My Life with Ripple; A Memoir

I am submitting this essay into a contest about how dogs change your life. It is a memoir and a thank you to my best buddy Ripple.

As far as birthday

presents go, Ripple

was the best. As for the boyfriend that bought her, he was the

worst. I was introduced to Ripple on my 22^nd birthday. She is a yellow Labrador Retriever. Her full

name is Rippolean Toulouse Bonaparte and if you yell it, starting off low and slow, then building in volume and speed, she will do wild laps around the house. She loves her full name but will also responds to Sweet Pea, Pooh Bear, Love Bug, Rippy-Bippy, Rip-Dog, Rip, and Baby Girl. It would be an understatement to say, Ripple changed my life, the truth is she saved it.

The same boyfriend who presented me with this perfect puppy also cheated on me with several other women, told lies to hurt my reputation, smashed my car window and my heart. I began second-guessing everything about myself. I was shattered. All that remained were pieces of the person I once was.

So, I turned to the easiest outlet for my pain, alcohol and ephedrine. I would drink Monday through Saturday and occasionally Sunday. The ephedrine was used to keep me awake and the alcohol was used to make me forget. However, with a four-month old puppy to take care of, I couldn’t completely destroy myself.

At 3:00am I would stumble home and find Ripple in her crate staring through the bars. It was this stare, that adorable, big-eyed look, which led me to finally let her sleep in the bed. It’s also what gets her extra treats today. We would cuddle up together, me stinking of booze and she with the sweet scent of puppy breath. In the morning I would awake to her whining in my face. Miss Ripple has always demanded to be feed at 7:00am. Since I was already up, I would go to class. While, I was barely able to care for myself, having to care for her saved me.

With honor cords dangling around my neck, I graduated from college that spring. Preceding our break-up, my boyfriend and I were planning to attend law school, get married, and live happily ever after. After my break-up and an uninspiring internship as a legal advocate, I was planning on nothing. My undergraduate degree was in philosophy. This skill was not sought after in the Help Wanted ads and I was clueless as to which direction to head. So I joined Americorp as a Volunteer in Service to America (VISTA) and Ripple and I moved to Baltimore, MD.

As a member of VISTA you have to live where you work. I was hired to help revitalize Waverly. Waverly sat directly across from Better Waverly, which had been destroyed by blight. Waverly was struggling to avoid a similar fate. I lived in a row home on 33^rd street, with a yard the size of a jail cell. Ripple was a young lab who needed to run.

Everyday after work we would walk up 33^rd street making our way to the park across from The Baltimore Museum of Art. This is where dogs and their humans gathered to socialize. It was here that I actually made friends in a city of strangers. Dogs are great conversation starters and seeing the same people routinely can lead to friendships. Through these friends I actually began to put myself back together. I wasn’t that Sorority President who got her heart broken. I was no longer the Vice President of the student body, who could barely do her job, due to depression. I wasn’t the idiot girlfriend who didn’t know her boyfriend was sleeping with everyone on campus. I was simply Ripple’s mom. It was a fresh start, a time to rebuild myself starting from my dog up.

Gradually the pain in my chest subsided and so did my need to be drunk. I was home more. I took better care of myself and subsequently took better care of Ripple. This was a good thing, because Ripple was sick in Baltimore all of the time. I don’t know whether it was the disgusting things she ate off the street or the other dogs she played with, but she was at the vet monthly. With so many extra bills, I couldn’t afford to drink if I wanted to.

Being in the inner city of Baltimore was scary. Walking by your self can be very dangerous. However, with Ripple by my side, I was able to go where I wanted. My dog’s presence provided me with protection. Sometimes people would actually cross the street to avoid walking past us. She gave me independence and confidence in an environment that otherwise could have turned me into a neurotic, frightened mess.

On one occasion she literally saved my life. I was picking a friend up from the bus station. While Ripple and I waited in my car an irrational man approached. He was yelling obscenities and began to pull on the car handle. Ripple let loose, barking, growling, and showing her fangs. The man took one look at her and backed away. His last words were, “You’re lucky that dog is in your car.” Funny, I was thinking the same thing. On the way home from the station my best friend Ripple sat in the front seat and my friend sat in the back.

After finishing my year-of-service in Baltimore, I was not my old self; instead I was a newer, braver version. I had survived in the city with a little help from my dog. I set my sights on new goals and had a better idea of what I wanted to do with my life. I enrolled in graduate studies at Shippensburg University’s Counseling Program. Once again Ripple and I moved and started a new life.

Shippensburg appealed to Ripple. She had a huge yard and learned how to open the back door. She spent the warmer months happily letting her self in and out of the house. It was not so pleasant for me. Finding appealing friends was difficult. The pace of Shippensburg crawled compared to the speed of Baltimore. I wanted to move near my friends in Philly and abandon graduate school. It was Ripple’s companionship that kept me going.

Ripple, like always went everywhere with me. We walked for coffee in the morning, went to see professors, she waited for me in the car while I did my grocery shopping, She was with me when I finally was able to run three miles and even sat next to me at the drive-in movies. It was because we were always together that a local newspaper writer noticed us and asked if he could use us for a story.

I always knew Ripple was calendar quality and now was her time to shine. I had her groomed to perfection for our photo shoot. The photographer took pictures of us playing on Shippensburg University’s campus. Ripple and I playing in the water fountain together, throwing a tennis ball, and the picture that finally got published, her and I simply resting under a tree. When the story came out, it was on the front page of the Shippensburg Sentinel.

The article reflected on our past three years together. I cautioned college students about the hazards of getting a dog while in school. Detailing the difficulties of paying vet bills, finding apartments that would allow pets, and having the time for your dog. Mostly though, it talked about my gratitude to Ripple, my constant friend during the most difficult years of my life. Through her eye’s I saw my goodness and self-worth. With her I met friends that aided me in my rebirth, and I stayed in graduate school.

I promised Ripple if she stuck it out with me, life would be nice for her someday. Throughout our time together we moved on eight different occasions, She lived in apartments, row homes, the country, and the inner city. She has spent days in puppy care, at friend’s houses, and home alone. Throughout all of this she has always greeted me with love and those big brown eyes. Four-years-ago I kept my promise to her. After meeting my current partner Dave, we bought a house with a fenced-in yard, close to a park. Dave loves her like she was always his. We take her on outdoor adventures, car rides, vacations, let her sleep in the bed, and always feed her by 7:00am. Life is good for us.

Ripple is now eight-years-old. The hair around her face is turning white. She hasn’t exactly settled down. She is still one of the fastest dogs at the park, but she sleeps more. She is a lot like me now, comfortable, settled, and happy. I feel as if I owe this all to her, my best friend, constant companion, and healer of my heart.

Technoships and Relationships

I was introduced to two Ryan Binghams today. One was a fictional character from the movie Up in the Air and the other is an alternative country singer. After seeing Ryan Bingham from Up in the Air, I was pretty sure I wanted to write something about how human nature and personal relationships are suffering because of our tech-obsessed world. Then because of technology I was exposed to Ryan Bingham the musician. Call it serendipitous that I googled and fandangoed both of them in one day.

So here is the conundrum, does technology bring us closer or further away from others? True Facebook keeps me connected to high school and college classmates that I might otherwise never speak to. But maybe we’re not supposed to stay that connected. With so many connections it’s easy to lose perspective on our own lives and happiness. We are overexposed to pictures of people’s kids, husbands, wives, houses, cars, and dogs. We read hundreds of tweets and updates about everything from where and what people are eating, to how many babies they are having, and how much weight someone lost or found. I myself have tweeted about having to look at someone’s gunt and posted pictures of the dinner I was eating. It’s overwhelming and difficult to balance your sense of wellbeing, when you are being inundated with all these images. If keeping up with the Jones’ wasn’t hard enough, keeping up with everyone you ever graduated with is absolutely exhausting!

On the other hand, it is because of technology that I was able to connect from watching a trailer of the movie Crazy Heart, liking the song from the trailer, googling it, finding the artist, plugging him into Rhapsody, where I enjoyed his entire catalog of albums. I then posted a link on my facebook telling all my friends to check out Ryan Bingham. Certainly in this case technology brought Ryan Bingham and me a lot closer. But while I was busy with that, I was ignoring Dave, the person in the kitchen with me.

Which makes me wonder how often I give 100% of my attention to anything or anyone anymore. Even as I write this blog, I am listening to music, and screening a cell phone call. Thich Nhat Hanh writes, “The most precious gift we can offer others is our presence. When mindfulness embraces those we love, they will bloom like flowers.” How can we possibly stay mindful in this day and age? Certainly this practice was much easier before Iphones, Blackberrys, and Facebook. We might not have had as many relationships, but perhaps we could give our full attention to the ones we had.

In the end, I believe that technology creates more connections and technoships, but I am not sure it fabricates real relationships. These are made through long dinners with great glasses of wine, walks in the fall, late night adventures, road trips, laughing till you cry, and holding someone while they sob. Technoships are held together by comments posted below a picture, rushed written greetings, voyeurism, and virtual bouquets of flowers. Nothing can take the place of being physically, mentally, and emotionally there for someone.

So while I enjoy listening to Ryan Bingham’s music coming from my laptop, and I find myself recalling certain scenes from Up in the Air, a movie I saw on a huge screen, in surround sound, with high definition technology. The best part of my day was waking up next to Dave, petting my dog, and eating a delicious dinner, all real, tangible, wonderful moments.

I will now proofread and post this on my blog, Facebook, and Twitter account. As a result technology can once again create connections, but hopefully we will find the time to strengthen our relationships with those in the same room as us.

http://www.theupintheairmovie.com/

http://www.binghammusic.com/

Where is that Pesky Voice?

My New Year’s resolution is to write something every day. However, there are a few obstacles to this, simply the pace of my life for starters and my lack of any real knowledge about writing. I don’t just want to write, I want to create something eventually worth reading. I have an inextinguishable desire to share my thoughts with others. It eats at me all the time. It drives me to talk a mile a minute to anyone who will listen. I break into conversations, forget to listen to what people are saying, and speak really loudly. I have something to say! But what is it?

Over holiday break I was telling my family my desire to find my voice as a writer. I laughed and said, “ I hope when I do find my voice it sounds like David Sedaris.” I admire his openness, his humor, and his ability to start a story off as if he is the most unique person in the world and then to sum it up with his ordinariness. This contradiction, I believe, is something that is present in all of us, the idea that we are unique hiding the underlying truth that we are not. But my voice is not David Sedaris’. I don’t know what it is, but I want to find out, so I googled it.

You can google anything! I found in article that tells you how to find your voice in 5 simple steps! It’s titled, How to Find Your Voice as a Writer, the author is unknown. Here are the five steps.

Step 1
Explore yourself. Work through what you feel and think about things, what you went through as a child, the people who hurt and helped you throughout your life. By doing this, your natural voice will show through in your writing. The best guide for this kind of exploration is Julia Cameron's "The Artist's Way."

Explore yourself. I have been in some form of counseling for the past ten years. I have been “exploring” myself for a decade. I have discussed my childhood, teen years, family, friendships, boyfriends, life, thoughts, habits, etc. for the past ten years. I feel I have thoroughly put the foundation down for Step 1.

Step 2
Read the great writers. Start with anthologies like "The Best American Essays" and "The Best American Short Stories," which come out annually. Read nonfiction to get the unmediated writer's voice. In fiction, identify some of the narrator's traits that influence how they are telling the story.

Yikes! Yes I do read. But I don’t know if I read enough. I estimate that I read four hours weekly. The topics generally have to do with counseling, self-help, marketing, and business. I do not usually enjoy fiction, unless it is that heavy fiction that makes you think existential thoughts about yourself and generally only find something interesting if it applies to my current goals in life. Like I said, I got Step 1 down. Another problem is time. If I am reading in the little free time I have, how will I have time to write? However, after thinking on this for a bit, I believe that it is not so bad. I don’t want to write a fiction story. I am a confessionalist by nature, I want to confess to people, knowing myself is probably the most important piece to that desire. So perhaps I have Step 2 down too.

Step 3
Practice your voice through writing exercises. Keep a journal and explore different techniques for discovering things about yourself. Search Amazon.com for "writing exercises" to get a wide selection of books or do the daily writing prompt at Writer's Digest.

Daily writing prompts at Writer’s Digest, check. I went to their website and subscribed to their daily writing prompts. They are interesting exercises, and I look forward to toying with them in the future. Journal writing on the other hand is a little tricky. When I was younger and suffering as only a woman in late adolescence can suffer, keeping a journal was a piece of cake for me. It took no effort to fill the pages with all the agony that I was inviting into my life. I needed those journals, because I had to document all that pain. Now I find myself in a beautiful place, little pain, and the urgency in which I use to write in my journals has completely dissipated. I guess misery leads to action. This is merely an obstacle I will have to overcome. A new journal with a pen will be placed by my bed and I will make sure to find fresh ways to make it part of my life again.

Step 4
Write short stories, essays, articles, poetry, monologues, even blog entries. Each written form forces you to explore a different aspect of your voice. It's especially beneficial to stretch your comfort zone. The forms you're most uncomfortable with can, with practice, lead to insights about how you want to express yourself.

Yuck! Sorry Step 4, I will not be following you. Well this was my first thought but with further inspection I may already do this. I write a monthly newsletter for my store, so I guess I do write articles. I have a history of attempting to write pathetic poetry, and hell I even write this blog. So maybe Step 4 is not so bad after all. I just need to widen my genre and write more.

Step 5
Explore your narrator in your fiction. Have them write a letter of introduction to your reader and be mindful of the intrusion of your writer's voice. Especially let them say all the things you would never say or don't want them to say. Even if you don't use the material, you'll know your narrator's voice better.

Step 5 is a little difficult for me to do, considering I have not written anything that would require a narrator. Step 5 will have to wait to I actually write some fiction and then I will add it to one of my new, nightly, self-appointed, journal assignments.

That was all of them, five easy steps to help me find my voice as a writer. Surprisingly, I have found that I have already done most of these steps and still I do not think I have a unique voice in which to write with. Furthermore, if I was being honest, I don’t even know what “finding your voice as a writer” means. I have always been a unique individual; self-reflection is one of the staples of my spare time. I don’t think I have to find my voice as a writer; I need to learn how to get it onto paper. I’ll have to google that next.