lauriewrites's blog

DNC: The Kids Were Alright in Denver

2008-08-31T00:39:24-05:00

I was in Denver covering the Democratic National Convention for my university's news service, courtesy of the graduate program that runs my life, so I had no time for anything else while I was there, and usually lacked an Internet connection. Welcome to blogger hell, friends.

The whole experience was physically and mentally exhausting and frustrating. The logistics of dealing with press restrictions once on site made it tough to get good shots. Being in a hotel 45 minutes away from the center of the action and another half hour from the group I was covering was daunting. The worst? The lack of time online to write, upload and edit that proved to me that I am not a print person, once and for all. (Also? The altitude is no joke if you're not used to it. I was the walking winded and more parched than all of you at Burning Man, seriously.)

But by the time Stevie Wonder took the stage on Thursday night and the buzz in Invesco Field reached heights I've never personally experienced, the curtains of my professional bias closed and I realized just how amazing it was to be there - within that physical structure and in a city that for a few days played host to what I honestly believe in the most overblown of terms imaginable was a turning point in our history.

I'm here to talk about young Dems - about the generation
that the campaigns say the future hinges upon, although some people
under 30 (or even 40 - youth is a relative definition these days) say
they're not sure they're entirely heard, at least not in the official
channels that - when it comes down to it - truly determine who takes
the top spot.

Some of these young people are on the trail blogging, taking and uploading thousands of photos and videos , writing endless posts and articles with their take on the action. Others are going on the official party line, serving as state delegates and pages, attending ridiculously early delegation breakfasts, sitting in caucus meetings, and finally taking to the floor to watch the candidates speak.

Sarah Burris from Kansas is a Rock the Trail blogger who also blogged the DNC for FutureWatch. She blogged about the Human Rights Campaign's Rock to Win concert featuring Cyndi Lauper, Rufus Wainwright and Melissa Etheridge (wow!)

The concert began with a short press conference where all agreed that
young voters were essential to the election in November. Cindy Lauper
said it was important for all people to vote, and that was a key
component for her concert with the HRC as well as her national True
Colors tour.

(Burris crossposted at Everyday Citizen, where she is a founding blogger, and all of her Future Majority posts are collected here. Her bio there says she's "always happy to talk to fellow young people about elections,
organizing, and new media. You may contact her at sarahkatheryn at
gmail dot com.")

The Human Rights Campaign itself runs Generation Equality (GenEQ), that "helps queer youth go from being out to being active by providing the
skills, tools and knowledge to make full GLBT equality a reality."

Sarah Grainger was all over the DNC, and wrote at MomoCrats about the up-and-coming party leaders, specifically A'shanti Fayshel Gholar, DNC Youth Council Director, Secretary of the Nevada State Democratic Party and Vice-President of Young Democrats of America.

One of the things I didn't expect with the Democratic National
Convention was the large youth contingent. I don't know why, really,
because it's not like I haven't been somewhat tapped into what they've
been doing; I just didn't realize how major a force they were becoming.
When I was in college, the people I knew who were involved in politics
seemed to be doing it for the wrong reasons, so I was turned off to the
idea...(A'shanti) has her finger on the pulse of the young Democrats and is eloquent
as well. It's inspiring to see all of the new young leaders in the
Democratic party that were at the DNCC this week participating in a
wide range of events

The Young Democrats of America have a blog too. The latest post was about Got Tuition?, an organization focused on college affordability that currently features a contest sponsored by the National Education Association and the Huffington Post. The creator of the best video gets $1,000 towards school and the chance to blog on Huffington Post about college affordability.

College financing is a serious issue for many young voters. Got Tuition's mission, which they were pleased to hear echoed in Joe Biden's nomination speech on Wednesday:

bringing the issue of college affordability and the long term impacts of
student loan debt to the forefront of our national debate. If our nation is to maintain its status in the world, we must
ensure access to our colleges, vocational schools and universities to
everyone who wants to pursue the dream of higher education.

Politics West blogger Jackie Borchardt at the Denver Post wrote about an encounter with a politician on the first night of the DNC. (Sarah Burris blogged about Jackie as well, speaking of her disappointment with lip service to youth involvement from other politicians and Hollywood.)

"We need more young people like you," a California delegate said to me while I slurped a lemonade outside the convention hall.
I set the record straight: I'm not here for Democratic Party business.
I'm a journalist here to learn about the relationship between the news
media and politics.
Still, he said, the world needs more aware young people.
Message to other 23 year olds who might be walking around the Pepsi
Center this week: you are carrying a lot of weight. Whether or not the
"youth vote" exists, people are paying attention to the presence of
youth in this convention.

Lily Gold is a student at Germantown High School in Philadelphia and a guest blogger at the Y-Decide 2008/WHYY blog for the DNC. She quickly learned, along with the rest of us there, that credentials are hard to come by - and boy do you need them.

What I mean to say is, there were no credentials left.
Pennsylvania is unique in the way that, instead of distributing extra
credentials among the delegates themselves, each delegate enters their
name in a raffle and the winning names get credentials. Hefty sigh for
us hoepful high schoolers. But don’t count on this correspondent to be
down and out so fast- I networked at this breakfast more than I do on Facebook, and trust me, I am on Facebook a lot.

There were 631 delegates under the age of 36 in Denver – 28 super
delegates, 118 alternates, 55 standing committee members, and 74 pages. The number of delegates 35 and younger has almost doubled in eight years, to about 16 percent from 2000's nine percent. There were only four delegates under 30 in my state of Maryland, but some states are obviously doing better.

Rebecca McDonald at the Rock the Vote blog wrote about the youngest delegate, 17-year-old David Gilbert-Pederson from Minnesota, and his state colleague, 23-year-old Douglas Wiliams, and their road trip from Minnesota to Denver. The two not only crossed the age divide, but also a racial perception in Minnesota.

They began this historic process well before stepping into the car.
David recalls, “I feel like we both went in and busted up the old boys
club in our respective races.”

Their ascension on the City of
Denver, CO is history in the making. As 2 of 50 people of color in the
Minnesota delegation, this road trip duo is destined to change the face
of the Democratic Party. “Out of 109 delegates from Minnesota, 50 of
them are people of color.” Douglas continues, “When you think of our
state, you think of movies like Fargo where there aren’t any Black
people. But guess what, we do have diversity!”

Kate Snyder filed video blogs for WKYC in Cleveland and wrote as Eravial at SpaceFem Forum about her role as the youngest delegate from Ohio.

I am currently writing from Denver, Colorado,
where I am at the Democratic National Convention! At age 18, I am the
youngest member of the Ohio delegation, and one of the youngest in the
country. The convention is at the same time exhausting and incredibly
exhilarating! Being a delegate is an amazing opportunity, since there
are few better ways to gain exposure to party politics. I was elected
as a Hillary Clinton delegate back in January for Ohio's 14th
Congressional District, and after the March 4th primary, Clinton's
success in my district ensured that I would be attending the DNC. Since
then, it had been a whirlwind of planning and preparing with the Ohio
Democratic Party. Sunday, I left my Rice University freshman
orientation to fly to Denver.

Kay Steiger at Pushback posted this video from a female college student, 21, who drove to Denver from Missouri thinking she could "make a difference" by volunteering at the DNC. The economy is her top concern.

Finally, I spent some time with Tashea Brodgins, president of the Baltimore City Young Democrats and a Marylander concerned about her ability to participate with many older delegates entrenched and the small number of delegates allowed. Credentials were hard to come by for Tashea and other young people, she said, but Maryland Democratic Party leaders had been there to help her out.

She said that no matter how hard it was, it was worth it to be a part of this event. With political aspirations of her own, she refuted claims of some longer-serving delegates who said the newbies were in it for the moment. She said that she's in it for the long haul.

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites.

Why We Have Pets

2008-08-17T21:31:28-05:00

This is my final post as BlogHer's pets contributing editor. I will be moving back to photography coverage, and continuing to cover extended family issues on the alternate weeks. My friend and colleague Heather Clisby will be guiding you through the fun and ever-changing world of pet and animal blogs from now on.

Because this is my last pets post, I'd like to leave you with a reflection on why we have pets in the first place, such that they'd get a category here at BlogHer, such that they'd get a weird reality show, such that they'd have a place in the culture that is unrivaled by other non-human breathing entitites.

Why do human beings have pets? Why do you, if you do? Why did I, for 13 years, give a large part of my time and a good part of my heart over to two tiny dogs?

For me, it was family tradition combined with an obsession with getting a dog when I "grew up" and was out on my own. I got Boston Terriers because my grandmother had them throughout her life and I feel an extraordinary connection to them, partially as a result of her but mostly because they're awesome and hilarious dogs - for people who don't mind being followed around and nagged at the heels 24/7, that is. They have silly, affectionate, stubborn personalities and they mesh into families well (which is to say they will come to run the house and allow you to live there and pay their mortgage and buy their food and toys.)

They're also completely neurotic and on a bad day a little insane so it's good if you can handle that. They don't need to be walked a lot (which is excellent if one is prone to lazy mornings) and their grooming is easy. Finally, they're in the "so ugly they're cute" category for a lot of people who don't understand that they're incredibly beautiful, and people who didn't think they were either of those - well, I say with a smile - those are probably cat people anyway.

It could be said that I got dogs just to act on my neuroses, but I'll say in all honesty that any of those things I did, well, I blame low blood sugar. It's true, SOME pet people can seem quite strange. SOME of us dress our animals up in unfortunate costumes,

and get photos taken with Santa and talk to them incessantly as though they can not only hear but hold up their end of the conversation. Some are even prone to talking in the third person about themselves, i.e., "Mom doesn't like it when you throw up on the rug, dude," and then shuddering with horror when "they" hear the words that just came out of their mouths.

Some pet people spend money on ridiculous things, like paw-sized rainboots and gourmet peanut butter treats and a t-shirt that has "ROCKSTAR" emblazoned on the back with rhinestones. But they also work hard, you know. They get up at 6 a.m. to walk a big dog who needs to go for a mile or two, and go to great lengths to get a recalcitrant cat into a carrier for a trip to the vet. They stress over the bills for that vet and in most cases pay them anyway. They take great pains to explain the passing of a hamster or a Guinea pig to a child, and even hold elaborate backyard burials in those cases where it's called for.

"They" (ahem, ahem) may even consult a pet behaviorist when they are awakened by their beloved nine-month-old-not-quite-a-puppy pooping on their HEAD in bed at 3 a.m.. They may then feel incredibly guilty but likewise do not punch this behaviorist in the face when she says that it is all the pet person's fault because she - er, they - did not "assert herself as the alpha and clearly he's angry because of your new work schedule."

Right. Of course. And they will, as a result, drink perhaps more wine than is wise in the face of this personal alpha female failing and take the puppy out five extra times before bedtime and pray to God that never happens again because how much can a girl take?

Still, they will not think, not once, well maybe once but not a time more than that, of discarding the animal or not hugging him when he come snuffling around the couch having completely forgotten the incident, and will merely file this story away in the happy hour archives for years to come.

"Hey'd I ever tell you about the time my dog pooped on my head? And that I cried and threw him on the floor in a still-asleep daze while the other one dove under the bed because hey she may have eaten Aveeno bath that time but she won't get fooled again? And then I cried again because I threw him on the floor kind of hard by mistake and I felt guilty? And then we went to the pet behaviorist - NO, God no, NOT a psychic!"

Pets are not always easy. They are expensive and demanding and annoying at times. They require exercise and restroom services in terrible weather, and they will unfailingly step in the worst stuff in the yard right after the bath. They will not have you call the 24-hour emergency line because they ate Aveeno (which could be clearly seen by the oatmeal mustache on her little black and white face) because it says on the packet that it's totally nontoxic. They will, however, have you call because they ate a pack of cigarettes, and then a jewelry box, sometime in the halcyon months AFTER they pooped on your head.

But my dogs - and why I had them - had everything to do with this stuff along with the best feelings that never went away, including, I have to say, the funny and stupid times that resulted because I knew absolutely nothing about what it took to get a being-that-does-not-speak-any-spoken-language to do my will. I remember the annoyances, sure, but they're just part of the package. The happy stuff is way more clear and it's amazing how much it comes into my mind unbidden. I remember coming home from work and dancing in my empty dining room to the Beatles' White Album with both of them up on hind legs. I remember them standing up and looking out the window of the moving truck almost the whole way back to Maryland from Ohio. I remember the joy they brought to my parents who never had a dog in the house and who, over a period of loves, fell stupidly in love (take that, haters) with two animals who took them away completely from the stress of jobs they'd had for too long and caregiving for aging parents that has often stressed their spirits. And mostly, I just remember what now I miss the most, which is looking over and seeing them snoozing on the rug, or on the sofa. I remember them looking out the door and jumping up and down with happiness when I was walking up the sidewalk. I remember them as part of my household, and I remember them most - and most sadly, now - because there's a huge hole where they were.

And in the life of pets outside of my own, which is vast and awesome, I've seen the reasons why they're so important to people time and time again. I know my friends' dogs and cats well and know how important they are to them. I see on the news when disasters occur how people are so devastated over the loss of their animals, or refuse to leave them behind even at physical risk to themselves.

I saw the desperately unhappy man in the first nursing home where I worked, who was mean and cranky and no one could get through to, until our local rescue brought puppies in and like some in-your-face sappy public service announcement they jumped all over his bed and he laughed and cried and I hated when they had to leave him because it meant he went back to watching tv and being sad again. It was the first time as an adult that I understood the power of an animal to do what a human could not accomplish.

I lost some of my inspiration for writing or really even thinking about pets a lot just over five months ago, when I lost the first dog who was completely my own. In the most overwrought of ways Punkin made me take responsibility for SOMETHING when I was a young adult in graduate school who really needed something outside of herself to focus on, and also a living thing to come home to because as great as I know living alone to be, it can be lonely, no doubt about it.

I'm not over it by any means, and know I likely won't ever be, although I'm already learning to tuck that pain into a part of my heart where all the stuff lives that I hated when it happened. I'm learning to make some peace with what I call the hammer that hits you in the head, masquerading as the circle of life.

My dogs lifted me up, and eventually broke my heart. They made me laugh all the time, when they tried to do yoga with me and when they made stupid noises and when they pirouetted in the air in a circular motion. And I have to admit, although I have no idea how it happened or why it is so, I have to say that on the very short list of things that have made me a better person in this haphazard life I lead, they are very near if not at the top. And that is the answer to my own question. That was why I was lucky, and stupid, and smart and destined enough to have pets.

From the pet blogs, and blogs that are sometimes about pets:

BlogHim Andrew at Running With Dogs points out today's quote from Michael Phelps that in the middle of all of this Olympic history, he's really missing his dog.

Several writers have shared their stories about why "I Love My Cat" in this category at the Experience Project. Other groups include "I Love Dogs and Have One" and "I Couldn't Picture Life Without Pets."

Michele at Mihow posts Tuesdays with Murray, about her cat, every week. I love her most recent photo post, but her lyrical words about him make me smile.

Murray is the hand stirring a pot of Hollandaise sauce, the smile that moves across a person’s face when no one else is looking. Murray is New York City before 9/11, the sound of the teenagers skateboarding out back. Murray is laughter among friends, that first sip of white wine, lightning bugs at dusk.

Murray is me before I exchanged my naivety and hope for experience and cynicism.

Murray is youth.

Murray is a fixed number of minutes and a computer you leave at home.

Murray is joy.

Murray is the you you thought you would be, and the you you still can.

An article in US News and World Report last month reported that more assisted living facilities and nursing homes are allowing pets, acknowledging the important lifelong role that animals play in the mental and emotional health of many people.

Just ask Loren Shook, CEO of Silverado Senior Living, the San Juan
Capistrano, Calif.-based company that operates 17 assisted-living
facilities in four states for residents with dementia.

"Pets are useful in reducing depression, anxiety and re-engaging people in life," Shook said. "We are committed to making it work."

Often, when a resident has seen many friends pass away, he or she considers their dog or cat a good friend and part of the family. "It is so important for a person's general happiness in life not to have to give up on one of their last friends," he said.

The Boston Globe Magazine's July 13 issue was devoted to pets (wish I'd found it sooner!) and why we have them. Highlights include a photo essay of the day in the life of a guide dog, how far people should go to save them when they're sick and Robin "MissConduct" Abrahams' piece on why we sing to our dogs.

Do not skip Penny the singing pug at the top. I laughed lovingly out loud and Penny is a lovely falsetto soprano. Says Abrahams:

Why do we love our pets? From a Darwinian perspective, it hardly makes
sense to lavish attention and resources on another species. Is today's
pet-keeping merely a decadent holdover from a time when cats and dogs
had utilitarian value - killing rats, pulling sleds, rescuing Timmy? Or
did "survival of the cutest" result in the big-eyed, large-headed,
irresistible pets of today that evoke our deepest caretaking instincts?

Vix writes about the "the reason I have so many pets, and the one I lost."

This is how I end up with most of my pets. My heart goes out to both the animals, and the people trying to help them. Each of my pets have similar stories, and that is why I cannot say no. However, the Inn is full. And it will be full for some time. If it weren't ful...kitten #2 would be at my house as we speak. I am in love with her!

Therese at the PetSitUSA blog wants to know if others have gone to great lengths to be present for their pets in hard times.

I was curious to what lengths other people have gone to be able to stay with their pets when they are ill so I asked my contacts on LinkedIn and Twitter. I asked if they had ever canceled a social engagement, or taken off work to care for a sick pet. People who answered cited at least one time they’d opted for their pets over other obligations. Everybody who answered absolutely loves their pets takes the responsibility of caring for them seriously. They opted to care for their pets over work, vacations, school, and social engagements…and not one of them regretted it.

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites.

Rosary Bracelets and Checkbook Prayers: Family, Religion and What a Little Bit of It Means.

2008-08-13T00:41:06-05:00

This weekend in New Orleans I popped into the St. Louis Cathedral on Jackson Square, a building I've walked by several times but never entered. The usual things brought me inside this time: curiosity, a compulsive search for cool pictures that increasingly defines my days, and a sudden desire to find a calm spot in a nonstop city I love that can nonetheless can be exhausting.

St. Louis is one of the oldest cathedrals in North America, established in 1720. Inside, it is the usual Catholic combination of simple wood pews and votive candles, a brightly muraled ceiling and an ornately carved altar with Jesus and Mary and a few of the finest gilt archangels keeping watch over the proceedings. It's also a tourist center steps away from Cafe du Monde (beignets!) and Central Grocery (muffalettas!), so there are people milling around, taking pictures, lighting candles, a number of them kneeling and praying.

I was raised Catholic. I'm a cradle Catholic, culturally Catholic, "I survived Catholic school" (14 years, counting graduate school) kind of girl. I know what I'm talking about relative to this church. I've heard it harshly criticized and been told it is the one true church, the way, the truth and the light. And although I don't practice this or any religion anymore, there is still something in the spaces that hold it, in the words and the rituals that give it its shape, that I find comforting.

At the heart of that in so many ways is my grandmother, born Marie Louise McGrath, herself raised in the church in early 20th century Washington, D.C., way pre-Vatican II, a time of May queens and no meat any Friday, ever, not just during Lent. She went to Holy Comforter School, a few years behind my grandfather, in classes with one of his ten sisters. She dragged me to 7:30 Mass more weekends than I can count, and before her mother, my Nanny, died, she'd go along, and I'd sit next to her and she'd keep her arm around me the whole time. Nanny never went to Communion. She'd said "bastard" too many times that week, she said, and not gone to confession, so she'd just sit there with me. This transgression of profanity lasted for nearly 10 years, and I didn't understand it until I experienced the horror of the sacrament of penance myself. Mass with Nanny is one of the most visceral memories of my life, such that it may be the last thing I see before my eyes when I die.

When I hit my knees in New Orleans this weekend, these women, along with my mother, a convert and my grandmother's daughter-in-law, were the reason why.

I had no idea that's what would happen when I walked in the door. The plan was to take a few pictures, get out, go get a muffaletta. But the more I walked around the place, paid attention to the details - the stained glass Stations of the Cross, the French inscriptions, all the candles burning for someone or some personal intention - the more I just I wanted to sit. It turns out, I wanted to kneel.

My life has been loud lately. There's a lot of movement, a lot of change and stress. I'm really tired with no time for it. As full of great stuff as my brain and heart are on a daily basis, there is also worry, uncertainty and confusion. Some people I love are having a really rough time. There are some unsettled questions. I've been doing a lot of work, inside and out.

The very act of kneeling is surrender. Outside the constraints of who I pray to, it felt like turning it over, all the junk and the stress. Take it, whoever you are, please, plaster cherubim at the end of the aisle. I'm doing the work, I'm holding it down, trying to be smart and make good decisions, trying to step up or back when it's called for. But it's a LOT, dude. It often feels like a "FAIL" in a "FTW" world. So I just need a little help, a freaking blazing neon sign would be nice, kthxbai God.

My God has a sense of humor and speaks LOL, apparently.

I steepled my hands on the back of the pew in front of me the way I'd watched my grandparents do it when I was little so it's just a reflex. I looked around and felt a little guilty, yes, non-practicer that I am, (really) vocal critic of all things structural and political and systemically sick about the patriarchal organization that built the pew I was kneeling in. But my "Catholic guilt," as it's commonly called, is always transient. I just don't buy it, don't choose it, won't own it. I'm pretty lucky, I guess, in that I was raised in what I always call the "felt banners and butterflies" 1970s church, where I associate mostly good thanks to the fairly moderate way my family practiced and the extreme amount of love and acceptance I received from them. Also, nobody got smacked or anything worse than yelled at in my school. If I ate a hamburger on a Friday in Lent, no one told me I was going to hell. It was just "Try again. Keep trying."

I tell my mom when she bemoans my lost religion that I can't belong to an organization that wouldn't let me lead it, I just couldn't, my conscience won't let me. Then again I still cried several times in Vatican City under the weight of the beauty and history there, all that I know about the Crusades notwithstanding, mostly because of what it would have meant to my grandparents and my Nanny to see it.

So it was good in this time of flux and confusion to close my eyes in this cathedral for a few minutes, to breathe, to let the piped-in Latin chanting fill my ears. And when I got up off my knees and sat in the pew, I needed paper, because I wanted to write some stuff down. As it happened, all I had was the back of my checkbook, where I scratched out some things I wanted to remember, for me, for New Orleans, and for my family.

I am not pious. I am not proud. I am a flawed child of spirit if not of God. Pray for this loud, proud, chaotic, soul- spirit- and pain-saturated city. Pray for me, that I choose the right next steps and the best words. Help me look past the insanity of the surface to whatever simple greatness I can find in everything around me.

I capped my pen and I got up. I lit a candle apiece for my mom and my grandmother, crossed myself with holy water, and bought a rosary bracelet for my grandma in the gift shop. And then I walked out towards the Mississippi River, into the pouring rain.

Writings about family and religion and all the ways they collude and collide:

Ann Steliman at World Unturning wrote about sharing her concerns about her Jehovah's Witness beliefs with her family.

Brian at Daily Buddhism responded recently to a reader who was concerned about her family's reaction to her practice.

I would suggest the best approach is to make sure your family sees you acting in the finest traditions of Buddhism (without necessarily advertising the fact). They’ll see and experience you as a good person, doing good in the world, alleviating suffering where and when you can. Be an exemplar of the best “Christian values,” and when your “shocking secret” eventually comes to light, perhaps, just perhaps, they’ll be willing to talk rather than judge you out of hand.

Carrie at My Funny, Funny Family shares what it's like to explain religion to your kids when it's not something you participate in "The Holy Trinity of Questions."

It's unavoidable that some of the questions are going to be about religion. It's a sticky subject, because we are not religious. So we don't have a preapproved set of explanations for that stuff. And it's going to take a lifetime to explain why some kids believe in God, Jesus, Mohammed and the Almighty Dollar, but we don't.

Loni is an American Muslim who "reverted" (her word) to Islam and writes about what it's like to wear the hijab in front of her family for the first time. (Fascinating stuff -check out the post.)

But it is one thing for me to be “outed” in a community full of strangers; it is another to show my close friends and family the person I now am.

Shannon Clark at Searching For the Moon writes about "The Communities I Speak" including Catholicism and Judaism. (Again, really fascinating ideas here.)

I am not religious but I do consider myself Jewish at least as an ethnic and cultural identity. At the same time to some degree I don’t fully speak “Jewish”, I was raised more as a Roman Catholic, went to a Catholic elementary school and the world around me has generally engaged with me not as someone who is Jewish so I haven’t had the experiences positive or negative that might convey

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites. Photos in this post and thousands more live on Flickr.

Of Keynotes and Community: the Connections That Keep Us Going

2008-08-04T03:41:04-05:00

Who is your family? Who is your community? And what would its keynote say?

The final question is more recent, but I've asked myself the first two questions a lot since I started writing in this topic area about a year ago, mostly because I like to make sure I'm not completely screwing it up, writing about, oh, say, Muppets and marching bands when something a bit more, oh, familial, is called for.

Lately, now that I've settled in, I ask it more. Sure, I'm more confident in why i'm here and what fits in the "extended family" realm (turns out, just about anything to do with connections and relationships with all of their accompanying good and not-so-much, maybe even Muppets if I reached a bit.) Still, it seems like an increasingly important question in a world where we're surrounded by everyone from our closest and most loving to the masses who rush by us on the street to, in the worst of circumstances, a stranger on a bus who is capable of doing something so unthinkable as to stab us, take off our head and hand it to the driver.

I've been stuck on that horrible story out of Manitoba, Canada. I can't get it out of my mind, the reports that boy who was killed smoked a cigarette beforehand with his eventual murderer, the fact that he was on his way home to Winnipeg, that he was just sitting there and a disturbed individual attacked him so unthinkably for who knows why. It stuck with me even more because when I left San Francisco last week, I got on an Amtrak bus that took me to Santa Barbara, where I caught a train to go to San Diego. I went straight from the company of so many flesh-and-blood friends I'd somehow managed to meet in the remote spaces of the Internet to a foggy, 6 a.m. bus terminal in a city I didn't know very well. The cab driver dropped me off - incorrectly - at the Greyhound terminal and sped away, leaving me to hike the remaining six city blocks in the dark - dodging street folk and freakishly early commuters with two suitcases and a laptop and tote bag toppling off of each - to the Ferry Building.

Overtired, overstimulated and lonely, I trusted on that first bus that, although the woman in front of me annoyed me to no end because she kept her seat fully reclined into my knees for every minute of the seven-hour journey, and that I therefore had no interest in being her friend, that she would not kill me. It was unthinkable that I could sit down next to someone on that bus, exchange pleasantries or not, and any number of stops later, horror would unfold, resulting not only in my death but the permanent psychological scarring of the other passengers who somehow escaped with their lives.

Extreme, sure, but somehow that very horror show happened, several thousand miles north. And what I come back to when I read these insane stories is the fact that we all bravely inhabit this world together. We have no idea, taken at face value, who the people sitting next to us are, where they come from, what their deal is. Still, there is something in us that enables us to travel alongside them - namely, for the most part, the fact that we need to get to wherever we need to go. We don't know the stories our fellow passengers carry, and they often do not ask us theirs (unless "they" are my mother, in which case she will find out everything about you whether you like it or not and I apologize in advance.) And whereas even though we can read stories like the Manitoba bus murder and the other recent horror show of the couple killed on their honeymoon in Antigua and think, "What kind of world is this? Who are these people?" the vast majority of us don't stop traveling, because we can't and we don't want to. We can't stop trusting on some basic level that we'll get where we're going.

One trick of the matter is that sometimes the most innocuous and carefree of things like a honeymoon or a bus ride can result in tragedy, the things that cause us fear and anxiety can conversely result in joy. Life is random and either lucky or cruel that way, depending what side you're on.

A few days before that bus ride I stood backstage at the BlogHer Community Keynote, a new event for the four-year old conference, curated by Eden Marriott Kennedy of Fussy (who not only arguably has the coolest name I've ever heard, but is also one of the most spot-on writers, photographers and observers of people, places and things online.) In an hour and a half, a small circle formed among the readers backstage and what had seemed impossible since I hit "send" on the e-mail submitting my post - taking my serious words written in the safety and obscurity of my living room and reading them aloud on a stage in front of hundreds of people - didn't seem so horrifying. The women and one man backstage - most of them strangers to me prior to that night, some of them writers who struck me embarrassingly fangirlish - were nice. They were supportive. They were nervous too, but they didn't want you to be. Danielle from Foodmomiac sat quietly by just off-stage, watching as the readings went on. People I'd never met, like Polly from Lesbian Dad, blew me away.

At some point, I also had to go out there, open my mouth and read, nervous to death that I'd shake too much to make it through or read so fast it would all be garbled. But somehow, although I can't really explain it, the combination of the feeling that started back behind the curtains and Eden's tacit reassurance carried through, and I felt oddly calm.

When it was over, I cannot count the number of people who approached me for the rest of our time in San Francisco, most of them quietly, some with tears, even, to acknowledge my participation and my words. It was gratifying and moving on a level I've never experienced. It went beyond being a good or even adequate writer - and certainly had nothing to do with links or hits or any other measurements because those don't factor into my blogging life at all. It had to do with words and stories and how knowing them and sharing them can open up to all kinds of understanding, how it can change a life.

This experience proved to me again, and quite strongly, that just because it is, but even moreso because of both the common sadnesses and the overwhelming tragedies of life, it is good to be kind. it is good to take the risks it often entails to be open and supportive, especially with strangers. Making connections when you can isn't just a good idea or a reasonable suggestion. It is a certain kind of food that a lot of us really don't know we need. And although it does not inoculate us entirely against or in any way prevent the horrible things that happen to and because of sad and damaged people all over the planet, it can help to stave off despair when the bad news is so thick and unmanageable. When the devils and the ghosts surround us, this kind of community can help us to go on, help us to trust on some basic level that we'll get where we're going, even if we have no way of knowing how it'll all turn out.

Related blog posts:

Eden Kennedy's list of all the posts read at the keynote.

Suebob says the keynote was good times.

Fellow reader Schmutzie's excellent words-and-pictures wrap-up of the keynote experience.

There was too much magic backstage for fainting, though, and I was
compelled to inhale all of it, every shaky knee returning from the
stage, speech through emotional throats, and anticipatory sighs. We
quickly fell into a natural community there. We comforted and
congratulated, hugged and held hands as we dealt with the rise and fall
of high emotions.

As a person who is used to a certain level of
detachment, this was a true oasis after great thirst. These were my
people in a way that I am not used to having people, even if only for
ninety minutes.

Keynote reflections from reader Jen Zug from This Pile I'm Standing In.

Gena Haskett at Out On the Stoop posted videos of several of the keynote readings.

Jennifer at Jenguin felt good just being in the audience.

Michele at Because No One Asked questions criticism of the other bus passengers in the Manitoba bus murder.

No one on that bus was prepared for anything like what happened. No one
had thought about it even being a possibility. Who would have? The
passengers were relaxing, reading, watching movies, etc. The victim
might have been sleeping. There was no advance warning. What would you
have done?

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites

Losing My Dog - Five Months Later

2008-07-30T23:21:42-05:00

There are dogs everywhere in California. In San Diego, specifically in my sister's Ocean Beach neighborhood, there seems to be a dog for at least every other human being. It's kind of crazy. Chihuahuas take on boxers at the farmer's market. Dogs are on(and occasionally off) leash in just about every store. There are Frosty Paws (tm) in a freezer case at the ice cream shop so they can have their treat while the humans do.

It was fun to see, but it was also difficult, although I had no idea it would be. I was all, bring on the dogs! And then I met California, whose canine population overwhelmed my resolve. I've written previously about the death of my Boston Terrier, Punkinhead, this March, and how difficult it was for me and for my family. it still is. I picked him out of an Ohio kitchen litter at five weeks of age, took him home to an inappropriately small graduate school apartment, and there we were, staring at each other, as all three pounds of him stood in a dinner plate and chased kibble in a circle.

Five years later, long after he'd taken up residence as the most important male creature to ever grace my life, we moved home to Maryland. There my parents took us all (I'd acquired another rescue Boston, a little girl who was ten by then) into the house and under their wing. He never left their house. They helped me nurse him through the living hell of canine epilepsy. My mother made him turkey and rice for the colitis (the Bostons, they can be a bit fragile.) He got Halloween treats and a Christmas stocking. He became my father's best friend and constant companion. The house revolved around him, gladly, enthusiastically.

And then, at the end of two months of increasingly difficult seizures this late winter, he had the nerve to die just as it turned to spring around here, leaving us high and dry and dogless, with no (truly no, please don't tell us it's silly, it just is) interest in replacing him, not now, maybe not ever.

The other day at the farmer's market in Ocean Beach, my sister pointed out a Boston Terrier about his size, with a different face but the same sweet demeanor. She said to look, that he was cute, and I turned, expecting to want to go over and pet him. To my horror, I started to cry on the street and I had to look away. I kept walking.

"I'm not ready to see one in 3-D, I'm afraid," I said, thankful for sunglasses and an understanding sibling who didn't balk at talking to the dog on the phone, because he was so in love with her that he knew her voice and the sound of one of us saying her name, who has his photo framed on her office shelf beside the rest of the family and as the wallpaper on her phone.

Too soon, we decided. Too soon for Dog Beach. Too soon to kneel down and bond with this specific representation of the breed, this altogether lovely dog who was still not my dog.

Because my parents help me out a lot with the logistics of my life and I do the same for them, they picked me up the other night at the airport fresh from my California odyssey. My mother mentioned how she'd been home all day cleaning the house, off from work, and thought how it would have been nice to have a dog underfoot again. I can't have a dog in the house I'm living in, so that's my excuse.

"I got a dog. Right there," my father said, pointing to the snapshot of Punkin on his visor, that in the dark I hadn't known was there.

Still our only dog. Still too soon, I guess. It still crosses my mind to stop by the house and let him out, until I remember it's unnecessary. I can't watch the videos of him yet without tears. I am so

Mata H. wrote a great post last week about friends grieving for their dog who recently died, inspiring my own thoughts on the matter. I write about pets here every other week, a task that has admittedly been more difficult in the months since I lost my own. I'm not even a pet person anymore. I don't have one. But reading Mata's post and the beautiful and supportive comments reminded me of the same ones that meant a lot to me when my dog died. Only two people condescended, and those people were not my friends.

It is still worth talking about, still necessary to share - still important to reach out to anyone who might be feel silly about calling in sick to work, as I had to a few times, to tend to a beloved pet. Because the double-edged sword of grief is that in order to experience it, you have to have had something significant to lose. Something mattered to you. Something gave your life the particular shape that each human's takes in the space of a span of days. Most commonly we think of it in terms of losing people who mean a lot to us, and the deep and horrible pain of that is true and real. But when an animal who has shared our home and family time dies, it leaves a hole exactly their size, and the pain can catch you off-guard. It has to be acknowledged.

Knocking Everywhere's daughter Kelly lost her cat this summer and began her quest to get two new pets with her new puppy, Darcy.

Commenter MerryMary08 linked to Colleen Mihelich's Peternity blog that includes the practical (urns and services for memorializing pets immediately after death0 and the poetic, including this cat poem from Cleveland Amory:

"Where he is really buried,

and where he is,

and where he always will be,

is in my heart. "

Robin Reynolds lost her Airedale and says that when it comes to pets, it's crazy NOT to grieve.

Those who have lost cats can share their ideas for feline grief forum at Paws and Effect.

SAPPY Pet Loss of San Antonio has a blog for "pet parents" to share stories and remembrances of their lost pets. And for those who prefer a human voice, the American Veterinary Medical Association has a list of pet loss hotlines, offering listening ears and compassionate advice from people who will never utter the words, "but it's just a dog," who will affirm, as Mata's post said, that it's a loss as real as any other.

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites

Go With the Flow: Take Your Mom (and everyone else) to BlogHer

2008-07-23T18:24:58-05:00

"Go with the flow, Laurie. Go with the flow. It works every time."

So said my new friend Frances Ellen as we walked along Fisherman's Wharf, in the middle of a day where I was distinctly not following this directive for a variety of reasons, and she was nudging her daughter and my friend, BlogHer Health and Wellness contributing editor Catherine Morgan, to buy a tote bag in which to...er, tote the conference swag back to Florida.

I randomly ran into them as we were checking out of the hotel, and spent a lovely day with them in San Francisco. Virginia deBolt has already mentioned this mother-daughter power duo in a post about the BlogHer Open Space, but because this year's conference had me thinking a lot about family, here they are again.

I learned many things from Catherine and Frances during our day at the wharf among them: what a Webkinz actually IS, that Frances writes fiction at Story of Nadia, and that blogging in this family is a three-generational affair. Catherine's 14-year-old daughter Nicole has her own spots. She's Princess Nicole, where she blogs about the things she loves, which currently include the aforementioned Webkinz and Miley Cyrus, and waxes political at PunditGirl. You go, Nicole (and update PunditGirl! I want to know what you think!)

The multiple-blog thing must be genetic, because if you ask Catherine where she writes, she'll probably laugh and direct you - rightfully - to her home page, which links to all of her sites. Women4Hope focuses on women's issues, chronic illness is addressed at Living With Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and there's a little bit of everything at Be the Change You Want to See In Yourself. But all I - and perhaps you - really need to know about Catherine is that she is one of the kindest people I've ever met, that last year at BlogHer when I was having an attack of the "oh my God will they really like mes" at the contributing editor meet-up, that she came over to me, hugged me, and told me that meeting me in person was one of the main reasons she was so glad to be there.

I know, right? And she doesn't even drink.

Hanging out with her and her mother made me a little bit sad that my own mother and sister weren't there, because this community has become such a part of my daily life and I like to share those sorts of things with my closest people. And Frances herself makes the whole "where are the elder bloggers?" as moot of a question as the "where are the women bloggers" that was the reason for all of this BlogHer action in the first place. In fact, when a woman in the Westin bar made a crack about not getting the attention in hotel bars that she used to, Frances said, "Wait until you're my age. Then you'll know what invisible feels like." As much as I can't imagine anyone would respond to her in this way, I know the ways of the world enough not to disagree, and admire people like her who are showing up and proving that you ignore any smart woman, of any age, at your peril.

So yeah, she's very wise, so if you see her online or in person, I'd suggest you go sit by her.

There were lots of family groups of two or more at BlogHer this year. It was nice. Many of them involved moms and babies, for
sure. Catherine from Her Bad Mother and baby Jasper were in the house, and
if anyone has a photo of Catherine breast-feeding at the Online
Activism panel, please share a link so I can pass it on to her.

Antonia of Yet Another Bloomin' Blog came from London to read (hilariously) at the Community Keynote. Ian and baby Esme joined her. Gena Haskett posted this video of her keynote reading.

Skye Kilaen was there with Boy Detective, whose late-night/early morning desire to party had her pacing the hotel lobby with him when I was coming in from breakfast for much less responsible reasons. Becky from Miss Priss was there with her beautiful boy. Here's photographic evidence from Kirk Brooks. Now home, Becky writes on the good and bad of conferencing with a baby. Here's a snip of the good.

I loved being able to go to my sessions without towing him and the
stroller and diaper bag (in addition to my camera and other junk). But
I also loved being able to run upstairs and see what he was up to. I’ve
never seen such a family-friendly conference in all of my years. Where
else can you find a lactation room at a con? Not any of the other
conferences I’ve been to.

I ran into a few pairs of sisters, and have promptly forgotten their names. Sisters and soon-to-be PBS Super Sisters Kristen Hammond and Jen Lemen sat side-by-side as vendors in the BlogHer Swap Meet. Jen brought along Soul Sister Odette Umurerwa, who co-wrote her beautiful zine "Let's Learn to Help Ourselves and Others." I'll state from personal experience that it'is an excellent pay-it-forward gift, and I'm so glad she lives up the street from me so I can save her the shipping for more. Buy a copy here. And even if the famous "Mommy Needs a Cocktail" shirts don't apply to you, best believe I picked up Kristen's awesome "Bartend...I mean, Barista" coffee travel mug.

And the BlogHer founders and staff showed up with the partner power!
Chris Carfi has Lisa Stone's - and BlogHer's - back on Twitter and elsewhere with
humor and information 24/7, and also has the best t-shirts. BlogHer Community Manager Denise Tanton and partner TW were there, and although I shamefully did not meet TW, I didn't follow Denise around too codependently. BlogHer co-founder Jory des Jardins wrote much more eloquently about this aspect of the conference:

What kinda brings tears to my eyes is not only the dedication of our
team, who stayed and smiled throughout the event and made it their
mission to make others smile, but also their SPOUSES and SIGNIFICANT
OTHERS who did the same...Kristy's better half, Pete (dude, did you actually help
all the sponsors pack up their stuff at the end of the day???)...And, of course, Chris Carfi (who just sort of reduces stress when he's in the room and endured being called Mr. Stone) and my Sweetie, Jesse,
who always claims he's not going to do very much and then fixes things.
He even let me know when my thong was visible--you just don't get that
kind of help normally.

For some things you just need family, which is why immediately after the conference I took a lovely but harrowing bus and train trip down the California coast to see my sister in San Diego. Which also means that I can see the ocean as I type this. How cool is that? I'm going to help her set up a blog while I'm here, because we've been talking about it forever and France and Catherine - and all the others - inspired me to get it in gear. Now, if I can get my mom past the question she asked again on the phone today - "How do I get into your blog again? - we'll be doing something. Because whereas my mom is totally ready for a party like BlogHer '09, I'm not sure y'all are ready for her.

Did you bring your family? Did you know it was cool if you did? Do you blog with yours? Does your sister or your mother or your brother or your aunt blog? Please tell me about it - because I really want to know.

Finally, a big thank you to Catherine and Fran for saving me at a time
when I really needed it, for being happy to see me when almost a
thousand friendly faces had left and I felt really weird in a strange
city. You two have the mom and daughter (plus blogger) thing down, and it made me feel very much at home. Which - oddly - becomes ever more important when you're far away.

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites.

Pets Equal Presidential Promise? McCain Ahead By a Pack.

2008-07-12T16:56:04-05:00

"If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog."- Harry Truman

Calvin Coolidge went above and beyond the call, reportedly owned a pygmy hippo and a wallaby, but I'm ashamed to say that I don't know enough about his presidency to know if that says anything about his track record. (That may say enough, actually - with those kinds of animals on your mind, what time do you have left to run the country?)

Take a look back a the full list from the Presidential Pet Museum, then fast forward to 2008, and the question: what do John McCain's more than 20 pets (cats, dogs, turtles, birds and a good number of fish) and Barack Obama's zero and a post-campaign promise of a dog say about their presidential promise?

Anything, or nothing at all, depending on personal opinion, but in a country where an estimated 63 percent of households have pets and pet industry expenditures are projected to top $43 billion this year, companion animals matter to many Americans. (Source: American Pet Products Manufacturing Association, via the Humane Society of the United States.)

Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer says..."Remember, there are no quick fixes; pack leadership is a year-round 24/7 commitment."

The pack in this case numbers over 300 million according to the most recent Census numbers, and as was famously pointed out in the primaries, whomever gets the nod had best be available by phone at all hours to handle crises large and small. A July 8 Associated Press poll indicates that pet owners favor McCain over Obama, 42 to 37 percent, a relatively slim margin that is wider among dog owners.

There is of course no indication that McCain - on the road a good bit of the year whether he's campaigning or not - is in the trenches or even on the couch with his pets, nor that he travels with them at all. Likewise, Obama's petless situation could be considered a wiser choice given his and his family's similarly busy schedule. Pets need time, hands-on care and a commitment in many cases of a decade or more. Chances are if you and your family are immersed in a run for the top spot in government, there isn't much time left over to keep the water bowls full or to head to the dog park.

I'm not saying that's the way it is, but it could be. Any parent who's ever known it's not the right time to own a dog and had to tell a child "no" might be familiar with this tough call, one that makes foreign diplomacy look like a cakewalk. Likewise, anyone who's ever gotten a pet (even partially) to teach just how hard it is to take responsibility for another creature sees the other side. It's easy to be warm and fuzzy about pets and caring for them, but it's more realistic to say that it's a commitment - of time, expense, emotion and ultimately, the grace of giving in and grieving when the awful truth comes clear that they just don't live as long as we do.

Sites like Real Clear Politics have reams of hard data on the differences between McCain and Obama, tallying over a year of polls and commentary.

It's easy to do this based on quantifiable variables - who voted for or against the war in Iraq, or helped to pass or shoot down any number of bills in the Senate? McCain and Obama have opinions and positions, yes, although none of their official lists online include animal rights statements - not that I can find anyway.

But what about the softer, more qualifiable side of things? Like, say, crocodiles? The Los Angeles Times reports that Obama was not always petless, and that the pets of his youth - at least the time that he spent in Indonesia - were a bit more exotic than the average.

Obama took few kids to his home, just members of an inner circle who were trusted to see his secret pets: crocodiles that lived in a concrete tub, about a foot-and-a-half deep and a yard long, surrounded by chicken wire. The biggest croc was almost as long as its home, recalled Adi. Obama’s stepfather “was breeding crocodiles in his house,” he added. “Not many people knew about it. He only had one big crocodile, but they had many smaller ones.”

The family’s pets included a turtle as big as a cookie tin and an ape named Tata, which Obama’s stepfather brought from New Guinea.

Likes a challenge? Appreciates the unusual? Bad leadership attributes? Not really.

Animal activists are on the case as well. Kelly Overton, Director of People Protecting Animals and Their Habitats wrote on Counterpunch that Obama - and likely McCain as well -needs to be able to "build an ark." Talk about a tall political order, even in light of Obama's words in Las Vegas in January:

"I think how we treat our animals reflects how we treat each other, and it's very important that we have a president who is mindful
of the cruelty that is perpetrated on animals."

New York Magazine's Electopedia did a tally of the pets in the presidential race.

“Let me tell you, we talk about this dog every day. Every day,” Obama said. “'What kind are we going to get? You do know we’re getting it? What breed, how big, how small?’ Yesterday morning we talked about names. I said, ‘Look, you’re getting a dog, just knock it off.’”

There were more contenders in the race when Discovery.com's Pet Trends blog posted about pets, but the commentary in the comments remains interesting. Could a voter really use pet ownership as a barometer of fitness to lead, or an indication of just how a leader would do it? Seems so.

Kris said:

I have to admit that although I am thinking about voting for Obama, it bothers me that he doesn't have a pet... is that weird???

Posts like Mandy's - an unhappy Democratic voter - throw pet ownership into the mix in a seeminly off-hand way, but definitely as an indicator that could make a difference if one were on the fence.

McCain would have to say or do something truly heinous, crazy or scary for my vote to change. But, since I see McCain as a basically decent man (who apparently likes and has a good number of different pets), I don't anticipate that happening.

Jasper the Japanese Spitz wonders what the motivation is for Obama's potential pet ownership.

Promises from a politician are usually meant to be broken. If he wins, however, he'll probably make good on his promise--maybe for photo ops purposes (have you noticed how President Bush's pet dog "humanizes" him when the latter is around?). But that's not a good enough reason for me, though. The fact that he still doesn't own one now at his late age speaks volume to me. If only dogs could vote, I won't vote for him!

Whether the family is getting a dog due to presidential peer pressure or not, America does love a poll, and some news outlets are butting in with their own advice - and collecting that of the masses - to determine what breed of dog the Obamas should acquire.

The Rocky Mountain News put the word out to local rescue and shelter groups to help "pick the perfect pet" for the Obamas, and the American Kennel Club has winnowed the list of breeds on their poll down to a (predictably) elite five. John Woestendiek at the Baltimore Sun Mutts blog says that the breeds were chosen based on Malia and Natasha Obama's allergies, but he hopes they'll "tell the AKC to take a hike."

LuraV says the Obama's have "a promise of a pet," but she recommends yellow Labs if they make the jump.

(Hello, cat people? Ferret lovers? Bird maniacs? Any suggestions? Care to encourage the Obamas to jump ship? Speak up. The debate about cat vs. dog Presidents should be a spicy one!)

Anyway, getting a pet is relatively easy. It's the long-haul that matters, and can bring as much effort as it does joy. Pet care and training is difficult, and it reveals personality - of pet and person - over time. To make the best call on what it all has to do with presidential promise, I'd have to see Senators McCain and Obama leading a puppy through her early paces or, most tellingly, whether they'd obey the "please clean up after your pet" signs. When no one was looking.

Because, as Dogs, Cats, Etc. wants us to remember:

Nixon had three dogs while he was in the White House.

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites.

Sometimes You Just Have to Be There: Making Time For Family Ties

2008-07-07T02:35:49-05:00

Later today, my sister and I will get in the car and drive down I-95 to meet up with most of our immediate family on a South Carolina beach.

I have no business going. I'm cramming a week of work into a weekend, and I'm stressed and therefore eating potato chips about it, but, as I've written before, this is just something that I need to do, in a place I need to do it, with the most important people in my life.

Today, in a much greater feat, Dara Torres broke the American record - for the 9th time - in the 50 meter freestyle at the Olympic trials. "The 41-year-old mother of one!" the commentator screamed, as they panned up in the crowd to show her mom and her sister, holding her Dara's daughter, jumping and clapping and screaming. Who knows if they'll all go to Beijing, but I wouldn't be surprised. Sometimes you just have to be there.

Sure, sometimes family stuff is stressful. Sometimes life is stressful. In spite of the sugar-coating family ties can get in this culture, people do not always get along, whether it's for five minutes because of a low blood sugar mood swing, or for many years for more serious issues and infractions. Someone, maybe several someones, can annoy, can chafe, can drive one, dare I say, to drink. But other times, a lot of times, it can be good.

Anne at Adventures in Beanland recently flew cross-country to Oregon to meet parents and siblings, nieces and nephews.

When I see that secret smile Mackenzie is giving her Grandma, I think maybe she understands a little.

If that one moment was the only reason we made the trek to Oregon, I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Cassandra at Kloznitz flew from England to Maryland for a brief family visit that included a farewell at sea for her grandparents. (Great pictures as well.)

We had a fabulous picnic lunch and enjoyed the bay. My aunt and mother
read out a selection of their love letters to each other and the three
children threw their ashes to the waves in a hand- made paper container
made by my aunt. That night we had a slideshow of family photos of five
generations while listening to a CD of their favorite music that my
father had put together. I can't imagine a more perfect or fitting
ceremony for the two of them.

If they had one day left to live, Rachel and Meredith in the Gaiam Yoga Forums would make things right - or righter - with family and friends.

Vineyard Vogue celebrated her grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary this weekend with the rest of her family.

This week, a young classmate of mine laughed at me because at my age, I was still considering whether or not my father would be available to drop me off at the airport when I go to Denver in August. I felt silly for a minute, and then I told her that when he needs a ride, I give him one too. I'm available - unless I'm not. And unless it's one of those days where I kind of wish everyone would go away and leave me alone, actually even then, I'm glad these people I mutually love and transport and tolerate are there.

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites.

Summer '08 Pet Blog Surf

2008-06-29T22:41:41-05:00

It's hot, the days are way long, and I find myself lolling about, facing a million deadlines. These are the times when the big questions pop into my head. Like, "What's in a pet blog, anyway?"

The BlogHer blog directory, excellent as it is, says, hey, pretty much anything. Got animals? Nice.

This is pleasing to me, because I'm not so down with restrictions, and if there is room for anything in the blogiverse (-sphere has been bothering me lately) it's variety. My dog was central to my life, and until he died in March, he was my regular photographic subject and I wrote about him frequently too. I'd never have called my blog a "pet" blog, though - at least not solely. There were many days when it did qualify, though.

Thankfully, all I need to do to find some lovely blogs - a little or a lot about pets - is to click over to the BlogHer Pets Blog Directory and go a little crazy. (Yes, it's there, and yes, you should add yourself to whatever category works for you if you haven't already. The post ideas, they don't grow on trees, friends. Kidding. Seriously kidding.)

Some blogs are pets-only, and many of those, like Dog Park Days, are heavy on the photos. Yay photos! Marla Baltes shares the adventures of Australian Cattle Dog Stella and German Shepherd Darwin there in words and many, many photographs.

Yes, adding photos can be time-consuming, but sometimes there's no better way to show the cuteness or the true beauty of an animal than in a photo.

Alison Bowman writes Self Help for Cats (a book and a blog) which might hold some interest for those with an interest in quirky feline news. City Cat Summer Camp? Sure.

Some bloggers choose to share the joy of a specific breed or type of pet, like Julo at CorgiTails does in a whole blog, or Amy at Pugs in Raincoats does in a category.(Amy's writing bravely through a divorce right now. Stop by and give her some good vibes.)Others, like Jill at Our Furry Family, like to mix it up.

Need proof that not all mommyblogs are created equal? One Doggy Mamma has it.

HeatherInk has a nifty design and dog blog. She and her husband have also been spotted communing with exotic birds at the Playboy Mansion.

Liza at It's Just Me - My Life and All That - has a lovely blog, with photos and stories of birds and dogs.

Finally, my favorite name of this surf through the pet blogs, and a really good writer at that: Living La Vida Alpo. I like. I'll be back. And that's the point of surfing the blogs, really. I hope you will too.

If you have a pet blog, completely or just a little bit, add it to the directory, please. I want to know about you.

Laurie White blogs at LaurieWrites.

Summer Vacations - Family Style

2008-06-23T01:05:22-05:00

Summer is consistent for me in as many ways as it is not, it turns out. Jobs, schedules and styles all change, but from year to year, I know a few things for sure. I'll complain about the D.C. humidity, but never as much as I complain about ice falling from the sky in the winter. I'll fall in love with fresh white corn and tomatoes all over again (go away, Salmonella, go away.) And every July, I'm likely to be in North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, for a weeklong family beach vacation that is much a ritual as a getaway.

This time is as sacred to me as all the church services I've ever attended rolled into one, especially as my family has gotten collectively older and busier and we don't see each other very often these days. This trip to Myrtle means a road trip down I-95, with stops at the Cracker Barrel and a few entertaining convenience stores, where my sister and I unearth treasures like dill pickle potato chips and that Bible keychain from a few years ago that played the Hallelujah Chorus when I pressed the button (sorry, Mr. Convenience Store Man. I couldn't help it.) It means Apples to Apples, tacky gift shops, bare feet on hot concrete, sea oats, beers in the afternoon at Harold's on the Ocean, tacky piano bars and Kroger. It also means huge amounts of food - vacation doughnuts for breakfast, beach snacks, Mexican night in the condo, and Painter's Ice Cream more often than not in the evenings.

Best of all, it means a string of days on the sand with a revolving lineup of aunts, uncles and cousins, margaritas and magazines. It means reacquaintance with what I call the golden hour, sitting on the sand until the Carolina sun sets, when my uncle, a reliable creature of habit, is guaranteed to look around and say "I don't know why people go in so early, this is the best time of day, man this is just perfect," and I sit there and look at my mixed up, excellent immediate family, my parents, my sister, my father's brothers and their wives and children, tear up a little behind my sunglasses and feel deeply satisfied with where I am and who I'm with like I do at few other times in the year. And then the great-aunts and uncles come down and laugh at our immediate group, none of us with little kids yet, because they went off the beach at 3 or 4 to get their rapidly growing crew of grandchildren bathed and fed for another night of beach sparklers or the Grand Prix.

I make sure I get there every summer because with so much about life - in general and mine, specifically - changing, I figure it's worth it to keep the few remaining traditions going, especially one that's lasted about 60 years. My dad's side of the family has taken a beach vacation every year since he was a child in the early 1950s. His father was the oldest of 18 kids, most of whom packed up their children and then our generation of grandchildren to go to Wildwood, New Jersey, for two weeks in July or August. I loved it there, loved the boardwalk, the backyard shower, the neon Jersey motel signs and the impossibly tan, white-haired man who trudged the sand selling magazines out of a big white bag. I took an ex-boyfriend there years ago on a trip back east when I lived in Ohio, and as soon as I saw that he couldn't see everything awesomely tackily perfect about this place, or at least couldn't see that I saw and loved it, that he wasn't the guy for me (there were other, more valid reasons, to be fair. He didn't think What About Bob was funny - that was the real deal-breaker.)

In 1983 we shifted south to South Carolina. My grandfather died in 1988, but many of his surviving siblings still stay in the same condo community with us, meaning in some years I've had about 80 relatives on the same stretch of sand at the same time. We're into great- and great-great grandkids now, and I admit that I can't keep track of who belongs to whom anymore.

This will be our 25th year there, the first year without my Uncle Franny, who died in February, and whose dearest love was to initiate the little kids into a card game called 31 - hopefully not just to steal their quarters - and whose prime responsibility was to stake out the umbrellas at an ungodly early hour every day. This will be the first year in a new condo, across the beach road, without the ocean view, the tiny bedroom with the cranky door and the balcony where I usually sleep on at least one night. it'll be another year at the beach with the family, and as much as that can be annoying at times - I mean, let's not sugar coat it, please, what with everyone's special needs and talking while you're reading your book and forgetting the 112 spf so you only have the 72 and not wanting to eat where you want to eat and taking eight years to get ready and essentially grating in all of those particular ways that only family can- it's okay. So much will change - is changing every second - in ways I can't predict and probably shouldn't, but of all the things that have sustained me for these 25 years, this week is one of my favorites.

Lady Jaye is in East Tennessee with her brother, his wife and kids.

Today marked the first day of my family vacation. My brother and his
wife and three kids are up in beautiful East Tennessee for a week.
Tonight was kind of a reunion night for me since I haven’t seen any of
them since New Year’s.

My youngest niece, Rowan adores me and I’ve enjoyed having her around. It’s good for my self esteem.

Tomorrow it looks like we’re heading to a local park and a new
archaelogical site where they have set up a dinosaur museum. I hope to
have a load of pictures tomorrow.

Traveling with groups and changing times and sleeping situations can be rough on big people, so little ones can definitely struggle. But Nortorious just got back from Newport Beach with her husband, daughter and about a dozen extended family members and friends, and little Mimi looks like she took it all in stride. (Note: this looks like a fun group.)

Vatsap talks about how to make a great family vacation video.

As tough as it can be to wrangle groups, Shelli of Bagmomma.net wrote on the New Jersey Mom's Blog about wishing that she and her husband had brought some family members along on their recent vacation.

One of us was always "on duty".

At
dinnertime, only one of us had drinks. And we couldn't go to the
very-quiet-exclusive-romantic restaurants. Those practically had a KEEP OUT
sign on the door for kids. We just gazed at the extensive wine list and
menu at the door and kept on walking. In the evening, the outside bars
had live music we could only listen to from a distance.

About 72 hours into our relaxing beach vacation we turned to each other and said, "Why didn't we BEG someone to travel with us?"

We know what's it's like on the flip side. Last year, we vacationed,
twice, with my parents on one trip, and my husband's parents on the
other.

It was bliss. Because we had a backup. We got a quiet dinner alone. Even (gasp!) time alone during the day for a few hours to do something together.

Ann writes at For the Long Run about her family's recent trip to visit her in County Cork.

Stay tuned for more posts on our terrific adventures. You'll laugh.
You'll cry. You'll feel like you're trapped in the backseat of a 1996
Peugeot.

Laurie White will blog for beach time at LaurieWrites.

Doggy It's Hot Outside: Pets, Summer Safety and Some Fun Too

2008-06-16T19:29:33-05:00

Summer doesn't officially begin for another week and I don't know about your city, but already the D.C. area has been hit with oppressively high temperatures and weird bouts of heavy rain more commonly seen later in the season.

Although this is the first summer in 13 years that I haven't had to look out for the impact of heat and humidity on a dog as physically challenged by both as my Boston Terrier, I'm reminded that this change of seasons and temperature is a critical time to look out for the well-being of our pets.

First of all, I can't say it loud enough: do not leave your pet in a vehicle for longer than two minutes if you must. I hope this isn't an issue for you, but still, I have to say it. It isn't fair and it is ultimately quite dangerous. Rather than rant, I'll point to a list of groups that write about this issue sanely and helpfully. PAW Rescue, right up the road from me in Greenbelt, Md., has a nice list of tips.

Animals are not able to sweat like humans do. Dogs cool themselves by panting and by sweating through their paws. If they have only overheated air to breathe, animals can collapse, suffer brain damage and possibly die of heatstroke. Just 15 minutes can be enough for an animal's body temperature to climb from a normal 102.5 to deadly levels that will damage the nervous and cardiovascular systems, often leaving the animal comatose, dehydrated and at risk of permanent impairment or death.

Check this story from Albemarle, Va., that says police are checking temperatures inside vehicles with infrared guns before they give out citations that can lead to $250 fines and up to a year in jail.

It's a BlogHim, but I love that the Baltimore Sun has the Mutts Blog by John Woestendiek. He wrote about seasonal safety for pets during our stupid heat wave last week.

Even with the windows cracked, even in the shade, a parked automobile can quickly become a furnace.

On an 85-degree day, for example, the temperature inside a car with the windows opened slightly can reach 102 degrees within 10 minutes. After 30 minutes, the temperature will reach 120 degrees. At 110 degrees, pets are in danger of heatstroke, according to the Humane Society of the United States(HSUS).

A recent study by the Stanford University School of Medicine showed that temperatures inside cars can rise dramatically even on mild days. With outside temperatures as low as 72 degrees, researchers found that a car's interior temperature can heat up by an average of 40 degrees within an hour, with 80 percent of that increase in the first 30 minutes.

Also, if you see a dog in that condition, please call your local animal welfare agency. I did this last summer when I walked by a car where a dog was scratching at the (closed) window in 80-degree weather. The response I got was not what I would have liked ("the sun is down, ma'am, but we'll send a cruiser by when we can." What?) but I felt better calling all the same.

The Humane Society of the United States has an information page devoted to pets in hot cars (including flyers and posters you can print yourself.)and gives these directions for caring for pets with heatstroke:

In case of an emergency, it's important to be able to identify the symptoms of heat stress caused by exposure to extreme temperatures. Check the animal for signs of heavy panting, glazed eyes, a rapid heartbeat, restlessness, excessive thirst, lethargy, fever, dizziness, lack of coordination, profuse salivation, vomiting, a deep red or purple tongue, and unconsciousness.

If the animal shows symptoms of heatstroke, take steps to gradually lower her body temperature immediately. Follow these tips, and it could save her life:

Move the animal into the shade or an air-conditioned area.
Apply ice packs or cold towels to her head, neck, and chest or immerse her in cool (not cold) water.
Let her drink small amounts of cool water or lick ice cubes.
Take her directly to a veterinarian.

Pets tend to like the sun and don't know to tell you when they need to come in. Always err on the side of caution and make water readily available.

Sandy at Fetch the Paper: for Bay Area Pets and Their People reminds readers that heat affects many aspects of a pet's life, including the pavement.

BE AWARE OF HEAT ON ROADS and SIDEWALKS. At a recent outdoor dog event where a main walking surface was asphalt, we observed many dogs who were suffering from burning paws. The dogs were struggling and trying to scramble for safer shady spots, but often their owners were simply oblivious. Out of hundreds of dogs at the event, we saw only ONE who wore protective booties!

Check the shoes on this Yorkie I spied two weeks ago in New York City. Talk about preparation.

Julia Lane's post at the Bark Blog is a great collection of tips, some I'd never heard of before (and as a fairly neurotic pet owner, that's unusual!) Don't use cocoa mulch on your plants? Makes sense, given how chocolate is toxic for dogs, but I'm not sure I would have known what to look out for or not to use in this instance. Mushrooms, too.

With all the rain we've gotten in the Midwest, I've been keeping an eye out for a natural dog toxin: mushrooms. Not all varieties pose a threat, but why risk it? I pick the 'shrooms while on poop patrol and now it's just a habit.

Watch your backyard pools, too. Izzie at The World According to Izzie recalls a childhood dog named Mandy who nearly drowned the first time she showed any interest in the in-ground pool in the backyard. As much as we like to think we know them, pets can be unpredictable (and also lack depth perception, to add to the danger of big, wet holes in the ground.)

Regardless of precautions (no more than we take with ourselves, really: stay hydrated, avoid hot pavement, don't roast in a hot car. Common sense, really) summer fun shouldn't be relegated to humans.

Penelope at Our Fourpence Worth"has a great guide to traveling with pets, if you opt to take them along, with a small section on boarding.

It's getting late to make boarding reservations, which should also be done with care. Dr. Debra Primovic writes about the pros and cons of a boarding kennel versus an in-home pet-sitter at PetPlace.com. She includes links to Kenneling Your Dog by Dr. Douglas Brum and Getting a Pet Sitter by Stephen Sawicki.

Victoria Lim writes at ZooToo about pets going to summer camp. I love it.

In Winnipeg? Demetra Hajidiacos writes The Mommy Diaries at the Winnipeg Free Press, where the local Humane Society offers pet care camps for kids all summer long.

Kids will learn pet care, safety and the responsibilities of pet ownership at the Paws for Adventure Day Camp. Appropriate for ages 7-13

Kudos to whomever came up with this nifty idea. It should come in handy for parents who want to drive home the work involved with a pet - or maybe just reinforce the "I WANT A PUPPY" mentality, but regardless, it's nice outreach for the organization and a bit off the beaten path for kids who aren't into soccer or canoes and could use a little animal kindness in their summer.

As far as other seasonal woes, the Humane Society is already planning for hurricane season and is on the ground in the Midwest, helping out with the animals affected by the widespread flooding.

Laurie White writes at LaurieWrites.

Words Matter: What Do You Say (and how do you sound?) When You Talk to Your Family?

2008-06-02T01:31:49-05:00

I was eating in a museum cafe last weekend when a mom and son walked by my table.

"Nathan, you are helpless and annoying," she said to him. I winced. And then I Twittered it.

I thought about it a lot that day, without judging her, really. Everyone gets tired and irritated at times, and sometimes people big and small CAN annoy and CAN appear helpless, for no apparent reason. But what I thought about as I took the subway home was how much time we spend with - and in conversation with - our families, however we define them. And how easy it is, despite our best intentions, to direct words towards people we love that aren't helpful, or nice or respectful, whether it's out of lazy communication, misplaced or deeply-held anger, or just feelings we don't have anywhere else to dump. And I know from experience that this can be a dicey thing to do, because the things about these kinds of words, no matter how randomly they're thrown around, is that some of them can stick - for years.

The day after the museum trip, I was back on the subway again, this time headed to a baseball game with my father. Two sisters got on and sat directly across from me. The older one berated the younger one in whispered tones, the entire time on the train. She told her she was terrible, basically - that her life would never change. And every time she finished a sentence, she'd sit back in her seat, sneer, and the other girl would sink back in hers, obviously upset.

I couldn't stand it. It made me sorry for any time I'd ever spoken unkindly to my sister. It made me want to swoop this girl up and tell her to run, family ties be damned. And when I hit my stop, when I got up from my seat, I stood directly in front of her, looked down, and heard myself say softly "It's going to be okay."

I'm pretty sure she heard me, although who really knows. I never do stuff like this, because I don't consider other peoples' business my own, for the most part, so I don't know where it came from. All I knew was that I could see a person in front of me being hurt by words that wouldn't stop, and I felt the discomfort so acutely it was like it was happening to me. I wanted to share some kind words as a counterpoint to the nastiness being dumped on her, for reasons I was certainly not aware of, and therefore don't understand. In that case, I wanted to be the person standing outside of the inner circle, if that place wasn't safe or happy.

Words are easy to throw out with positive or negative results. Without them, we don't have much. It's hard to have a relationship at all if you don't communicate, but the way you do it - the tone and the vocabulary - can pretty much make or break bonds over the short or long term.

This is pretty basic knowledge that might seem silly to say, and I'm not suggesting sugar-coating conversations to avoid discomfort. There are plenty of times when I've taken the more difficult path (in my opinion) and told someone close to me a truth or expressed a criticism that I thought might hurt, but that felt necessary. I'm not talking about reality checks like "Hey, you hurt my feelings" or "That wasn't cool" or "Why do you always show up an hour late, it gets on my nerves so bad!" or even "Those shoes? Really?" Sometimes we all need a little forthright feedback, and who better than someone close who cares about us (especially about the shoes, seriously?) to dish it?

Still, when words verge on harsh or unnecessarily sarcastic, especially on a regular basis, that can mean it's time to step back and check yourself. As the old cliche goes, "you always hurt the ones you love the most," but I have to wonder, do you - do we - have to? Why reserve harsh talk or insults for one of maybe five-ten-twenty people in our inner circle, even if they probably will stick around regardless? A lot of times, it's because it just happens. When I lived with my mother in recent years, she liked to talk to me in the morning, although I'm barely intelligible before double-digit daytime hours. And when pressed at this hour I can be just horrible. No good.

Beyond this, I know there are lots of words I'd take back over the course of my 37 years, that I've spoken in haste to my sister, my parents, extended family members and friends, fully expecting them to hear them and continue to love me anyway. When I get hungry, or tired, or at the end of whatever rope I'm tying knots in and hanging onto at the time, sometimes I say stupid things. And stupid, unkind things have been said to me by people close to me.

It's an occupational hazard, really. Familiarity breeds contempt on occasion, and if nothing that harsh, at least a little bit of "Oh whatEVER would you STOP (insert annoying family-style behavior here) ?????

What I think matters either during or after these inevitable bumps in the road is the power of genuine, heartfelt apology, and accountability for when we screw up. Recently I had a meltdown in which I said a very unkind thing to my sister. I didn't mean it (not that that matters, because I think that's a dangerous excuse) and I was immediately sorry. I got to work, cooled down, and sent her an e-mail, explaining the difficulties I'd been going through and apologized for taking my damage out on her. In previous, less mature days, I might have waited for it to blow over without saying anything, stewing in my own juices of guilt and anxiety, hoping she'd forgive me by osmosis.

No more. Whereas I am quite certain that it won't be the last time I speak out of turn (one of MY occupational hazards of speaking profusely, daily, to be sure) I do take credits and debits for the things I say, as appropriate. I try not to reserve my best behavior for people who don't live in my house or spend holidays with me. I try to mostly talk nice to them, because I like when they talk nice to me.

Blogging family conversations...

Courtney Benefiel of "Ride to Remedy: Breaking the Chains of Diabetes One Ride at a Time" is a competitive bicyclist racing in the the Tour de Cure. She writes about her family too. Recently, she actually talked to her sister.

Normally, I would’ve ignored her call, I do that often to her because we usually end up in a fight. I don’t much enjoy fighting with her anymore, they’re pointless fights, doesn’t get me anything but the feeling of annoyedness and a million questions in my head.

Last night however, for some odd reason, I picked up the phone. It ended up being an hour phone call because I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had been sleeping and didn’t feel like talking to her (I mean, I could’ve not answered, but since I did I suppose I thought I owed it to her to listen.)...The point of this story is, I actually talked to my sister for an hour without fighting with her or raising my voice.

RCY113 at (Because I Said So) That's Why felt her communication priorities shift after losing a family member.

Memorial Day weekend, my husband’s brother, wife and stepson came to visit. They arrived at 11 Friday night and stayed til 11:30 Monday morning. We had a blast!! It was the first time for us to meet the wife and stepson. They have been married since Nov 2007 but due to some family strain and miscommunications, we had not meet them. I am very happy to say that ALLLLLL past troubles have been worked out and dealt with. Why are there people in the world that will lie to others to keep a family apart? It seems that Lindy’s ex wife told lies to us and his brother’s family to keep us from talking and being a family. Why? JEALOUSLY!!! Plain and simple. We should have realized this sooner but since my brother’s death in 2004, I don’t argue or fuss. I don’t have the heart for it anymore. I will just stay in my corner ALONE and enjoy the quietness. I so crave quietness and no stress these days.

Robin at Connecting Point has been on a spiritual journey of late and it's affecting how she communicates with her brother.

I have made an effort to be supportive to him and his choices. Before my recent spiritual education I would have met this news of him going to war with huge inner resistance, then anger at our government for making such a thing possible. I would have thought of all the terrible possibilities and worried myself sick over his safety. With the gift of my new understanding and ability to bring forgivenss to this situation, I can stop all that and give him what he truly needs, which is my love and my support. Before I might have tried to talk him out of it, and I did for a brief moment in our conversation, blurting out, “Don’t Go!”. But then I backed off. I realized arguing with him will only create mistrust and a division and possibly hurt feelings all around. Do I want that between us as he goes off to war? No.

Megan at Megan's Riddles and Ramblings says she "got her family back"with the help of a new sister-in-law.

Of course, like a packed closet, it got messier before it got cleaner…and louder too. lol Scathing emails were exchanged, and the frustration seemed to reach epic proportions that climaxed to one heck of a phone call! First, there was screaming, then there was just yelling, then arguing, then talking, then…peace. I think it took about 2 hours on the phone. The best money I never spent! (she called me lol)...

But, I realized, life’s too short. Just let it fly. Let it go, and move on. At the end of the day, I love them. Period. Pure and simple. I love them for all the reasons OTHER than they’re my family, and I’m under no obligation to “love” my sister-in-law, but I do. I love my brother for his fantastically wacky sense of humor, and his devotion and dedication to LIFE. I love my sister for her laughter, encouragement, and generosity of spirit, and I love my sister-in-law, because even though she didn’t have to, she had the gumption to yell at me so I could get my head out of my butt! I love her for loving my brother enough to do what he won’t do for himself. I pray that one day soon will find me as much a part of their lives as they are apart of my heart.
And that’s my family!

Laurie White blogs at LaurieWrites. And tries to talk nice to her family, especially when it gets closer to Christmas.