying to explain the attachment, the reliance and the sheer joy an animal can bring to your life.  I know that my life has been enriched by several animals that have gone on and I have learned from each of them.

How would I understand abandonment if I hadn’t adopted a puppy that was rejected by its mother? This same puppy taught me what fighting against the odds was all about with every bottle feeding, and lick of Nutrical off my finger.  He taught me about fighting for life and about never letting anyone die alone.

How would I have seen a better example of how to protect those that can’t protect themselves without having seen our sheppard mix, Pearl, maneuver in front of my father’s walker so that he would have a clear path.  The respect she showed his fragility resonates with me to this day.  She loved him and he her.  She taught me about second chances and to respect and care for your elders.

How would I know patience if I had never house broken a puppy.  It takes making your expectations clear, rewarding good behavior and cleaning up after unintentional accidents.  This taught me never to assume people know what you want and always try to catch people doing the right thing.

Currently I am learning how to trust and gain trust from two rescue girls found on the streets.  I’m learning self reliance, confidence and command so that I can pass those on to them.  I’m learning how to be comfortable with myself so they can be comfortable too.  I’m learning peace and routine and eating on a schedule.  I’m learning the value of exercise and the pleasure of walking every day.  Mostly, I’m learning to laugh out loud.

At some point I will have to say goodbye to these girls too.  I will hold them in my arms and watch them slip off to heaven knowing that I have gained far more from them than they have from me.  I will feel the sorrow fully, as I know my friend is, but I will know that pain will become part of the fabric of my experience and I will be the better for having known and cared for them.

To Toby, Pearl, Murphy, Leika, and Vlekkie we are eternally grateful.

 

Pause point: The Blue Jay Legacy

Posted on by

dsc_2489

I am lucky to live in a condo with a deck that backs up to a wooded area.  You can’t really call it a forest because it is only about a city block deep.  Seems funny describing the woods in terms of city blocks but you know what you know.   I’ve seen deer, turtles, squirrels, chip monks and a wonderful variety of birds. 

Just recently I had the privilege of watching a pair of Blue Jays begin their family.  I’ve always been a lover of birds. Growing up my father kept bird feeders right outside the kitchen window and my former home had bird feeders in the garden; but I have never witnessed anything like this.

This Blue Jay couple began building their nest on the edge of the woods but something made them change their mind about that location.  They moved their construction to a large flowering shrub right outside my bedroom window and adjacent to my deck.  They were building not five feet away.  This seemed very unusual as blue jays are notoriously territorial and can be aggressive, why would they put themselves so close to me and my two dogs? That said,  I immediately christened myself a “safe place”.    I believed I was many people’s “safe place”  but having moved on from a life I knew for thirty years I was questioning many of those things.  This seemed to tell me that in all the things that had changed being a “safe place” was not one of them.

I watched them build their engineering marvel.  Working in complete cooperation with an “unspoken” delegation of duties, Mom apparently the architect and Dad the builder.  They worked strands of twig and grasses around the outside of the perfect v shaped nitch.  They reinforced and sewed with string, bits of vines and newspaper.  It was perfectly built and amazingly secure.  I would later watch through storms and wind but there was nothing to fear, that nest wasn’t going anywhere.

Once completed Momma Jay began her vigil.   Blue Jays form monogamous lifelong bonds and during this period Dad would feed Momma while she brooded the eggs.  The incubation period generally lasts for 16-18 days but I didn’t know that at the time.  What I did know was that I couldn’t keep my eyes off the nest.  Every morning when I opened my bedroom blinds I would check for Momma and wish her Good Morning.  I would watch her through the storms and while having coffee on my deck.  While I was watching Momma, Dadda was watching me.  Instead of flying around the corner of my deck he would fly right through the deck making it perfectly clear that he knew I was there. He never once became aggressive with me but I watched him damn near peck a squirrel to pieces.  It did my heart good to see how he protected her and his future family and I was proud to have his blessing.

I remember the first little beak peeking out from under Momma.  I was the proud Aunt in absolute wonder.  Then another little beak and another until all five eggs had been successfully hatched.  Momma finally got to leave the nest to help her mate forage for food.  Luckily there is a neighbor with a bird feeder so that task wasn’t as daunting as it could have been.  They carried on the feeding process over the next two weeks or so; each taking their turn foraging and feeding the kids.   

They began their lessons in earnest with leaving the nest for longer periods of time.  Momma would wait in a nearby tree and listen for the peeping.  She would actually wait for them to stop peeping before she flew back into the nest so they could get used to being on their own more and more.

Then there were feathers and I knew my time with them was short.  I continued to check on them and became a bit panicked when they could barely fit in the nest.  When the storms came I was vigilant in watching to make sure they all stayed in the nest but it occurred to me even if something happened to one of them there would be nothing I could do. There is a natural balance to things in their world; there are distinct boundaries and designated destinies.   This was a valuable lesson for me, one that should have been learned long ago.  For all the good I’ve ever tried to do there was much unintentional harm that came along with it.  Letting people fall is sometimes that best thing you can do for them, letting them pick themselves up is even better.  Consequence in nature can be devastating and final but consequence in the human world has the unexpected advantage of being enriching.

Shortly before I left for my Cape vacation they were gone.  I don’t know if they all made it but I am hopeful that the feathers I saw at the base of the shrub were leftovers from six lives lived in a small space.  The nest is still there and I see it every morning when I open my bedroom blinds which makes me think of them every day. Much like many of the people who have left my life, I hope for their good fortune, I hope that their destiny is enriching and that their consequences are beneficial. 

They can’t know the lessons I’ve learned from them about cooperative relationships that share responsibility and showcase individual strengths, about building a strong home that can endure the outside elements, about protecting your own while giving them the distance they need to become strong and learn from their consequences, about confirming my energy as safe and about letting go. 

In the natural world life is deliberate and purposeful, there is sheer survival and only the fittest will make it.  In the human world we have the luxury of choices, learning from our mistakes to live another day and free will.  It’s my hope that I can draw from both those worlds; to live deliberately and purposefully while using my choices wisely.