With Watson, I’d been concerned at the amount of lip licking he was doing and thought it might be due to a tooth fracture or fractures way back in that part of his mouth nobody can see. His teeth were not terrible, but the only way we’d know for sure is for him to be put under for x-rays. So, while he was in dreamland, it made sense for him to undergo a cleaning.

Dropping him off was dramatic. He no longer enjoys car rides and his anxiety ramps up at the vet, even though it’s cloaked in behavior many would say is happy. Except if he sees a child. Then he growls and I have to redirect his attention somehow. He’s wagged his tail to the point of a sprain. I’ve run out of ideas on how to desensitize him. The wait in the lobby seemed interminable, and as the minutes crept by, he became more vocal, biting on his leash and attempting to jump in my lap. For my part, I dialed my own energy down as far as I could, which meant no eye contact and no talking. Instead, when he was quiet enough to let me, I stroked him gently in that little divot in his chest and loosened the leash to let him sniff a bit. He loves to sniff, which, I’ve learned, can also be a stress reaction. We ran through this cycle for what seemed like forever before we were finally ushered into a private room and I was asked that big question about CPR.

When Fuji and I returned home, it seemed we both felt the difference in energy without Watson. But we carried on, and I gamed out a scenario where Watson didn’t come back home. Some might call it catastrophizing, but I’ve always wanted to be prepared for the worst.

TL;DR he did great and only lost one little tooth! No fractures and just soft food and chewing restrictions for a couple of weeks. We’ll take it.

As summer winds down, we’re grateful for the cooler temps and the lower humidity. My book consumption is way up. It’s a great way to beat the heat.

How’s your summer been?

Leave a comment

Until next month!

~ Debbie

GARDEN UPDATE:

The heat wave is in the rear view mirror, the deer flies ran their course and the drought has left us with little to no mosquitos. I’m enjoying some time out in my backyard native garden enjoying the bees and butterflies at work.

I was also shocked to discover that I might just get a couple of Minnesota midget melons! Especially if our warm temperatures extend into October. For once I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a later frost.

WRITING UPDATE:

Any day now, I should be receiving the manuscript for Oh Mother Where Art Thou back from my editor and I’m excited and a little nervous to see what she’s recommending. Revisions are right around the corner! In the meantime, I’m fleshing out an idea for a new project and interested to see where it goes.

AUGUST BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS:

NONFICTION: The Intelligence of Dogs by Stanley Coren. My library is filled with dog books of all sorts and years ago, when I was deep into training and competition, I worked hard to be the best partner for my dog. One of my favorite parts of this book was where the author described how dogs get us to do what they want us to do, and Fuji is an expert at that!

FICTION: When the Cranes Fly South by Lisa Ridzen. A beautiful, heartbreaking story of the relationships that define a man nearing the end of his life. The bond with his dog is a beautiful and special thing. Make sure you have kleenex handy!

Surprisingly, instead of simply having that conversation, the homeowner decided that writing a letter to a newspaper advice columnist seemed like a better choice.

But I digress…

Read more

I’m one of those impatient people who needs a pacifier if I have to wait in line for more than thirty seconds. I’m usually scrolling in the grocery store, but in this case, I was without my phone, having left it in the car for what was supposed to be a quick stop at a travel plaza Subway, in Black River Falls, Wisconsin.

The line didn’t seem terribly long at the time: two youngish women, wearing what appeared to be pajamas, and behind them, a short, stocky fifty-something woman, wearing something lacy with spaghetti straps, layered over a bright red tank top, cut-off jean shorts, and flip flops. Plenty of skin showing gorgeous, full color butterfly-themed tattoos.

This should have made for a relatively short wait. But looks can be deceiving…

As I watched the solo sandwich maker working on about six sandwiches, while also loading trays of dough into the ovens and replenishing those containers of toppings, I found myself chatting with the colorful woman in front of me.

“Is there no one else working?” I whispered, trying to portray a sympathetic tone.

“Doesn’t look that way,” responded the woman. “And apparently, those two (nodding at the pajama-clad women) are ordering for a bridal shower.”

“Oh boy…” was all I could say. Of all the times to be without my pacifier.

But there was no need! A young woman with purple hair and large horn-rimmed glasses came up to us, clutching one of those large Rand McNally Road Atlases. And with that, we were off to the races.

“Oh my gosh, you’re going old school!” I exclaimed in delight.

They both grinned at me.

“We’ve always had an atlas in the car, but when we started this trip, we realized that the one we had is from 2017. I guess it’s the last time we took a real road trip," replied the older woman.

The conversation took off from there. I learned that their trip originated in Williston, North Dakota and their destination was New York City. The butterfly-tattooed mom had three older children and the young woman holding the atlas was her youngest. Her boyfriend was on his motorcycle and he just kept going when they pulled off for a quick break. She’d considered riding as well, but thought the trip might be a bit too arduous, plus they needed the car to transport all their stuff.

I asked what they were planning to see in the Big Apple, and they mentioned the Statue of Liberty and Ground Zero as being at the top of their list.

It is said that we are constantly judging those around us; most frequently by their appearances. If I’d had my phone, I would have marveled at the butterfly-tattooed woman and gone back to my scrolling. Instead, the time passed quickly while we engaged in that thing called HUMAN CONNECTION, while chatting about the many joys and challenges of road trips.

When it was finally my turn, I expressed my sympathies to the harried sandwich maker. She was taking it all in stride and I couldn’t help but be impressed at her ability to muster through this current rush. I glanced behind me to see a line stretching out towards the door.

“Hang in there,” I said after paying and handing her a five dollar bill as a tip.

As I walked to my car, I wondered if she had health insurance, if she had a family, if she had dreams of a future. And I hoped that those behind me in line would be kind to her.

Garden Update:

As you may recall, last month was looking pretty grim. I’m pleased to report that two cucumber plants are THRIVING!

On the flip side, I suspect my Minnesota Midget cantaloupes are not what the seed package depicted. There’s a possibility I may be growing pumpkins…stay tuned.

Until next month!

~ Debbie

THIS WRITER’S LIFE:

Book #2 is out of my head, onto the page, and now on its way to a professional editor for a manuscript critique. Life kept throwing up speedbumps and I was beginning to despair that I might never get to the point where I’d type THE END. But, here we are! The editor will have it back to me by Labor Day and I’m looking forward to revising and polishing it up for my agent.

Just last weekend, I was able to participate in what I believe is the biggest book fair in Minnesota. Talking to people for eight hours straight nearly killed me, but new readers found me and for that I’m eternally grateful!

LEAVE A REVIEW!

JULY BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS

FICTION: The Mad Wife by Meagan Church

I powered through this one in a couple of days, despite almost succumbing to the internal chaos of the protagonist. It wasn’t that long ago that women had so little control over their lives, and it’s something I’m constantly reminding myself not to take for granted, especially in these challenging times.

NONFICTION: America, U.S.A. How Race Shadows the Nation's Anniversaries by Eddie Glaude Jr.

Like some of you, I struggled with my own feelings about our country’s 250th birthday. There’s so much work still to be done if we want to fulfill the dream our founding fathers expressed for us. “In order to form a more perfect union” is in the preamble to our Constitution, and I fear many of the principles contained in that mighty document are being trampled on. We need to do better.

As I mentioned in my last letter, while reading all the letters between my ancestor Howard Hyde Russell and his wife Lillian, I immediately honed in on the fact that he was an absentee father. And, it would appear, things weren’t going well with his daughter. He wrote of the need for her to “shape up” and consider her reputation in the community. He wrote as a man of God, someone who believed God had conferred upon him the duty to travel the country in support of Prohibition.

His story makes me want to write historical fiction, emphasizing the hypocrisy of such a man, but that’s a project for the future.

Parent-child relationships can be complicated and devastating. The two books I’ve recommended this month explore those difficult and challenging connections. They can also be wonderful and nurturing. I had one of each and I think I turned out okay. But I’ve had to do a lot of work around my own suffering and eventual grief when my dad finally passed. And my relationship with my mother will remain unresolved and challenging.

These days, I talk to my dad when I want to feel close to him. When something cool happens that I know he’d be excited about, I celebrate with him. When I’m struggling, I think back to all the times he encouraged me, even when my future looked very uncertain. He inspired me through his optimism. When I’m feeling down, I know that I need to tap into that optimism. After all, it’s in my genes. And when I compare my dad to Howard Hyde Russell, I think I’d rather have a father who cared about his children more than a grand plan to change the course of an entire country.

I always share my joy after successful author events with my dad. He was excited about my book way back when it was still an idea I was trying to wrap my arms around. There’s a chapter in there about a very special day we spent together, just the two of us and I gained wonderful insight into his life as a young person. For some reason, my parents’ generation didn’t like to talk about their pasts. I firmly believe that it’s one thing all parents should be willing to share with their kids, especially as they mature into adults.

Last weekend, I had a couple of wonderful conversations with readers about the themes in the book. And I sold two books, both to young women that I would have never guessed would be in my reader demographic. I hope they enjoy it!

To celebrate Crossing Fifty-One’s third birthday, I’m offering it for HALF PRICE when you buy it direct via my website. This offer is only good through the month of June, so pick up your signed copy today!

BUY MY BOOK!

Garden Update:

This year’s vegetable garden is off to another challenging start. I’ve had to make additional adjustments to the fortification, as the critters identified (Red Squirrel and/or Junior Woodchuck) are not deterred by foul sprays or granules. It’s just been a week, but my new construction, along with my attitude, seems to be holding…for now. Stay tuned!

Fiction project update:

As you may recall, part of the grant money awarded to me last fall includes money for a manuscript critique of my new novel. The last several months have been filled with medical and physical therapy appointments, spring garden projects, travel, and too much procrastination. That said, I plan to have a first draft completed by the end of the month and can hopefully do enough editing/revising to turn it over in early July. I’ve had a burst of creativity over the past couple of weeks, so I think this goal is attainable.

Until next month!

~ Debbie

JUNE BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS:

FICTION

Father of the Rain by Lily King

This is a story of a complicated and codependent relationship between a daughter and her alcoholic father, and is a reminder of how adults impact their children in ways they might never understand.

NONFICTION

Memorial: The Year My Dad and I Stopped Keeping Score by Nita Sweeney

Nita is one of my very first author friends and I was proud to provide this blurb for her newly released memoir: “MEMORIAL is a touching exploration of the mind and heart. Over a series of golf dates with her dying father, Nita Sweeney eloquently captures the complexities around their relationship, her struggles with depression and her coming to terms with her own life - as a reflection of her father’s…a gift for anyone who’s navigated difficult family relationships.”

BONUS PODCAST RECOMMENDATION:

I want to direct you specifically to the May 10th episode, where Chris interviews Simone Stolzoff about managing uncertainty. One of my takeaway quotes is trust is an act of engagement with the unknown. The whole episode resonated with me and I hope it does with you!

Prior to 2017, I had no idea he existed, and certainly didn’t have a clue as to his impact on the United States in the late 1800s to early 1900s.

But I did know about Prohibition.

It’s not a stretch to say that the Eighteenth Amendment would never have been enacted, if not for Uncle Howard. A lawyer first, he would later become a preacher, using both skills to persuade the U.S. that it was better off without alcohol.

The thing about serious research is, it’s a serious business. I had to make an appointment, set up an account, and be specific in what I was requesting. I blocked out the entire day. I remember when Paul sent me photos of things he thought I’d be interested in, I thought I’d need at least a day to go through everything.

I probably should have reserved several days, but I’m just a hobbyist.

If you’ve read my book, you also know I’m fascinated by letters. I’m starting to think the rest of the world might be as well, due to the smashing success of The Correspondent.

Box #1, the first of the three linear feet, almost derailed my entire day, because it contained CORRESPONDENCE! Oh my goodness, the folders, carefully marked and inserted in chronological order. Shortly after I began, one of the staff came over and gently admonished me to only hold ONE PAGE AT A TIME. I also needed to keep the folders IN THE EXACT ORDER by inserting a placard into the box where I’d pulled the folder. So very nerve-wracking.

After I was over an hour in, and only on about the fourth folder, I began to panic. But I’d already learned that while my uncle Howard was traveling the country converting it from wet to dry, my great-great-aunt Lillian was seriously ill and being treated at the Clifton Springs Sanitarium in New York. I deduced this from the letterhead of the stationary she used.

Dear Husband,

I am sitting in a chair. If you could be two places at once, I would be glad to have you here singing hymns with me. I am tired and it takes all my strength to sit up…

I am not really suffering now. My wound hurts and aches, but not greatly.

My curiosity often threatens to morph into an obsession. What was going on???

And then there was this family drama:

Dearest Wife Lillian:

I returned to my desk this morning and found three letters and a postal card. I cannot write at length today but I want to send you my sincere sympathy that you have had so much trouble with the children. I feel quite out of patience especially with Julia who is old enough now to have the sense of decency and young lady-likeness which she seems so shamefully to lack. I cannot conceive why she should not desire to make a good reputation for herself with her best friends and relations instead of standing in disgrace before them. I cannot see why she should wish to harass and burden you by her disobedience when we have made an effort and much sacrifice to give her a pleasant summer. I shall feel as if the enterprise is a failure as far as she is concerned.

I should note, these two letters had come out of the very first folder, marked UNDATED. So I doubt they were written contemporaneously, as Uncle Howard’s came from Ohio and implied that Aunt Lillian was home with the children. But when was she ill and getting treatment in New York? A wound? How did she get that??

As lunchtime approached, I knew I’d simply have to let this box go and move on. By that time I’d snapped almost 100 photos, which now reside in my iPad photo library. The miracle of technology!

After lunch, I turned to Box #2, which contained speeches and family genealogy. I also learned I could request up to two hundred pages to be copied, so I began making those requests, starting with “The Staffordshire Branch of the Russell Family.” (Note: another bucket list item is to visit Wednesbury, U.K., from where those Russells came.)

Perusing his speeches gave me a sense of Uncle Howard’s passion and motivation. In one of his early speeches, he declared that God had spoken to him and, through divine intervention, he founded the Anti Saloon League in 1893. Twenty-six years later, this powerful lobby group (with financial backing from wealthy benefactors such as John D. Rockefeller) pushed through the Eighteenth Amendment, otherwise known as Prohibition. Fourteen years later, in 1919, Prohibition was repealed by the Twenty-first Amendment (also the name of my favorite GWU bar when I was in college…but I digress…).

I’ve included links, so you can read more, if you’re interested.

Box #3 contained books and photo albums. My favorite was a scrapbook of newspaper clippings: a record, if you will, of Uncle Howard’s cross-country “Water Wagon Tour” and his tireless work against the evils of alcohol. One hundred years ago, this was a big deal.

And then, just like that, it was all erased. FDR campaigned on a “wet” platform, vowing to do what he could to repeal the Eighteenth Amendment. He won, and it was.

Uncle Howard spent his entire life (and may have neglected his family) on what would ultimately be a lost cause.

Racing against time, I took some notes and found myself thinking about the separation of church and state and how blurred that concept became in the early twentieth century with the quest for national prohibition. I’m feeling that blurring again, in a pretty significant way. It’s easy to claim God is behind certain reforms, but when these reforms restrict the rights and freedoms of others, I’m not sure morality can hold up as the impetus.

However, viewing Uncle Howards legacy with the hindsight of over a century, I also learned that the U.S. still stands as a country for and by the people. And if the people want something bad enough, and there’s enough money and persuasion behind it, they will get it.

Even if it only lasts fourteen years.

But I digress…

The thing I love most about mothers in the wild is their no-nonsense approach to the job. Many years ago, I wrote about my obsession with a cardinal family that had nested in a spot I deemed way too precarious. If you missed it the first time, you can read it here:

The point of that post was, in part, to show how not everyone is wired to be a good parent. Since then, I’ve read gobs of articles about how the younger generations are postponing parenthood, or even opting out entirely. I think it takes a significant amount of self-awareness to consider going against what is still considered a biological mandate. After all, birds and other wildlife do whatever they need to do to reproduce. The alternative is extinction.

Human mothers, along with keeping their offspring alive, have the power to impact their children in significant ways. Two male friends of mine each lost his mother this year. For both, it may have been some sense of relief (one of the mothers was 99!), but I know from our past conversations about mothers, their lived experiences could not have been more different. For one, his mother’s passing was mostly, if not entirely relief. For the other, who was very close to his mother, the weight of grief has settled in such a way that he’ll be working through it for awhile.

I’ve written about the mother wound in the past, and mine’s still pretty deep. However, a certain strength has helped to dull that pain, by way of scars that accumulate every time I’m reminded that our relationship is purely performative. I’ll never get what I need, she does not have the capacity to be what I need, and I can find peace in that acceptance, rather than continually yearning for something different. These days, that means very minimal contact with her, and maximum contact with others who can give me the love and support I need. Not to mention, I’ve gained lots of good material for my novel!

Through book events and individual conversations, I’ve come to believe that GenX kids have made a concerted effort to not be the same kinds of parents that their parents were. Or, like me and many of my friends, they’ve foregone having kids at all. The world has changed and family farms are on the decline, along with the need to produce free labor. Having a child is expensive and I don’t believe it’s at all selfish to decide you’d rather spend your money on dogs. Or trips. Or plants at the garden center.

I like to promote my book in May and June, for obvious reasons. It takes a deep dive into mental health and addiction treatment over the last one-hundred years. I worry about all the federal cuts to these types of programs going forward, as the youngest generations battle the debilitating effects of social media and AI.

If you buy my book through Bookshop.org, you can designate a portion to your favorite local bookstore. My current favorite is Haven Books and Gifts in Big Lake, Minnesota, but feel free to support your own neighborhood bookstore!

BUY MY BOOK!

If you’ve read my book, could you do me a solid and leave a review? Reviews are what help other readers find me!

Leave a review!

See you next month!

~ Debbie

MAY BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS:

Nonfiction: How to Lose Your Mother: a Daughter's Memoir by Molly Jong-Fast

In the interests of full transparency, I felt this could have used a firmer editing pencil. Molly Jong-Fast has a platform and the ability to sell books, plus her mother was super famous, so I’m sure the publisher rushed to get it out. That said, the conflicting feelings she expressed about her mother will resonate with anyone who has struggled with a similar dynamic.

Fiction: Joe Nuthin's Guide to Life by Helen Fisher.

This one made me cry. It’s the story of a good mother and the legacy she leaves behind for her special needs son. Plus it’s British, and I LOVE British fiction!

Okay, in fairness, that’s how I heard it.

What’s actually been determined, is that we go through a couple of aging “bursts” throughout our life: one at forty-four and the other at sixty. If you want to go way into the weeds, you may take this path. Otherwise, one of my favorite organizations, AARP, has a simplified version here.

I turned sixty last September and immediately declared that 2025 was my best year ever. Little did I know how prescient that thought was. Right after the holidays, I would begin a significant downward spiral, which I wrote a bit about last month.

We all know how the mind and body are connected, and mine feel especially so. As long as I’m able to get around and live my life relatively pain-free, my mental health stays positive. So when, in January, I suffered some of the most severe pain I’d experienced in years, it took no time at all to begin that downward mental and emotional slide.

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Not long after the onset of the stabbing sensations in my low back, glute and hip, our government murdered Renee Good. And lied about it. And started covering it up.

Then, our government murdered Alex Pretti. And lied about it. And started covering it up.

My former life as a prosecutor—working closely with law enforcement—came rushing back to the front of my brain, along with a flood of emotions. I submitted a piece to the local paper, which they rejected. It’s available to my paid subscribers, if you’re interested. Beyond that, I felt abject grief at the cruelty being inflicted on people who 1) were actually following procedures, 2) happened to be non-white, or 3) were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

So…along with pain that flared up every time I took a step, a new form of grief popped up for people I didn’t even know. The curse of being a Highly Sensitive Person.

I tried talk therapy again and it was, by my assessment, a complete waste of time. (Note to self: Type A people need Type A therapists!) That said, as certain clouds started lifting, I was able to see how lots of people were in the same boat as me. A boat that seemed to spring a leak every few days. In fact, an article was written about this!

To manage the physical pain, I shut everything down, which made me depressed. Donuts and brandy Manhattans helped, until they didn’t. When I finally decided to get serious about getting some answers, I was referred to a functional medicine practitioner. I wept through the intake and then gave about a pint of blood to various test-tubes.

When all the labs came back normal except for A1C (prediabetic, surprise, surprise) I wondered what would be gained from our follow-up appointment. The pain in my back and hip had started to subside, thanks to a series of nerve and joint injections coupled with PT. I started to allow space for hope that maybe my sixtieth year wouldn’t be a complete train wreck after all.

Friends, at that follow-up appointment, I learned about “ranges” of normal.

My vitamin D and magnesium levels were “insufficient.” My ferritin level was “low normal,” as was my folate and DHEA (it’s a hormone).

As the PA explained: with the exception of the vitamin D and A1C, these levels, while normal, were not optimal. She then made recommendations for how to improve these “low normal” levels.

As a result, I’m embarking on my first science experiment on myself as a sixty-year-old post menopausal woman. I’ve added a bunch of new supplements to my daily routine, and so far, I’m pleased that none of them disagree with me. I’ve also quit the donuts and Manhattans. As I explained to the PA, my medically-induced menopause was traumatic in and of itself; I just didn’t have the time or energy to do anything more than just tough it out. But if there are ways to help my body in postmenopause to become its optimal self, I’m down.

I joke with my similarly-aged friends about the pill planners. Here we are!

As part of this journey, I’ve also learned that hip and glute tendinopathy is a common condition in women as we go through menopause. You can read more about that here. Again, probably normal, but certainly not optimal. I’m excited to be on the other side of this nonsense.

What’s your aging experience? Leave a comment!

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Until next month!

~ Debbie

Garden update:

It’s waaaaaay too early to even talk about planting, but the garden menaces are already out and about. At least one bunny is keeping the dogs agitated as it nibbles its way towards the plants I cherish.

Here’s Walter Woodchuck grazing in the back yard. Hopefully my upgrades to the vegetable garden will keep him at bay…stay tuned!

APRIL BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS

FICTION: Day: A Novel by Michael Cunningham

I read this several years ago and was struck by its captivating portrayal of a family as they go through the trauma of the pandemic. I’m a fan of character studies, and this has plenty of those!

NONFICTION: The School of Life: An Emotional Education introduced by Alain de Botton

The School of Life was founded ten years ago by writer and philosopher Alain de Botton, with the purpose of equipping people with the tools to survive and thrive in the modern world. This book focuses on emotional intelligence, and is a crash course in emotional maturity.

While I have no memory of the actual impact, I remember being on the ground near a corner of the intersection, surrounded by flashing lights. I was loaded into an ambulance and transported to the hospital affiliated with my alma matter: George Washington University.

My trip to the ER revealed no broken bones. Whew! That said, my left leg was quite mangled, having been crushed between the motorcycle and the car. The staff instructed me to stay off it and sent me home with my first pair of crutches. That turned out to be terrible advice, as my leg swelled up and numerous ugly bruises began to make their appearances. A follow up trip to some other doctor resulted in orders for physical therapy (PT) and I still remember submerging my battered leg in an ice-filled tub.

At the time, I worked as a paralegal/administrative assistant in a small DC law firm that specialized in international trade. The firm’s owner put me in contact with a friend of his who specialized in personal injury. I’d not yet committed to going to law school, but I considered myself a decent advocate. This seemed like an open and shut case. The other driver ran a red light. I don’t think she was ever tested for alcohol and I don’t remember the police reports well enough to know whether the responding officers even considered it to be appropriate. This was 1988.

In the end, the settlement amount was determined by the nature of my injury. I saw a different doctor who opined that I might get arthritis later in life. But the reality was, I “only” sustained soft tissue injuries and possibly a concussion. I say possibly, because there was a mark on the helmet where my head came in contact with the ground and I believe I lost consciousness. I don’t recall the word “concussion” on any police or medical report.

I learned then, that in the world of personal injury, they actually have tables with monetary values for all sorts of trauma. In the end, my trauma was valued at $7500, of which the lawyer took his third, and I spent the rest on a fantastic three-week trip to Europe.

I really wanted a trial. I would go on to spend my entire legal career itching for a trial when I felt settlements were insufficient for crime victims.

Ten years after the accident, I began to have low back problems, ultimately leading to a diagnosis of spinal stenosis and a medical discharge from the Army Reserves. I had a right hip replacement at age forty-seven, and a left knee replacement at fifty-nine. I’ve learned that spinal stenosis is degenerative and can be caused by trauma. I’ve battled chronic pain my entire life.

Most recently, I sustained another injury that has now been diagnosed as “greater trochanter pain syndrome.” It was a different kind of awful from the plethora of other injuries I’ve suffered as an adult. I put up with it for about six weeks, while simultaneously descending into a dark mental and emotional place. It’s all connected, you know.

But at some point, rest and ice wasn’t making it better. I needed professional help. Once that happened, and I started a new round of PT, the pain started to ease. Identifying the cause of the physical pain helped me immensely, but past emotional trauma is not as easy to work through. At some point however, there comes a time when lingering in the past becomes pretty unhelpful.

Releasing the past can be another key to feeling better, as is focusing on the “glimmers” in the present moment.

A couple weeks ago, I attended a friend’s choral concert and wept openly during a couple of the beautiful pieces. It was a much needed catharsis.

This is one of them, and my gift to you. May it bring you comfort and peace.

Here are the top three:

LESSON #1: love can’t be conditional.

After getting my first dog, a spunky golden retriever named Molly (you can read about her HERE), my whole attitude about dog ownership changed. Molly was intended to be a calming influence in a life that was more than typically stressful. Because of my ignorance around her pedigree, I ended up with a dog with strong field lines. Translation: high drive. Molly was the dog that introduced me to dog sports.

I chose every subsequent dog based on my new obsession with dog sports. These choices would be hit or miss. Josie = miss. Casey Mae = HUGE HIT. Jet = miss.

It’s a terrible comparison, but I’ve watched humans set high goals and expectations for their kids. And not all kids meet those goals and expectations. Because they’re not meant to. The pressure to perform can be crippling.

Watson could be considered a miss, given what I’d hoped to accomplish with him. In fact, a person I trained with actually suggested I rehome him. Many in the retriever game treat their dogs in this manner. It’s one of several reasons I’ve given up that sport.

As he’s gotten older, I keep thinking of parents with special-needs kids. You don’t send them to another home. You love them just as they are. And Watson is special needs. I learned this when I attempted a cognitive test with him for the Dog Aging Project. I learned about this cool endeavor when Watson was a puppy and enrolled him. He “failed” the first year we attempted the test and he’s “failed” every year since. I wondered if it could be operator error, but when I ran Fuji on it, he pretty much aced it.

Which brings me to my second lesson:

LESSON #2: I have very good instincts and need to trust them.

With both Jet and Watson, I was unduly influenced by people I looked up to and considered friends. I have a proven track record of enmeshing with people I have no business trusting and my open heart has brought me several painful betrayals.

Baby Watson came to my attention through one such person. This person accompanied me on the five-plus hour trip to pick him up. When we pulled in, the breeder opened the front door and five or six puppies came charging out. As we approached to greet them, Watson ran away. The rest of the litter mobbed us excitedly.

“I don’t like this,” I said to my friend.

“Just settle down,” was what I received in return.

The scorn with which this admonition was delivered convinced me that I was overreacting. That my instincts were incorrect. However, things did not improve. It took a very long time for Baby Watson to warm up to either of us. That was when I should have walked away. He was not a confident puppy and I needed a confident puppy.

Looking back, it was a combination of desperation and surrendering to someone I’d looked up to, but would later discover was toxic. Through therapy, I’ve come to understand why I would allow myself to be treated that way, but that’s for another post. Suffice to say, I was raised by a mother who conditioned me to constantly second-guess myself.

And so, despite my misgivings, I handed over a hefty check and packed Baby Watson into Josie’s old crate. To his credit, he didn’t scream all the way home, as Jet had when he was a baby. As soon as we arrived, the neighbors came over and he proceeded to growl at them. At nine weeks old. I would spend the next year attempting to socialize him and expose him to any and everything.

He still growls at children.

When we started formal training for our sports, I worked with several of the best trainers I’ve had the good fortune to know. The confounding question we would always face was: does he not understand the thing, or does he not want to do the thing?

Nine years later, I’m still not sure, but it feels like more of the latter. But then there’s that cognitive test, so, who really knows?

LESSON #3: giving up is okay.

Like Jet before him, Watson peaked early. The aforementioned “friend” who convinced me I was overreacting to his fearfulness also told me a year or so later that I’d never get any further with him than I had with my other dogs.

Like, who does that?

I remember responding: “I guess I’ll have to prove you wrong.”

Which I did.

But at some point, the joy evaporated from training and competing. I never seemed to develop any sense of consistency from session to session. Nor did I feel supported in our efforts. When Fuji came along, I realized that it wasn’t me. Like the cognitive test, Fuji excelled in everything I taught him.

Watson participated in his last agility class in 2022 and ran his last hunt test in 2023. By that point we’d earned four of the five passes needed for his Master title, but he’d been unable to control himself when live birds were shot down. I can’t say I blame him, but it’s a required component. He was a great flushing dog and enjoyed upland style hunting. The hunt test/field trial game favors pro-trained dogs. For better or for worse, I was Watson’s only trainer and I’m very proud of all we achieved.

Dogs don’t care about titles. They just want to be with their people.

These days, Watson’s favorite things to do are eating, napping, and searching for deer poop on our morning and afternoon walkabouts. I think he’s content with his situation. I’m grateful to say: so am I.

Until next month,

~Debbie

AUTHOR UPDATES:

I hit the one third mark on the new novel. It’s been challenging to keep regular writing hours, as I’ve found myself quite busy and, for about a week, I was under the weather. But I’m making progress. Still hoping to get it to the editor next month.

I also have two events scheduled this month:

On March 14th at 2:00 p.m., I’ll be at the Rosemount Writer’s Festival, presenting along with two other authors on the various paths to publishing. It will be educational for anyone who’s written a book and wants to get it into the world.

On March 29th, I’ll be at the Mora Spring Market, selling and signing copies of my book! If you’re in the neighborhood, stop by and say hi!

MARCH BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS

Nonfiction: As a Dog Thinketh: Daily Words of Wisdom for Dog People by Monique Anstee.

I’ve consumed too many books, articles and videos to count, but Monique is a really thoughtful trainer. I was lucky enough to be in a small online training group with her during Covid. Watson and I worked on “fronts” for obedience. He hated the pressure of getting up close and tight. Obedience people will understand.

FICTION: The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein

In the interests of transparency, I recommended this book in the third issue of my newsletter, four years ago. I don’t have the emotional fortitude to read most dog books like this right now, but you should! Here’s a little bonus information: it was temporarily banned by a Texas School District in 2014. You can read an interview with the author Garth Stein HERE.

We are living in surreal times. As a resident of Minnesota and former long-time resident of Minneapolis, I fear my capacity to tolerate what’s been happening here and nationally is approaching its limi…

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I completed the first, which I’d started in 2021, the first year after I departed my old lawyer job. When I think about 2021, I remember mostly struggles. Yes, I did write a book, get a puppy, and learn how to make pickles, but I also worked myself harder than I’d ever done in my 9-5 gig (exc…

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Living in central Minnesota, I’m happy to be a fan of winter, even the whiplash version we’re getting this year! At one point there was about ten inches of snow on the ground and it was the light, powdery stuff. Great for snowshoeing and not too hard on the heart for shoveling.

Then came the thaw, followed by a …

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A couple of weeks ago, the northern lights made a spectacular appearance and I was fortunate enough to capture them for the first time. Even without them, the night sky is awe-inspiring and provides perspective in a chaotic world. My property out in the country delights me each and every day.

2. All of you!

It was five years ago t…

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Q: Please try the best you can to listen specifically to my question…

A: (interrupting) I’m sorry…

Q: …because it will go a lot easier if you can actually answer the question that I ask you.

A: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.

Q: I’m not upset. So my question to you was, when did you put the Mercedes in the garage?

* * * *

I’ve always considered jury trials to be circuses—with me the ringleader. Or maybe they were plays and I was the director. Either way, I was in charge of putting on a show for an audience of twelve strangers who presumably knew nothing about the case or the law. Early on, I learned the hard way that witnesses would disappear, or even worse, show up and lie. In the best-case scenarios, I’d have ample time and opportunity to prepare each and every one of my witnesses—ironing out the kinks. Because trials were rarely scheduled sooner than six months after the crime occurred, time wasn’t on my side.

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But I digress…

I want to share some exciting news with you all!

I’ve been awarded an artist career development grant through the Central Minnesota Arts Board, with funding from the McKnight Foundation! Woo-hoo! I don’t know about you, but I’ve felt so discouraged by the news of federal funds being slashed for public radio and television, as well as the elimination of the creative writing fellowship through the National Endowment for the Arts, and the proposed revamping of our national museums to erase parts of history the administration doesn’t want us to see.

That’s why—especially now—I’m deeply grateful to live in a state (and in a region within this state) that supports artists through private funding. The McKnight Foundation states: We envision a world that recognizes the dignity of every human being, a world where we celebrate the creativity of the arts and sciences and come together to protect our one and only Earth.

Now who can’t get behind that?

I spent most of July working on my grant application, and the most challenging part was describing myself as an artist and how I make my art. Creative writing is not like the visual arts, and so much of my writing is not based in any sort of “process.” It’s more like thoughts and concepts escaping the confines of my brain!

Thankfully, I was able to take advantage of an opportunity to receive feedback on my application so that I was able to better understand what the prospective panel would find most compelling. I am transitioning from a hybrid-published non-fiction author to a traditionally published fiction author, and the funds from this grant will help me hire an editor for my novel, as well as continue to promote and market Crossing Fifty-One.

One of the biggest and least expensive ways to promote a book is through ratings and reviews! If you haven’t yet left a rating, you can do so right here. I only need two more to reach 100 ratings!

Rate Crossing Fifty-One!

Most importantly, having some funding to support my writing gives me an enhanced sense of purpose. My old job was very good for that, and I was honored to serve the public as an assistant county attorney. These days, I believe that art serves an equally important function as it has the capacity to lift us up, touch our souls and provide a little respite from the darkness that can hover around us.

This weekend, I took Billy the Travel Trailer to his winter storage place, conveniently right across the street! While chatting with Brenda, who was checking me in, I mentioned our epic trip to Texas, which included talking about my book presentation and she said “how can I get your book?”

I was thrilled. After I dropped off Billy, I zipped back home and returned with a copy for Brenda! Not only did I make a sale, I gained another reader! She’ll be taking her copy with her on a plane trip next week, and, when she’s finished, will lend it to her daughter. They trade books, like so many readers do.

What a fun, serendipitous experience!

Until next month,

~ Debbie

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OCTOBER BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS

NONFICTION: Unmapped: Solo Women Travelers on Bold Journeys of Healing, Resilience, and Self-Discovery Anthology Collected by Lizbeth Meredith

October is Domestic Violence Awareness month, and I was honored to have my essay included in this lovely anthology. Half the profits from royalties will go to the YWCA, whose programs provide housing and crisis support for survivors of domestic violence, as well as youth and family development activities, after-school care, and opportunities for education, health, and leadership.

FICTION: Black Cake by Charmaine Wilkerson

I continue to read family saga fiction as research for my novel. So much of it is secret based and this fine book is no exception. So many good themes of survival, resilience and perseverance. And regret.

Do you have a favorite family saga book? Reply to this email, or let me know in the comments!

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Chapter Three: When Things First Started Going Sideways

By late September 2011, so much of my job was tedious and predictable. I know that may be hard to believe, but—as a cog in the vast Hennepin County criminal justice system—I spent a lot of time in my head incensed about all the things that were not within my control. Like judge assignments. In that time frame, the leadership of the bench had divided all the judges who were to handle criminal matters into three teams. My office followed suit and divided us violent crimes prosecutors into three teams. My team was dubbed the “serious traffic” team, to match the name of the six or so judges that were our counterparts.

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I’ve now lived in the country for seven years. I’ve met a lot of nice people. Most of them ask: “aren’t you glad you got out of the city?” I always answer honestly. There are some things I don’t mi…

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