Life Is a Sweet Tart

Most medicine is bitter, but it heals. Whatever, it either tastes like past due motor oil, or gets stuck halfway down my throat, and as I'm gasping for air I wonder if I'll just choke to death on this gargantuan pill instead. Either way, problem solved. Which leads into my favorite word of the month - BITTERSWEET. Life is kinda like a box of chocolates, sometimes there's a sweet caramel filling coated in sinful chocolate, and sometimes, well, sometimes it's just a wad of smokeless tobacco dipped in chocolate. Disgusting when you bite into it, projectile-inducing and not even the silkiest, decadent Swiss confectioner's chocolate coating can save your taste buds from scraping a Brillo pad down your tongue.  And yet, it is the bitter tasting portions of my life that allow me to savor the sweet truffle that follows even more.
The acidic grief that rained on me last year seared a deeper well of inner strength. Dark energies don't rattle my cage anymore. My force field locks down and not even Darth Vader can unnerve me. My soul is still sugar-brimmed with the nectar of compassion and kindness, they just don't get to shove a crazy straw down and suck me dry. The biting experiences we go through are there to teach us something. Otherwise, all they do is leave a bad aftertaste.
When the bitter, sour, acrid, pungent moments in life come your way know that it too shall pass and when the dessert tray of good times rolls up, indulge and enjoy.
And as far as the box of chocolates and never knowing what you're gonna get, grab a sharp paring knife and follow my lead - unmercifully dissect that bonbon down the middle and check out it's guts. No white nougat center surprise for me!!

Rosemary and Thyme Make Great Friends

A long-time friend of mine recently confided a shattering confession. As she sat crumpled in despair on my loveseat, I asked why she hadn't called on me sooner for help. She shook her head and with trembling lips muttered "you were going through your own hell, I couldn't burden you with mine." It was right after I'd lost my dog and grief truly consumed me like a malarian fever. When I pressed on as to why she had not reached out to others, she admitted a lack of trust in some and not wanting to burden the rest with her self-induced troubles. A burden?! Isn't that what friends are for? To grab them by the collar, wildly look into their bewildered eyeballs and scream "Well, are you going to help me or WHAT?"
As my ever loving friends will laughingly confirm, I've got no problem SOS'ing them when I'm teetering at the edge of a dark precipice. I know better. I'm fully aware of my incompetence at talking myself rationally away from the ledge. The competing logical and emotional voices in my head are too busy arguing their opposing viewpoints and I've muted both of them to teach them a lesson. So, as I stand paralyzed with fear and mesmerized by the siren call of the cavernous unknown, I frantically dial my cellphone. And for extra fun, I'm uncooperative or combative with whichever poor soul was unlucky enough to answer, but they love me anyway, right??
Cultivating and maintaining friendships require an open heart, patience and perseverance. My friend matter of factly stated she's too old to make new friends (she's in her 40's). Which is utter nonsense, of course. Some of the richest, deepest friendships I've developed were in the last few years. But you do have to put yourself out there, reach out to new people and make the effort to connect. Just as a vegetable garden needs watering, tending and feeding, so do our human connections. Life would be one tasteless, dull British stew if it weren't for the rich, flavorful, bitter, sweet, sour and salty friends who spice it up.
To the five of you who read my nonsense, I'm posing this question: If you were a spice, what would you be? I'm definitely salt, for all the right and wrong reasons.

Jazz Up Your Jicama Juice

For a change of pace in your normal juicing rootine (get it?), try adding jicama. This water-packed root vegetable delivers a colorless, light, mildly sweet taste. Plus, it's chock full of virus-fighting Vitamin C and potassium. How to choose the right jicama? Look for no cracks or dings and smooth skin. Peeling the rough skin is a bit tricky, stay away from vegetable peeler. Try a good paring knife instead. If jicama is gigantic, cut in half first and then peel. You may be able to grab a skin end with your knife and peel off like an orange.
For this recipe, assemble 1 large or 2 smaller peeled jicama for 2 to 2 1/2 lbs. total weight, cut in quarters to fit in feeder. 4 to 6 large, sweet carrots, ends trimmed and scrubbed. 4 cucumbers, ends trimmed and well scrubbed. 1 peeled lemon cut in half. 1 large, delectable apple cut in half. Divide all produce equally into two piles and turn on juicer. Juice each pile as one batch. Lemon and cucumbers juice on low, all the rest on high. Each produce bunch should yield about 32 oz.
Remember, you can always freeze raw juice for later. Freezing changes the texture a bit, but not the nutrition!

For The Love Of Dogs

In Memory Of Shea, my blue-eyed baby boy, my "Snoopy", my hiking buddy, my loving companion. I will miss you eternally.
I received a second punch on my invisible punch card. There are no reward points or "Free" car washes when I fill it. In fact, I hope I NEVER fill it. Once you are a member of this exclusive club, there is no "opting-out". Like The Eagles song goes "once you check-in, you can never check-out". There are no secret meetings held in dark, waxy cold basements, no fees, no cards issued. Every group member desperately wishes they could bargain their way out, to no avail. No invitation to join, we are all unwillingly initiated, and it is painful. Searingly agonizing. As if a Solingen steel, serrated edge sharp folding knife were plunged into your soul and surgically carved out a slice of it.
The paradoxical question being - why would anyone want to experience such paralyzing, suffocating pain ever again? One punch hole in your heart should be lesson enough. Lesson being to never, ever, ever go through this living hell again. Yet the answer to the question is - for the love of a four-legged creature. In my case, for the love of a dog.
Our personal experience with the death of our pets has not been a storybook ending. Neither one died in his sleep or had to be put down for terminal illness. Disneyesque bluebirds whistling simple tunes didn't hover around and cover them with caramel-hued blankets when they passed. Both times the grotesque decision of euthanasia was vague and wrenchingly painful. Nobody tells you this part of owning a pet. Nobody warns you of the end. Nobody shares their intimate, raw emotions of the experience. Probably because we all want to blot out the stain of guilt, shame, anger, desperation and bottomless grief as quickly as possible. But I AM going to impart our emotional journey to the hell of euthanasia so that others may be better prepared than we. Here goes:
Your vet will not tell you when it's time unless it is an emergency situation. Both our dogs could not walk or get up on their own much, but no vet ever TOLD us it was time, we had to ask.
The day you put your dog down, you will feel like shit. You spend the rest of that day wanting to TAKE IT BACK. Nothing will make you feel better, no matter how numb you want to become. So I stayed sober, the kind of sober only death can bring. The soberest I've been since February 10th, 2011 (when Annie died).
You walk out of the vet's office in a zombie-like haze. I don't even know how we got home. I just know I walked in with a dog and left with an empty leash and collar white-knuckled to my left hand.
You have the choice of staying and holding your dog till he's dead, or leaving him there...alone...with strangers. Both times we stayed and assured our old boys that killing them was the most loving action we could do for them. Yeah, right. You will never believe that one either. For as long as you live. Be prepared for the guilt of killing your pet, nobody tells you this part.

Our way of coping with the rest of that good-for-nothing day was to come home and clean his bowls, crate and toys. We separated what we could donate to a rescue group, including all his meds, and placed the rest in the attic with the dim outlook that someday we may have another doggie in our lives. We even cleaned the house, not to wipe out Shea's memory but to give us closure. I recommend you take the day off as your brain won't be thinking coherently.
The memory of your pet dying in your arms after a lethal injection of the most vibrant lavender pink poison, will be hot-branded in your conscious memory forever. You will not be equipped to handle this, it will haunt you. Know that choosing to stay and do the right thing, will also cause you extreme remorse and sorrow. Euthanasia is final, there is no going back. This seems like an obvious point, but my husband seemed stunned when it happened. Taking your pet's life strips away the protective layers of your emotional soul. It is now a raw, large open wound that will take months to heal and form a scab. And that slice that was cut out, will never return. You also discover what you are capable of and what your limits are.

Someday, you will have to forgive yourself for what you've done. When, I don't know. Forgiving and forgetting are two distinct paths. I still haven't forgotten the last one back in 1996, but I eventually realized his death was inevitable. The only way to fully receive forgiveness, is to fully forget that day. Which would require amnesia or a partial lobotomy. Making peace with ourselves and accepting our actions is a step towards forgiveness. Keep focusing on the joyful times you enjoyed together whenever that dark euthanasia moment skulks into your mind. Find a way to aid other pets, whether it's volunteering or donating money to your local rescue group . They are amazing organizations. And that vast ability you possess to love and care for another, needs to be shared again. Consider adopting another pet in the future, for the love of dogs.