Monday was National Puppy Day and thus, this week has me thinking about the things that my dog, Yadi, has taught me. Yadi has been a project. When I rescued him from the People for Paws no-kill shelter in Shenandoah, Iowa (I love this shelter. If you are in the area looking for a pup, please check out their website: http://awos.petfinder.com/shelters/IA121.html or their Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/PeopleForPaws?fref=ts&ref=br_tf), he was afraid of his own shadow. The owner of the shelter didn’t know where he had come from or if he had ever lived in a house. I had found him online and from the moment I saw his picture and talked to Linda at People for Paws, I knew he was mine.

The first time I went to visit, I went alone. Yadi wasn’t interested in me, could hardly look at me or tolerate me petting him. The second time I went, my boyfriend, John, went with me. Yadi was indifferent to John, but John noticed that every time I spoke, Yadi listened to my voice. The third time we went to visit, Yadi came home with us. He was afraid of the basement. H didn’t know how to play with toys or even wrestle. He cried and would gnaw on his kennel so much that he chipped one of his teeth and thus had to have it removed. Linda expected me to call and say he’d eaten everything in the house. Thus far, it’s only been 2 pillows, 2 blankets, 2 shoes, a pair of sunglasses, 1 bike helmet, 2 wii remotes, and some paint brushes—not too awful for a dog who has never had a home and has major separation anxiety.

Even with his issues, from that first week, Yadi has made me number one. When we go places, he positions himself between me and anything else that could be a danger. When we are at the dog park, he plays and plays, but always knows where I am. He is content to run for miles, lay on the couch, or take a car ride. Anything, as long as we are together. Last weekend he was tired at the end of a run so he and John decided to walk while I ran on. I went off in the neighborhood, not really following any of our normal routes. After 10 minutes I heard something loud and wild behind me. John said Yadi had taken off crying, tearing through the neighborhood until they found me.

I believe my biggest flaw is impatience. I hate waiting. I hate feeling like I am wasting time. When I get up in the morning, I take a big breath and ask for more patience. Yadi waits for me, alone, for 8 hours a day some days. And he’s never mad when I get home. He’s never impatient. If I am writing, he lies at my feet and waits until we go for a walk or run. He never complains or rolls his eyes or gets agitated. I have so much to learn.

I have no doubt that Yadi loves me every second of every day no matter what I do. He has become annoyed with me, but not for very long. The only thing he wants in this world is for me to love him and to make me happy. That unconditional love is something that’s sometimes hard to understand as humans. We learn about it, but so often we love people for the things they do rather than for simply loving them for being human. I want to love like Yadi. Unconditionally.

My grandpa sees pictures of Yadi and me going for runs or to the dog park or to the bar on Facebook and thinks Yadi is the most spoiled dog he has seen. At first I was offended—he’s not prissy and he doesn’t have dumb clothes or anything silly! Now though, I’m coming to realize, that’s a dang good compliment. For the one who loves me most in this world, who would wait all day or run miles for me, for the one who’s greatest pleasure is being my best bud, then yes, I hope he is the most spoiled dog in the world. To my dog who teaches me how to love and be loved unconditionally and how to have more patience, and to all of the dogs in this world who do the same and more, Happy National Puppy Day! Dogs: Making the World a Better Place, One Human at a Time.

My life

Yadi loves to find sticks while we walk/run
like I like to find random silverware and pennies. 

Yadi at the dog park in Lincoln. We haven't
learned how to swim yet, but he so badly wanted
to get in with the other dogs. Can't wait for the lake!

Yadi looking up at John. PATIENTLY waiting
 for attention and to go on our run. 

All the best things: pupdog, love, running, sunshine.

I've had a hard time thinking what to post this week. I finished the first draft of Jaisa's story and I'm just over the top elated. After two years and 207 pages, I have this body of work that I created. All of the characters are pieces of me. The words are me. The message is me. Now I'm going to take a knife to it all and start editing. Just really chop it up.

That's the funny thing about writing, you create this thing that takes you months and maybe years of time and emotion and effort. Then you edit and cut and send it to friends. They slice and dice it too and tell you where it sucks. Then you rewrite and recreate and something better is born.

Then you send it to editors and agents and publishers and get shot down again and again and again. Sometimes I wonder why anyone would do it. Then I remember you. Readers are the reason I write. I write because I want to challenge the way you think or to let you know you aren't alone. I write to find human connection with people I don't even know. I want to give you part of me because I love you.

Below is the first page of my second manuscript. I'll post the revised version after my writing buddies take a crack at it so you can see what I mean about butchering.

Hugs and thanks for being my readers!

Where I Find Me

Chapter 1: In Which I Am Angry and Swearing

I never knew that your whole entire insides could hurt just from heartache. That sounds stupid but a broken heart is truly toxic to your whole body. The only time it’s bearable is if I’m sleeping, when I can get to sleep, or when I’m running. When I run, I can take myself passed the point of being able to think, able to remember. Then I can create a whole new hurt.

This summer, the New Life of Newly Single Jaisa Jamison, has been filled with running as soon as I wake, perfecting the art of folding towels at Apex, the only gym in my hometown, Landview, Nebraska (I’ve found keeping my hands busy with brainless tasks has an awesome numbing affect as well), trying to fake a bright face for my dad, little brother, Bryce, and best friend, Lydia, and then running myself into exhaustion so that I can sleep. It’s a routine. It’s become safe, almost comfortable. Tomorrow I have to go back to high school for my senior year.

F that.

###

            I try to find my inner calm spirit in the Sunday yoga class my mom and I go to together. This is kind of the one thing that we’ve kept up from our old routine of when she lived at home. It’s been almost three years since my parents got divorced; and it’s still weird meeting my mom at the gym for yoga, rather than us just getting in the car or riding bikes here together.

            Mom usually gets to yoga before me and sets up my mat beside hers. She’s wearing a bandana tied like a headband today. Her yoga pants are light blue, purple, and white tie-dye that would make anyone but my mom look ridiculous or like they have a huge butt. But they fit her. She’s soft and pastel, small and muted.

            “Hi, Baby,” she says. She’s seated on her mat. I sit beside her on the one she laid out for me. “Look how great you look! Each time I see you, you’re more and more—” her smile falters, like if she says I’m anything less than perfect I’ll crumble. “Radiant.”

            “I look better, Mom,” I say.

            “I think you have always been lovely, but yes, today you look exceptionally well.”

            I want to roll my eyes, but I just say thank you and hope class starts.

            We close our eyes and are supposed to be readying our bodies and minds for practice; however, I can’t stop thinking about how I wish Mom would just yell at me. Why does she have to pretend like everything is flowers and fairies? I got dumped. I ran terribly in track, possibly costing myself a scholarship to run in college—my only ticket out of this boring-awful town. I barely ate, barely slept, barely talked to anyone the last few months. If I hadn’t been running and Dad, Bryce, and Lydia hadn’t been forcing more than grunts out of me, I’d have become a hermit.

            But I keep coming to yoga. And we keep having the same “oh, you’re so beautiful” hello. Why can’t she set aside “we’re all special” bullshit for her third graders and be real with me?

            I might be better, but I’m not freaking radiant.

###

    It's taken a great majority of my life to accept that I love the great state of Nebraska. When I was growing up, I thought it was so boring. Just awful. Farms and cows and the biggest city had (still has) only two "skyscrapers." Why couldn't I have grown up in New York City or Los Angeles or London or Berlin or anywhere more interesting than here? Now, I love the quiet of the country, the beauty of running on gravel roads, and I could not live far from the lake where I grew up.
     In high school, I was frustrated with the people. I couldn't wait to jump to the defense of any group I felt might be marginalized in a debate. I fought teachers on gender roles and did everything I could to make sure people knew when I felt they were overstepping a line. I know now that there are racists and sexist people everywhere, not just Nebraska.
     In college I was so immersed in academia (a far more liberal setting than I'd grown up in), that I forgot that these issues of equality were so prevalent in my state. I traveled to Europe in the summer of 2008 and in London, Paris, Berlin, most cities we traveled to, people wanted to ask us about who we thought would be elected president. I was hesitant. I wanted to believe that America was ready for its first African American president, but I was afraid that wouldn't come. The people of Europe loved Obama. At least the ones I came in contact with. And these Europeans had way more faith in the American people than I did. "Obama will be president," they told me. "Americans will make the right choice," they said.
     In graduate school, I defended Nebraska to all of my from the east and west coasts. I had friends who were sure they would be hanged--in 2012-2014, mind you--if they ever came to Nebraska because they were African American or Latina or gay, or Jewish, or anything other than white, Christian, heterosexual. "It's not that bad," I said. "Haven't you heard of Nebraska Nice? Nebraska people are very nice and we have a lot of immigrants in small towns and Omaha has a few cool gay bars and downtown is kind of diverse." Kind of diverse.
     I have come to I tell myself that history teaches us that society never becomes more conservative, society progresses. Sometimes faster, sometimes slower, but always progresses. Today we are appalled at the way African Americans were (are) treated. The way women were once not allowed to vote. But here we are today with a black president and many female CEO's of companies. Maybe history of progress is what the Europeans had better faith in than I when they told me Obama would surely be president.
     On Sunday, Nebraskan law makers lifted a ban that made gays and lesbians ineligible to be foster parents. To me that this is just now happening seems silly and archaic. If a child needs a positive, loving, stable couple/person in his/her life, I don't care if that couple or person is gay, lesbian, green, blue, whatever. Love and support can come in all different shapes and sizes. Isn't living with a gay man who loves said child better than the child continuing to live without food or clothing with his birth parents? Duh.
     Today a judge has blocked Nebraska's ban on gay marriage. I am beyond happy. Finally, we weren't the last in the nation to come to the 21st century. We aren't the last state to hide behind a vail of religion in a nation where we supposedly have separation of church and state. We aren't the last to deny part of our population a basic right to love, stability, and all of the rights that go with marriage.
     Of course the state is planning to appeal and overturn the ruling. To those trying to overturn, I say why? Why spend so much money and breath to fight something that has nothing to do with you? What is it hurting you if homosexual people are allowed to marry and thus share benefits and tax privileges, social security, and make decisions with wills and children like all other married couples. Are these people second class citizens not worthy of all benefits? I don't think any of that affects you one bit. And let's get real, what on earth could possibly be wrong with love? Because that's what marriage is supposed to be about, right? Come on, Nebraska, love the people who love you. Love all of your people equally. Isn't that what Jesus was all about, anyway? It's America the land of the free?