Imagination evaporation

What happens to our imaginations as we get older?

My oldest son, Gabriel, went to a camp this week. Camp Invention. It was pretty cool. They learned all about science and physics and inventing during the week. Today, they had a little expo where their family members came to view their inventions and creations.

I was impressed by all the creative problem-solving these elementary school students came up with. The older students created Rube Goldberg machines, complex devices that perform simple tasks in indirect, convoluted ways, that were to catapult and smash a rotten egg. Each team came up with something different. They were made out of coffee maker parts, Walkman's and other discarded appliance and recyclable items like paper towel rolls, boxes, egg cartons, etc.

Their machine designs and plans were some of the most creative drawings I've seen in a long time.

They let their imaginations run wild with nothing to stop them and all the encouragement in the world from the camp counselors.

It did get me thinking about how my imagination has been stunted by the rules, discouragement and years of working for the Man. Somewhere along the way, I lost my desire to create and be artistic. I lost my joy of simply silly and beautiful creations made for creation's sake. I began to produce.

Somewhere along the line, everything I did had to have purpose and meaning beyond being silly or beautiful.

I still dabble with scrapbooking and design and painting and crafts, but it's usually with a specific goal, such as organizing my photos for my family, making presents for various holidays, cooking a meal, etc. It's rarely for the simple purpose of expressing myself or exercising my imagination. It only happens when all the chores are done and everything is in its place, which means rarely.

I think that is one thing that being home with my kids has taught me. I need to get in touch with my inner child again and relearn how to be silly and imaginative. I'd forgotten how happy those simple pleasures make me.

My youngest, Morgan, is probably the most imaginative person I have ever known. He creates entire worlds out of nothing at all. He comes up with the most amazing and detailed stories you've ever heard. He doesn't care that sometimes they don't make much sense in the real world. They make perfect sense to him and that is all that matters. It is a beautiful thing.

I hope he never loses touch with that imaginative side of himself.

... and Gabe's invention?

He created something called an "Attractor" that attracts his little brother when Morgan is being a bit too imaginative, and annoying, for Gabriel's comfort.

Farewell my furry friend

I've been hibernating lately.

Sometimes, you just have to disappear for a while.

We had to put Dizzy to sleep on June 9, and I've been nursing a bit of depression. I find myself missing the darnedest things - the exact things she did that drove me crazy, such as snorting in the middle of the night to let us know she needed to go out, despite the fact that there is a doggie door and she could let herself out. I also miss her hanging out underfoot in the kitchen and eating anything and everything that fell on the floor.

There are a lot more crumbs under Morgan's chair than there had been before, and I find myself sweeping and mopping in the kitchen more often, too, always with Dizzy in mind.

We finally broke down and put her food and water bowls away. We washed her bed and stored it in case we get another dog someday.

I took the boys to the dog pound this week to see what options there were, but none of us seemed too eager to find another dog just yet. I think I just wanted to go to hear the barking.

When Toto died last year, it was a little easier. We didn't love him any less, but we had Dizzy to transfer that love to and to remind us of him. Now, with her gone, it's like we're grieving for both of them.

Our oldest son, Gabriel, went with us to Anacapa Animal Hospital. He wanted to be there to tell her goodbye. I was proud of him for wanting to show her how much he loved her by being there. He took it really hard, but knows it was for the best. After he said goodbye, he waited in the lobby with Eric.

I stayed with Dizzy. She went to sleep in my arms.

The staff at Anacapa made a paw print for us. I plan to put it up on the TV with a picture of Dizzy right next to the one of Toto.

Morgan, who was at the baby sitter's house that day, was quite upset when he realized we forgot to take Dizzy's bed with us. That's when I decided I really needed to remove it from it's homey spot right in front of the fireplace.

Morgan asked me the other day when she was going to come home. We told him Dizzy is playing with Toto and is in a much better place. He's made the connection and knows she died now, but he still misses her - so do the rest of us.

Some roads end too soon

We've recently been confronted with some heavy decisions lately. Ones our hearts and our heads cannot reconcile.

Our beautiful, furry friend and companion, Dizzy, isn't doing well. She's an old dog. Fifteen by human years. She's not the most graceful pup, nor is she the brightest bulb, but when it comes to love, she makes up for it in spades.

We adopted Dizzy in 1995. We were living in Texas and had been talking about getting a companion for our dog Toto. He died a couple of years ago. He was my first baby, and losing him was heartbreaking and unexpected.

Back then, my mom was diagnosed with cancer, and I was having a tough time dealing with it. While I was back in Kansas helping her, my husband went to see a litter of pups. They were Pomeranians, just like Toto. Eric thought a dog might help. He was right.

When I got back into town, he surprised me by taking me to a house I'd never seen and telling me to pick out a puppy. The dogs were adorable, racing each other down the hall, hopping all over each other to be the first into the backyard. They were a playful lot and it was tough to choose one.

I was looking at a cream-colored little fur ball and sat down cross-legged to get a better look at her, when this sable-colored dog with big brown eyes pushed her way into my lap and claimed me for her own.

Dizzy has always known what she's wanted. She's always made it clear. Ball, food, treats and lots and lots of love and attention.

She's a crazy little dog who was out for trouble, damn the consequences.

When she was about 4 months old, she jumped off the bed at breakneck speed and promptly broke her right leg. She spent forever in the cast and lost a ton of playtime, for which she made up as soon as the cast was removed. That is not to say that the cast really ever slowed her down. She'd go thumping all over the house, dragging whatever stuffed toy was her favorite and threatening to tear it to shreds in frustration at her limited movement.

Her favorite things to do were play ball, snatch birds out of the air and chase down horny toads in our back yard, that's when she and Toto weren't up to no good and digging under the fence to roam the neighborhood. I can't even count the number of times they snuck out of the back yard only to show up scratching at the front door or lounging on the front steps, lying in wait for the mailman.

Dizzy was our Tasmanian Devil. Full of mischief to Toto's aloof attitude.

She's mellowed out a lot over the years, becoming a beloved companion for our 3-year-old. When Toto died, Morgan kind of stepped up as Dizzy's best friend. He follows her around and hugs her, pets her and tells her she's beautiful despite her gaseous nature and horrible breath.

She stays up with me late into the night when I read or watch TV, always there looking for some love and attention, curled up on her bed in front of the fireplace. When we go to sleep, she crawls beneath the bed and lays down for the night, always wanting to be in our presence.

She's also our alarm clock.

I'm not sure when she decided that 5 a.m. is the time to be fed, but pretty close to 5 every morning she'll wake us up and won't take no for an answer. It may have something to do with Eric getting up at 5:30 a.m. Although I'm not sure who trained who.

Dizzy is 15 now. We think her esophagus is collapsing. The vet says it's pretty common for Poms. It could be her heart, though. The exam to determine what the problem is costs $500. The cures are heart surgery at $10,000 or placing a stent in her esophagus, which again runs into the thousands.

With me not working, neither is an option. The best we can do for her is give her some cough medicine to easy her pain and pray it isn't her heart. Either way, the end is coming. I can hear it in her rasping breath and see it in her eyes when she stares at me for help that I can't give as she stuggles with a coughing fit.

I feel helpless. She was there for me when I needed her, but I can't seem to be able to return the favor. I feel like I'm letting her down. I hear the accusation with every cough.

I'm not sure what life will be like without her. It will be quieter, the air will be a little fresher, we may get a little more sleep, but there will be an immense emptiness. And if it's anything like when Toto died, the pain won't ease any time soon.

She's family and always will be. She's marked us in so many ways. We love you, Dizzy.