Swamped

I've been feeling "swamped" lately, overwhelmed by life and all of its emotionally charged turmoil, and it's not just because of all the "swamp" -related shows being filmed around and about here in South Louisiana.

To begin with, I am in media-sensory-overload what with the fallout from the George Zimmerman trial, Detroit going bankrupt, alleged government cover-ups, mismanagement of public funds, the plight of Israel, and wondering how much of my personal data contributed to the downfall of the America in which I was raised.

I am firmly convinced that my Eisenhower baby-flavored version of the good ol' USA is in a downward spiral and soon will be gone, as surely as if it, too, were sinking in some vast quagmire, returning to its primordial state, a land without man, machine or media. I have dreamt of this nightmare landscape, a deadly quiet, misty, gray place where unknown danger surrounds and paralyzes me, and I don't want to go to that place in real time.

I have gotten the impression that our current president truly dislikes the majority of US citizens, or worse, he truly does not care about most of us. Mr. Obama was a popular-vote president, a historic first for America, being half-black, and even though I did not vote for him, I hoped he would not be vindictive and/or belligerent. Alas, I hoped in vain. He is contributing to the vicious blame game and racial unrest without a thought to the consequences of his inflammatory rhetoric, so shame on him for not being a wise leader.

Aside from politics, I am sad for the family of Trayvon Martin. I was not there the night he died, nor was I in the courtroom for George Zimmerman's trial. But I have three sons of my own, and no mother wants to have to bury her baby.

On the other hand, I have served on a jury before and I trust that the jury members did their best and came to the correct verdict: it was not second degree murder as there was no malicious intent to kill in this tragic case, only a lack of communication that led to a very sad ending; a badly scared man, in a flurry of fear and pain, used the weapon of last resort on a young man, thereby ending that young man's life. Zimmerman has to live with that fact for the rest of his life. He will be targeted by disgruntled people who want to see him punished, so his life is pretty much ruined from henceforth anyway. There were no winners in this matter; everyone lost something.

As my health begins to fail, I find it ever harder to remain hopeful. I wish I knew how to make everything okay for everyone, but I don't have the answers, the cure for all ills, social or physical. I can barely afford to pay most of my bills, cannot afford to go to the doctor as often as I need, and I need to do more for the two children I have left at home, make their future more secure. There is too much to do and little energy or means to do it.

We all have problems, some worse than others, but it seems to me the best thing we can do now is take care of our own business; don't try to run the lives of others, don't fight others' battles. We are all a little overloaded in these trying times, and I sincerely hope all will be well for everyone. I grieve over the bad choices I made in the past, but am trying to do better now. Things could be worse, and probably will get a lot worse in my lifetime, but I still cannot abandon my duties nor run from my responsibilities. Whatever is wrong with me I alone can make right, and so I will keep trying to do better tomorrow than I did today.

My heart is broken, and my spirit is contrite. Keep your heads above water, don't let life drag you into bad actions against your neighbor or your fellow citizens. We did not kill that young man in Florida, and we should not be punished for a crime we all wish had not occurred. Fighting each other is not the solution. May God comfort the grieving; may the peace of Christ be as the balm of Gilead to the hurting soul of this nation and its people.

 

God have mercy on us all.

 

That is all I have to say.

Regina, Queen of Pups

This is all about Regina, the little mini-Schnauzer I bought for my daughter nearly two years ago after we made the move from Georgia to Louisiana. Every day when I get home from my job at the library, Regina greets me as though I just returned from a three-month tour of the Antarctic, wriggling all over, jumping as high as she can to reach my arms, whimpering and licking my face all at the same time.

 

I initially bought her for my daughter because, besides promising Lesley a dog of her own for several years, I also did not want the dog to be mine, thinking that fine distinction would keep me from caring too much or getting emotionally involved, yet again, with a canine. I pretend to be annoyed, instead of vastly entertained, when I am trying to vacuum and she reacts to the racket by violently barking at the offending machine and snapping at it as though it were a prehistoric monster invading our home.

 

Alas, too late for pretenses. This little dog has already claimed me as her surrogate "grandma" and has me eating out of her paw, so to speak. We have had to rescue her twice from death already, once from parvomyelitis after we had her only a few days, and another time last year from a horrific bout with hemorrhagic gastroenteritis, which had her bleeding from both ends. Good grief, where did THAT come from, I frantically asked the vet? I was told something as everyday as a violent thunderstorm could set off such an illness, but thankfully, $645 later, she recovered. We've had to spend more than $2,000 on her already between her illnesses, spaying operation and periodic grooming, but I don't regret keeping her alive and well, for the sake of everyone involved, not just Regina.

 

On the surface, I still pretend for my daughter's sake that Regina is HER dog. This is to get Lesley out of the house via walking her pet, and keeps Lesley on top of food bowl duty. Regina also sleeps in Lesley's bed at nights and it's up to her to handle most of the baths and poopy accidents.

 

But when it gets down to who the little dog really likes to hang out with, and who she likes to play fetch with, and who is the softest touch for dispensing multiple doggy treats, well, that would be me, Grandma Barb, who lets the dog order her around and even gets her to crawl on her hands and knees in the garage retrieving doggy golf balls lodged beneath lawn mowers etc., who cleans her little furry face everyday and scratches her ears and neck just right, and feeds her tidbits off her plate when she knows she's not supposed to. (shhh!)

 

I never tell my daughter the dog really belongs to me because that would break her heart, but we all know who her "fave" is. And I really wish it weren't this way as I never wanted to care this much about another dog as long as I lived, knowing how hard I will take it should anything happen to her.

 

But I know there are risks attached to every relationship, times of separation and times of being together, and the memories I am making now with my daughter and her beloved Regina will be with me always.

 

It is my sincere hope that no matter what, Regina will always be with us, both here and hereafter. I truly believe dogs belong to humankind as much as individual humans, like mothers and daughters, belong to each other, and the great thing that binds us all is love.