I recognize that sometimes I can't be there to lend a shoulder, an ear, or just a presence when things are not so fun. I've been thinking over the last couple of days, as Nana is in rehab (makes her sound like a loony drug-addicted celebrity, doesn't it?) that the only thing I can really contribute to her right now, besides phone calls and cards, are words.
I came across a quote that touched me and made me think of her and I hope that it is fitting to not only her inner-beauty but also the way that she's affected other people. I suppose this ties in to my previous blog where I discussed how ineffective some can be....but that's not the case with Mrs. Yolanda Ellis.
To be resolute in the Way means
From the beginning never to lose sight of it,
Whether in a place of calm or in a place of strife;
To not cling to quiet places nor
Shun places where there is disturbance.
~Daikaku
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
In Memoriam
2008 continues to prove unlucky for the Campbells. Last night, Buster started having breathing issues that progressively got worse into the late night and then early morning. At about 3 am, we rushed him to the emergency vet hospital because this horrible sound was coming from him and he started vomiting. His larynx was collapsing, and they were fairly certain that he would need a permanent trache. After much difficult consideration, Scott decided that Buster shouldn't suffer any more and opted to put him to sleep. He would've been 15 next month.
For an older dog, Buster showed an aptitude for tenacity that I'm sure will go unmatched. He has fought through many illnesses and surgeries but always pulled through, always came out of it with his spunk and determination blazing. Even as we said our good-byes at 3:30 this morning, he was still trying to jump off the vet table (he never did like them), despite struggling for his breath.
He had a penchant for stuffed animals (see the stolen monkey in the above picture), for staring blankly at walls for hours, for snoring insufferably loud while still awake, for pushing his dinner bowl around the kitchen noisily in search of any stray pellets that may have escaped his notice, and for sunbathing.
We will miss you, Buster Boy. The house is already far too quiet without you.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Simple Conversation
The one thing amongst many that I love about my friends is that they force me to really look at myself, whether I want to or not. I truly believe that most of the time, they don't realize how much their words affect me. Again, back on words and my love for them, but it's true. When someone regurgitates a story to me that has absolutely nothing to do with me...but still incites emotion from me....it is intensive but sometimes harsh.
Here's where a simple conversation can make one question themselves, make them wonder about how effective they are as a person, or maybe more importantly how compassionate and relatable they are. I've never felt that I've been an overly sympathetic person, nor necessary a humble person. I've pretty much come to the conclusion that I'm inherently selfish, one of my characteristics that I've come to accept, and sometimes curb, about myself.
One of my friends has been telling me an amazingly crazed story about an ex-friend who tends to be selfish and dramatic and cold.....three traits that I sometimes award to myself. When I hear these tales I wonder if I'm that horrible, if I'm that selfish and if I'm that nasty. I wonder if I've done something that I'm unaware of, if I've treated someone with such disrespect (and not delivered a much-needed apology)....for the first time in my 32 years, I actually thought about what others think. Not about me, per se, but about something unfair and insensitive that I'd done.
I know that I feel that way about some people. I know that I feel that they've done something to me and I wish they would open up the communication lines with me so that we could put it behind us. I know that I wish I could be a more humble person, but that humility does not come naturally. I know my own flaws.
So to those of you that know me (or think you do), either post a flaw of mine (along with one of yours, my little kittens) OR post a quality you wish you had. I'll start!
I wish I was more attentive to other people. Sometimes I am too focused on my own bullshit to really, really listen to someone.
You're up!
Here's where a simple conversation can make one question themselves, make them wonder about how effective they are as a person, or maybe more importantly how compassionate and relatable they are. I've never felt that I've been an overly sympathetic person, nor necessary a humble person. I've pretty much come to the conclusion that I'm inherently selfish, one of my characteristics that I've come to accept, and sometimes curb, about myself.
One of my friends has been telling me an amazingly crazed story about an ex-friend who tends to be selfish and dramatic and cold.....three traits that I sometimes award to myself. When I hear these tales I wonder if I'm that horrible, if I'm that selfish and if I'm that nasty. I wonder if I've done something that I'm unaware of, if I've treated someone with such disrespect (and not delivered a much-needed apology)....for the first time in my 32 years, I actually thought about what others think. Not about me, per se, but about something unfair and insensitive that I'd done.
I know that I feel that way about some people. I know that I feel that they've done something to me and I wish they would open up the communication lines with me so that we could put it behind us. I know that I wish I could be a more humble person, but that humility does not come naturally. I know my own flaws.
So to those of you that know me (or think you do), either post a flaw of mine (along with one of yours, my little kittens) OR post a quality you wish you had. I'll start!
I wish I was more attentive to other people. Sometimes I am too focused on my own bullshit to really, really listen to someone.
You're up!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Words
Almost every day, I hear something or read something that enlightens me, affects me, saddens me...invokes some sort of emotion from me. I love words. I love them. When I watch movies, I tend to want to put on the subtitles so I can read the script (so as to not miss a very important line or word) and match the acting to the emotion. So every now and then I like to share words that inspire me.
That being said, I know that I'm not in the Boston area and sometimes things happen where I wish I was with my family and friends. As most everyone who is reading this blog is of some familial connection, you know that Nana was sent to the hospital today and when I spoke with her, she sounded positively exhausted and sad.
Sometimes not being home, not being able to be with family when they need you, is like not being with a child when they speak their first words or take their first steps. You feel like you should be there, and you feel horrible that you're not. I think sometimes when you realize that a loved one has suffered a health crisis, just like Stacey in March and now Nana in April, it puts life into perspective. It makes me think about when I was young, silly and invincible....when I used to think that life would always be sunshine and roses.
So here is a passage from a book called "Looking for Alaska" by John Green. The reference to last words is from the narrator who has a talent for knowing the final utterances of famous and obscure persons alike:
She reached into her overstuffed backpack and pulled out a book. "Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The General in His Labyrinth. Absolutely one of my favorites. It's about Simon Bolivar."
I didn't know who Simon Bolivar was, but she didn't give me time to ask. "It's a historical novel, so I don't know if this is true, but in the book, do you know what his last words are? No, you don't. But I am about to tell you, Senor Parting Remarks."
And then she lit a cigarette and sucked on it so hard for so long that I thought the entire thing might burn off in one drag. She exhaled and read to me:
"He - that's Simon Bolivar - was shaken by the overwhelming revelation that the headlong race between his misfortunes and his dreams was at that moment reaching the finish line. The rest was darkness. "Damn it," he sighed. "How will I ever get out of this labyrinth!"
I knew great last words when I heard them, and I made a mental note to get ahold of the biography of this Simon Bolivar fellow. Beautiful last words, but I didn't quite understand. "So what's the labyrinth?" I asked her.
(skipping a few paragraphs)
Her mouth was close enough to me that I could feel her breath warmer than the air, she said, "That's the mystery, isn't it? Is the labyrinth living or dying? Which is he trying to escape - the world or the end of it?" I waited for her to keep talking, but after a while it became obvious she wanted an answer.
"Uh, I don't know," I said finally. "Have your really read all those books in your room?"
The one thing that I loved about this book was that it was so raw and honest and forceful. Sometimes a simple book technically about teenage angst and intense emotion can strike an argument within yourself....and this did that. Tonight, after talking to Nana, and after thinking about my life and everyone within it, I wonder how many times I can circle a labyrinth before I start to feel like a dizzy little hamster....I wonder when I'll stop and just lie flat, look up at the sky and think that life's too short to run through a maze aimlessly. Think of it like being trapped in a room for life and you can do nothing but stare at gray walls all day. I would guess that a labyrinth would be something like that except more frenzied.
The whole point of the book is, of course, contingent on the meaning of the labyrinth that Alaska quotes from Bolivar. Is it living versus dying or is it simply a metaphor for suffering? The beautiful thing is that you can translate it however you'd like. I choose neither of those answers. The labyrinth is a journey, sometimes good, sometimes not...it either represents a frantic search, a harrowing journey or a horrifying trap of your worst nightmares. The frantic part is the need to escape. But what lies outside the walls?
Does life need to be a labyrinth? And if so, does the poor little mouse ever escape? Is escape better than the confined, familiar walls?
Oh, Lord, I've gone on too long for this. I'm sure I might expect a myspace from Mute Dave.
That being said, I know that I'm not in the Boston area and sometimes things happen where I wish I was with my family and friends. As most everyone who is reading this blog is of some familial connection, you know that Nana was sent to the hospital today and when I spoke with her, she sounded positively exhausted and sad.
Sometimes not being home, not being able to be with family when they need you, is like not being with a child when they speak their first words or take their first steps. You feel like you should be there, and you feel horrible that you're not. I think sometimes when you realize that a loved one has suffered a health crisis, just like Stacey in March and now Nana in April, it puts life into perspective. It makes me think about when I was young, silly and invincible....when I used to think that life would always be sunshine and roses.
So here is a passage from a book called "Looking for Alaska" by John Green. The reference to last words is from the narrator who has a talent for knowing the final utterances of famous and obscure persons alike:
She reached into her overstuffed backpack and pulled out a book. "Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The General in His Labyrinth. Absolutely one of my favorites. It's about Simon Bolivar."
I didn't know who Simon Bolivar was, but she didn't give me time to ask. "It's a historical novel, so I don't know if this is true, but in the book, do you know what his last words are? No, you don't. But I am about to tell you, Senor Parting Remarks."
And then she lit a cigarette and sucked on it so hard for so long that I thought the entire thing might burn off in one drag. She exhaled and read to me:
"He - that's Simon Bolivar - was shaken by the overwhelming revelation that the headlong race between his misfortunes and his dreams was at that moment reaching the finish line. The rest was darkness. "Damn it," he sighed. "How will I ever get out of this labyrinth!"
I knew great last words when I heard them, and I made a mental note to get ahold of the biography of this Simon Bolivar fellow. Beautiful last words, but I didn't quite understand. "So what's the labyrinth?" I asked her.
(skipping a few paragraphs)
Her mouth was close enough to me that I could feel her breath warmer than the air, she said, "That's the mystery, isn't it? Is the labyrinth living or dying? Which is he trying to escape - the world or the end of it?" I waited for her to keep talking, but after a while it became obvious she wanted an answer.
"Uh, I don't know," I said finally. "Have your really read all those books in your room?"
The one thing that I loved about this book was that it was so raw and honest and forceful. Sometimes a simple book technically about teenage angst and intense emotion can strike an argument within yourself....and this did that. Tonight, after talking to Nana, and after thinking about my life and everyone within it, I wonder how many times I can circle a labyrinth before I start to feel like a dizzy little hamster....I wonder when I'll stop and just lie flat, look up at the sky and think that life's too short to run through a maze aimlessly. Think of it like being trapped in a room for life and you can do nothing but stare at gray walls all day. I would guess that a labyrinth would be something like that except more frenzied.
The whole point of the book is, of course, contingent on the meaning of the labyrinth that Alaska quotes from Bolivar. Is it living versus dying or is it simply a metaphor for suffering? The beautiful thing is that you can translate it however you'd like. I choose neither of those answers. The labyrinth is a journey, sometimes good, sometimes not...it either represents a frantic search, a harrowing journey or a horrifying trap of your worst nightmares. The frantic part is the need to escape. But what lies outside the walls?
Does life need to be a labyrinth? And if so, does the poor little mouse ever escape? Is escape better than the confined, familiar walls?
Oh, Lord, I've gone on too long for this. I'm sure I might expect a myspace from Mute Dave.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Spin the Black Circle
I wanted to post some fun pics of the girls on the stripper pole (which by the way has a spinning outer layer that I've dubbed the Black Circle)......fun, fun times!!!!! If you want a good background soundtrack to this, download a little Pearl Jam's "Spin the Black Circle". The women in the photos are me (duh!), Kymberli and then Jen in the background keeping Buster under wraps! We have a few photos of Jen doing a WHEEEEEEEE on the pole but I'm not sure if she actually wanted them online so ..... enjoy!
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