The #WATWB August Edition: On Hope & the Worthiness of the Effort It Takes

Photo by Berlian Khatulistiwa (Unsplash). Typography by Guilie Castillo.

It's been a hard couple of months, and it hasn't been easy to focus on the positive. Last month, in fact, I found it impossible (one of our dogs died). And then the drama with North Korea started. The situation in Venezuela got much, much worse (Curaçao is like 75 km off the VEN coast)—including a threat of military action from the US and, just yesterday, new financial sanctions. And then there's that spate of white supremacist rallies and demonstrations wreaking havoc in the US.

Is it any wonder that I'm still struggling to find the light? Maybe not. But I have a choice, don't I? I can allow myself to sink into the darkness, to lose the fragile hold I have on hope, to give in to despair. Or... I can make an effort. Grasp that hope tighter. Feed my strength with the superfood of finding the good in the world.

Which is why the We Are The World blogfest, a monthly event that seeks to spotlight the good stories, the positive outcomes, the reasons for hope, is all the more important. And important, too, that I—that all of us—make the effort to find those stories.

Those outcomes.

Those reasons.

Even if it's something small, something tiny and apparently insignificant compared to the enormity of everything else. Every bit of hope helps. Every bit of feel-good we're able to muster, even if only for a moment, pushes the darkness back. And, inch by inch, we'll gain ground. Because, finally, this is about keeping alive not just the ideals but the reality of the world we want: a world of light, and of hope.

And it starts with us. Be the light you want to see in the world, right? In order to be any kind of light, though, we need to keep that spark alive in our own consciousness.

The Weekend #MiracleTour Stop: That Annoying Animal Advocate

I'm over at Michele Truhlik's awesome blog this weekend, on the next-to-last post for the MIRACLE tour, talking about the pitfalls of animal advocacy in fiction... And the work-around I found — at least I think I found. Readers will tell :) I'd love it if you came by to say hi, and to help me shower Michele with love and gratitude for being such a wonderful hostess.

Happy Saturday!

#atozchallenge: D is for Dogs

What is Gracie thinking?

This is Gracie, Gus German's loyal companion (from Gay Degani's 2014 stories). She follows him on walks down to the creek, into the Trencher Mansion, and, most recently, helped to alert the neighborhood.

If she could talk, she'd be the Gracie Allen to Gus's George Burns. At the Mansion, for instance, an exchange like this would be perfectly plausible:

Gus: I presume the bedrooms are upstairs.
Gracie: Yes, except when you're upstairs. Then they're on the same floor.

Introducing Life in Dogs: How the Valentine Grinch Celebrates Feb 14

Originally posted in Life in Dogs

Feb 14, 2014

Life In Dogs

I'm a Valentine grinch. It's pre-fab and commercial, and it turns peer pressure up sky-high. If you're with someone, V-Day turns a relationship into a checklist that grows longer--and more unsatisfying--with every other couple you see. Is my partner good-looking enough? Are we, as a couple, romantic enough? Did I get flowers? A card? Handwritten? Did I get jewelry? Was it the real stuff?

If you're single, the twenty-four hours of February 14th are proof time is relative. No day lasts longer.

Top Photos of 2013 -- #2

The next-best of 2013 today, on the Kuantan Blog's Top 20 Challenge:

August, 2013

I take my dogs (I have seven, all rescues) to the beach every week.

As far as they're concerned, it's not nearly often enough. They have a blast every time,

and my greatest pleasure in life is watching them bug out and go nuts in the water.

This is Panchita, the first of the seven. This February 1st will make seven years that she's with us.

She used to be terrified of the water, wouldn't even dip a toe.

Look at her now.

(Another) Day @ the Beach

Dog Day at the Beach

Coming soon to a beach near you :D

The Joys of Procrastination

We're leaving tomorrow for a visit to Holland. Have I packed? Have I even done laundry--or cleaned out the refrigerator, or checked I have enough deodorant / shampoo / face cleanser, or gotten a haircut, or any of the other gazillion things one's invariably swamped with before traveling?

No.

Instead, I'm writing this post. And sorting photos (don't you just looooove finding old pics?). I just came back from the beach with the six-pack.

The six-pack. Minus one.

The joys of procrastination.

Fail-Safe Cure for Depression

Feeling blue? Find one of these to hug, play with, or even just watch sleep. Guaranteed rise in serotonin levels :)

Romy's Story

The last weekend of September I got a call from CARF. "There's a dog at the dump," the woman said. "We've been feeding her for a while, and we think she's ready to be caught and brought to the vet. Can you foster her?"

Romy, at the dump where she was
found

Uh, yeah. But--at the dump? The garbage dump? Who throws away a dog like garbage?

"The rescuer will meet you at the vet's Monday morning."

The rescuer called me Sunday evening, a lovely Dutch woman, wife of a Marine officer, unfortunately only stationed here in Curaçao for a few more years. Why can't people like these stay around forever?

When I walked into the vet's waiting room, she was holding a reddish-yellow dog, smaller than I thought, on her lap. Huge eyes, all sweetness. Her legs were stiff from fear, but she let herself be moved over to my lap and we cuddled while we waited. She was so dirty--he-llo, a garbage dump--that I got a rash all over my arms and neck. Nothing that a good shower didn't cure, though.

This time, my excuse is REALLY good

You've noticed I've been, uh, absent. You probably thought, "ah, life." Or "she's busy with the WIP." And you weren't wrong. But I've also been doing something different. I've been rescuing dogs.

Meet Sasha II (the story of Sasha I from last year is here). She lived under an abandoned truck in a vacant lot next to Goisco (the Curaçao version of Costco), and she was lucky that the business next to the lot (Rituals Coffee Shop) employs gold-hearted people that fed her and looked after her, as much as they could, for two months.

I say as much as they could, because she wouldn't let anyone touch her, she wouldn't come closer than a meter--even to these lovely people that gave her food every day. They noticed she didn't like kibble, so they tried different things: rice and meat (she ate the meat, spit out the rice), veggies, pasta, stuff with sauces, stuff without sauces. She grew skinny but not emaciated, and stayed relatively healthy thanks to them.

A to Z: Negligence (Warning: Morose & Morbid)

Frida died Saturday afternoon. It was my fault.

Sasha's Story of Rescue and Terror

Last year in September we vowed: “no more kids.”  No matter what.  We simply do not have the space, or the time, to devote to the four we already have.  True, they’re all adopted, and at least three were originally intended as foster children, a temporary situation that sidled into permanence without us really noticing.  But we love them intensely; even Cor, who believed for years he was allergic to them (until Panchita arrived to prove him wrong).  I’m amazed at the wonderful dad he’s become.  I never thought he had it in him to wake up in the middle of the night for them, or cut a party short because it was feeding time, or retell their escapades like a proud father.  Amazing, truly.

So yes, we decided no more.  So what, I keep asking myself today, is that little white furball, all teeth and growls and terror-stricken eyes, doing in the corner of my porch?