you're a shining star

FEBRUARY 2013- CHICAGO, IL

I am the first to admit that I love my dog. She is absolutely, without a doubt a member of my family. Does that mean that I would typically consider shelling out $25 a day for her to be entertained while I am at work? Never. But when the plumbing goes out and my sink has to be repaired, I turn to doggy day camp to keep Gabby out of the way for a day. Researching day camp options in my area, I stumble across a place that is accepting new dogs. Believe me, not all facilities are.

I call the camp, and they ask me to bring Gabby for a meet and greet, to see if she’ll fit in. Strange, I think, but I agree. Gabby and I arrive at the facility and are greeted by Bruce, one of the camp counselors.

“Who do we have here?” he asks Gabby, as if she has walked in on her own. He bends down enthusiastically to shake her paw. 

“This is Gabby,” I respond. “We’re here for her temperament test.”

“Well, well, Gabby, it is certainly nice to meet you,” he smiles, still speaking directly to Gabby. “Would you like to meet some of your fellow campers?”

Bruce takes Gabby to one of the play rooms, and I wait in the front of the store. On the wall, I notice a large bulletin board with pictures of some of the camp’s events. The board is decorated with dogs dressed as leprechauns, cupids, and pilgrims. The middle of the board is split into two sections; both labeled “Winter Party”. The dogs in this area are either dressed in Santa hats and reindeer ears, or as a menorah and dreidel.  I later learn this costume is decided according to each pet parent’s preference. To the right of the party pics is an arched banner that reads “Welcome New Campers” with a picture of the dogs that are new to the camp. Each of the dogs sits calmly in front of the kind of background you would expect to see in an Olan Mills family portrait. How well behaved. I think.

Bruce and Gabby return from the back.

“Well, it’s just as I’d expect,” he reports, still looking at Gabby. “You’re a typical Boxer, alright!”

“She did great,” he says, now smiling at me. “She’s very energetic, but she seems to play well with the other dogs. I think she’ll be a great addition to the camp.”

“So we’re in?” I ask, baffled by my momentary excitement.

“You’re in!”

Gabby returns to camp the next day, and I head to work. Sometime around noon, my phone rings.

“Hi Trisha, this is Bruce, Gabby’s camp counselor.” Uh, oh, this cannot be good.

“I wanted to let you know that Gabby seems to have been involved in a little scuffle, and has a small bite on her cheek from another dog. She is doing okay, but as her counselor I need to bring you in the loop. We’re taking her out of the play area for some individual attention. If she does okay, I’ll put her back with the group.”

I tell Bruce not to worry, but to let me know if anything changes with her condition. Later that evening, I return to camp. Bruce and I sit down for a de-brief. Feeling very much like a parent who is called into a teacher conference, I try to muster up my most serious and concerned face for the ridiculous meeting.

Bruce tells me all about Gabby’s day at camp, and brings along another counselor armed with Gabby’s report card. Are these people serious?  I think.

Gabby's Report Card

I look down at the hand-written card, holding back a smirk. The top of the page has been colored by the other counselor. In the middle of the page, just below the portion that lists all of her "best friends", is a check-list that details her day.

Today at camp I:

-Was a happy camper…. Check.

-Was a little devil…. Check.

-Had a ton of energy…. Check.

-Chewed up a delicious toy…. Check.

-Wrestled with my friends…. Check.

-Got some rest…. No Check. Completely blank (big surprise).

-Was very talkative…. Check again.

-Enjoyed myself, but missed you!.... Check.

Below the list is a small section for comments. The counselor’s notes almost trail off the page. She informs me that Gabby is “well on her way to figuring out what is appropriate and what is not”. Our meeting comes to an end, and the counselors encourage me to continue bringing Gabby to camp.

“She had a lot of fun, and we’d really like to see her again soon. We both think that with more socialization, she’ll be a shining star at camp!”Gabby and I walk to the door, and Bruce hands me one last parting gift: Gabby’s new camper picture. The one that will be placed among the other “shining stars”.

Welcome New Campers

Is my dog patiently posing in front of the professional background like the other new campers? No. Is she sitting down? No. Is she staying still? No. In a perfectly Gabby moment, she is standing just inches from the camera lens  eyes glowing and mouth wide open. I cannot look at this picture without laughing. She may not be the most straight-and-narrow kid on the block, but I can tell you one thing: this pooch will always be my shining star. 

fate with a twist

“If given the opportunity to glimpse into your future, would you take it?” I ask my twelve-year-old brother on a lazy afternoon. The question pops into my head on occasion, and I am always intrigued by the answers I receive.

“I’d only want to see it for a minute, for peace of mind,” he responds, as if he’s thought of his answer before. “Then, I’d want to immediately forget it.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I reply. And it’s true. Many times in my life I wonder if I’m making the right decisions, if my efforts to build the life of my dreams will be fruitful. I contemplate how certain moments in my life fit into a greater plan. Like my five-year-old self on Christmas Eve, I’d love the chance to peek at my present before it’s time. But then again, why ruin the surprise?

NOVEMBER 2010 - CHICAGO, IL

At the Bean

I am travelling on business and my boyfriend, Adam, decides to meet me for the weekend. It has been several years since either of us has visited The Windy City, and we spend the entire first day soaking up the sights. From Sears Tower to Millennium Park, there is not one inch of downtown we don’t cover.

That evening, as we walk to dinner, I realize how amazed I am by this city. The buildings are so tall; it’s as if they bend down to embrace the bustles of people on the sidewalks below. Each passer-by shares this moment in time. From near and far, they are united for mere seconds on a single block.

As we approach the restaurant door I pause for a moment to gaze across the street.

“Isn’t it fantastic?” I say aloud.

We enjoy a quiet dinner, and continue our weekend. Monday morning arrives and it is time to return home.

Two years later, and my business trip that November seems a lifetime away. I have changed jobs twice since then, and moved to the very city I came to love in 2010. Memories from that weekend like Navy Pier and the old Marshall Fields are now a part of my everyday life. But I would have never imagined re-living such a simple moment as my walk to dinner.

NOVEMBER 2012 – CHICAGO, IL

It’s Friday morning and I arrive at the office for the first time. My team has just moved to a new building in the city, and I am settling in and unpacking my desk. I spend the morning connecting my computer and gathering office supplies, and it is almost lunch time before I stand up to look at my view. As I approach the window, it’s as if I've stepped into A Christmas Past. There, across the street, is the very restaurant I had pensively stared from just two years before.

My mind races to the lazy afternoon with my brother.  While I absolutely believe I have a place in God’s plan, I cannot say with any certainty whether I accept the concept of destiny. Call it fate or call it fluke, but I have literally stared into my future. And, exactly as I’d have preferred, I didn’t know it. Life goes on and I begin to see more of the full picture. As it turns out, the trials and elbow grease along the way are worth it, and it’s moments like this I understand that I am where I’m meant to be. 

The Pursuit of Friendship- Part Two

JULY 1997- MARIETTA, GA

The summer after 4^th grade is coming to an end, and I am enjoying a typical afternoon at the neighborhood pool with friends. Still the shy and reserved version of my childhood self, it isn't often that I reach out to people I don’t know. The neighborhood kids and I are swimming to the deep end to play a game of shark, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Hello,” I hear her soft English voice as I turn around. “My name is Emma. I’ve only just moved here, but I wonder if you’d mind if I join your game?”

In such a simple moment, our inseparable friendship begins. From attending early morning band practice to mapping the neighborhood on our quest for the ultimate trick-or-treating; from sleepovers to science projects, we are partners in crime. We become the definition of best friends.  

The end of my 9^th grade year I receive terrible news. Emma’s parents have decided to separate, and she will be moving back to England to live with her mother. Devastated at the thought that I will no longer have her down the street, I am comforted in knowing that my family had been discussing a move to Texas. We'd likely relocate in the next year, so her news only costs us a few months.

The years pass, and our friendship continues to grow despite the distance. I visit Emma in England and Atlanta, and she comes to Dallas. Between visits we have regular phone calls, and it’s as if nothing has changed at all. Until the day it did.

DECEMBER 2006- SOUTHLAKE, TEXAS

I am half way through my shift at Starbucks, when I see a familiar car in the parking lot. It is my mom and brother. They walk somberly toward the door. They come inside and tell me they need to talk right away.

“What is going on?” I say, “I can’t just walk away from the counter.”

One of my coworkers pulls me aside. “It’s ok, go with them.”

My heart is racing as I walk to the car, but nothing can prepare me for what I am about to hear.

“Trish, Emma's dad just called. Emma’s been in a terrible accident.” My mom says, struggling to maintain her composure. My ears continue to absorb her words, but my heart already understands the truth. Emma is dead.

The next few weeks are some of the hardest of my life. I am caught in a tornado of grief, sorrow, and anger as I prepare to travel to England for our final goodbye. Emma’s funeral comes and goes, and my mom and I begin our journey home in the days before Christmas.

Emma Louise Jobson

January 28, 1988 – December 3, 2006

“Did I ever tell you what Emma’s mom said to me before they moved away?” My mom asks as we fly back to the States.

“What is that?” I say, grasping to every memory of her life that I possibly can.

“The day they left for the airport, Sarah turned to me,” she says with a pause, “’Don’t worry about the girls’ she said, ‘they’ll be friends until the end.’”

“I knew from the beginning that was true.” I reply.

For some time after her death, I turn to my cell phone on the days I need her most. Pausing the world, I listen to the last message she’d ever leave me.

“Hello, it’s Emma, I thought while I was in America I’d call you for a cheap chat…” it begins. She goes on to say what a great time she is having with her Dad, and how she’d be around the house for the afternoon if I could call her back.

Even in the simplest of messages, her voice is  a comfort to me. It reminds me that I am both honored and blessed to have had such a wonderful companion through these seasons of my life. Together we traveled through the end of childhood, into our teenage years, and began our lives as young adults. Emma was a compassionate, loyal, and relentless source of support in my life. She will always be one of my most beloved friends.

Years pass, and I no longer have the voice mail saved. But the memory of her hello will stick with me the same as it did in 1997: forever. 

Emma and I - December 2004

The Arrow and the Song

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend. 

                                                                                                  -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

the definition of happy

OCTOBER 2012- CHICAGO, IL

This afternoon, my dear friend Nicole and I get to talking about life. We have come to realize that very little in this world is easy.

View from the top.

I am a dreamer. From the time I can remember, I have envisioned myself living in a big city with a lifestyle you could take straight from an episode of Sex and the City. Moving to Chicago this year made me feel like it’s all beginning to come to fruition. But it’s very different than I would have expected. I have learned that money does not grow on trees, and living in a city as great as mine is expensive. Work is often stressful, and at the end of most weekdays, I have little time to enjoy anything but sleep. Picking up and leaving my mom and closest friends has been more difficult than I would have expected. I miss them every single day.

But after 9 months spent building my new life, I love what I see. Each day I try to learn something new about my job, and what it means to be a strong employee. I strive to take the next step in my career. I am making new friends, and understanding how to be a better one myself. I am learning both who I am, and who I want to become.

I have come to believe that the key to happiness is to stop expecting it to look like you thought it would. Sure, life is not perfect. But I have a job that I love, a bright-eyed boxer, beautiful apartment, and a killer support system near and far. And at the end of the day, who could ask for anything more?

The Pursuit of Friendship: Part 1

APRIL 2012-CHICAGO, IL

It’s Saturday night, and Daniel and I sit in his car outside of my building. Completely stumped, I cannot understand how our 5^th date has come to an end without so much as peck on the cheek or a touch on the hand. He can’t possibly be interested; why does he keep calling?

I have known Daniel for a couple of weeks by this confusing evening.  He checks in at least once a day, and has started calling me pet names like “honey” and “dear”. After hours on the phone and marathon-length dates, I cannot get past the fact that when it comes to romance, we are still at the starting line.

“Goodnight, Daniel,” I say with a forced smile as I slowly get out of the car. “I’ll see you again soon.” I walk to the door and take a quick glance back. Daniel, still in the driveway, waves goodbye. A feeling in my gut tells me this is the end. I walk inside, whole-heartedly convinced this will be the last time I see him.

The next morning, Daniel tactfully explains that he is not looking to date. While my inner voice wants to scream “THEN WHY DO YOU KEEP ASKING ME OUT?!” my calmer, more rational side manages to muster up a response. I tell him that I appreciate his honesty, and would prefer us to go our separate ways. I explain that I am looking for something very different, and don’t think a friendship with him would be good for me.

Two weeks later I find myself in the middle of corporate chaos. I am working from home on this particular Tuesday, and am face to face with crisis. The day has been impossibly busy. By the time I look up from my computer, the sun is beginning to set. In a brief escape from my tunnel-vision, I notice a piercing stare from my beloved pooch. “You poor thing,” I gasp. “Gabby, I am so sorry! Do you want to go outside?” I reach for her leash and my blackberry as Gabby prances to the door. I have hardly looked at her since early that morning.

Walking around the block, I am amazed at how quickly the day has gotten away from me. What time is it, anyway? I wonder to myself, looking at my phone.

6:15-- my heart skips a beat as I read the numbers. But why? Is it because it is now 12 hours since I have left my apartment? Am I late for a conference call? Do I have somewhere to be? I frantically check my calendar. Nothing….

And then it hits me: my parking had expired at 4. I race down the street. This cannot be happening right now, please, let my car be there.

I continue to run as Gabby trails behind. Four more blocks and there it is: an empty parking spot. Sure enough--my car has been towed.

Breathless, exhausted, and now sans car, I begin to panic. I look down at my blackberry and remember the one number I have saved. I can easily go back home for my personal phone. I think. But who am I kidding? Four months in my new city, my only two friends are at work. Almost without me knowing, my fingers begin to dial. Rrrrring, rrrrrrrring….

And then he answers.

“Just when I was ready to give up…” says the voice from the other end. “…where have you been, stranger?”

“Daniel, I am sorry to do this to you, but I need a favor. I am having the worst day…” I say, tears welling in my eyes.

“Hold on,” he replies without hesitation. “I’ll be right there.”

Friendship

Minutes later, Daniel arrives at my front door. “It’s going to be okay.” He says with a hug. “What happened?”

I tell the story, but my mind is somewhere else.

“What a day,” he says, as he opens the car door. “But don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

And as it turns out, we did.

In the midst of my most stressful, awful, day, I stumbled upon something wonderful. I found a true-blue, there-when-you-need-him, 100% friend. 

The most life-changing impulse purchase I've ever made

SEPTEMBER 2010- DALLAS, TX

It's a quarter 'til noon and I'm scarfing down the last bite of my frozen dinner. Before I return to the day's tasks, I take a quick break on Facebook. Among the hundreds of updates, one post catches my attention: a picture of a teary-eyed puppy with a caption that reads "SAVE A LIFE TODAY". Despite my better judgment, I click on the link. My local animal shelter faces extreme crowding, and unless enough dogs are adopted today, many will be put to sleep.

Admittedly, I have wanted a dog for some time. Researching breeds for the past couple of months, I decide that a boxer is the dog for me. My demanding work schedule leaves little time for potty training, and my tight budget means that a purebred puppy is out of reach. Still who can resist that headline? I feel compelled to help, even if my bargain is against the odds. I offer a hesitant negotiation to adopt a dog if the following (very unlikely) pup is at the shelter:

Gabby's first picture. (I was still calling her Trixie) 

1. A purebred female boxer

2. She must be older than 6 months (this reduces the adoption fee by 50%)

3. She must be potty trained and up to date on all shots

4. She must be neutered and healthy

5. She must be available today. After all this, I have to help with the Facebook post!

I visit the shelter's web site and discover that adoptions are open until 5:45. It's going to be a close call, and I return to work. The end of the day arrives, and I head straight for the shelter. I pull into the parking lot at exactly 5:15 and race to the door.

"Good afternoon!" I hear from a friendly voice behind the counter. "How can I help you today?"

"Hi there," I respond. "I saw your post on Facebook about your crowding issue and I'd like to see if I can help."

My little party animal

"Oh certainly," the woman smiles. "But we are almost out of time. Adoptions close in 30 minutes. I can hardly expect you to make a decision that quickly. Would you like to come back tomorrow?"

"Actually, I know exactly what I'm looking for," I say, as I rattle off my list.

Remember:

-purebred female boxer

-older than 6 months

-potty trained and up to date on all shots

-neutered and healthy

-available today

"You're never going to believe this," she laughs. "Follow me." The woman leads me down a long corridor of barking and howling dogs. Young and old, big and small, breed after breed. Many of the kennels are packed 3 dogs deep. Wow, this place is crowded. I think.  We reach the end of the row and I am face to face with my fate. There she is: 8-months old, all her shots, healthy, "potty trained", and neutered yesterday.

Gabby and I during a walk in Chicago

"She was surrendered two days ago by her previous owners, and just became available today," the woman looks at me with a satisfied smile. "Her name is Pixie. Would you like to meet her?"

"Gladly," I reply. "But I hardly need to. We can go ahead and call this a done deal."

Two years and two name changes later, Gabby (formerly Pixie and Trixie) has secured a permanent place in my heart. Shamelessly enthusiastic, she wears her heart on her sleeve. Her propeller-like tail wags her entire body when I walk through the door. Outgoing and playful, Gabby never meets a stranger. The world is her oyster, and she's been known to strut down the sidewalk on our evening walks. Gabby has taught me patience, sacrifice, and unconditional love. She has been my companion through 3 moves, and her outgoing nature has even made me some friends. Despite the many carpet stains, chewed belongings, and veterinary bills (she is VERY mischievous), I have never regretted my split-second decision to bring Gabby into my life. While I'd like to think I found her one day in September, Gabby knows the truth. She found me.

Keeping me company while I work

to judge a book by its cover

JUNE 2012- CHICAGO, IL

Friday night and I am heading home from my third date with Nick. We are waiting for the train after an evening in the suburbs. I am having a great night and feel like we are really starting to develop a connection. Although I’ve only known him a short time, I admire Nick’s outlook on the world. Optimistic, ambitious, and compassionate, he challenges me to think about a situation from every perspective.

While we are waiting, I do a quick survey on the crowd. I notice an unusually dressed man sitting on a bench. He appears to be in his sixties, but his attire is more typically suited for a mid-20s rocker. His long white pony tail is tucked under a black leather hat. His hands are covered with the kind of skull-and-cross bone rings you find in a gumball machine. He wears a black vest with khaki shorts. His swollen feet pour out of his hiking sandals. I give him the once over. What a strange outfit. I think to myself. I glance over at Nick for back-up. Surely he notices too.

We board the train, and the unusually dressed man sits across from us. Nick takes me by the hand and points in his direction. The man’s head bobs up and down as he struggles to stay awake. He must have had some night. I think, satisfied I am not alone in my observation.

At the next stop, the unusual man gets off the train. He begins to pace the platform as we pull away. The man slowly drifts out of sight and Nick leans into my ear.

“Poor guy,” he whispers. “I wish I had given him some money”.

“What?” I say, judgment oozing from my mouth.  “Why would you do that? He looks like he’s been out all night.”

“Trish, he probably has.” Nick calmly replies. “He appears to be homeless, and my guess is that he has diabetes. Did you see his swollen feet?”

I am stunned at how quickly I have expected the worst in a stranger. How could I be so harsh? The clothes on his body could have been all he owned; his sandals, the only thing his tired, swollen feet could fit into. He could be out at 2 am because he has nowhere to go, and sleeping on the street is too dangerous. So what he has a crazy outfit? My quick-glance judgment blinded me to his potential need. I am left ashamed at my lack of compassion.

“I feel terrible,” I admit to Nick. “I didn’t even think of that.” I sit quietly in my seat as we continue home. My mind races across the many cries for help I could have missed. I make a silent promise to default to compassion, and remember a time I could have easily been dismissed.

OCTOBER 2011- LONDON, ENGLAND

The team on our last night in London

The whirlwind of my business trip in London had come to an end. After 5 days with no sleep, countless presentations, and a six-hour time change, I had reached my breaking point. Naturally, when my wake-up call comes at 6:30, I sleep through it. Fifteen minutes later, another call. Sometime around 7:30, I awake to a banging on my door. It is hotel security. They have come to check on me since I have ignored their many attempts. I assure them that I am alright, but my sleep-deprived sub-conscious prevents me from knowing that I am just 30 minutes away from missing my ride to the airport. I return to my bed.

I awake again at 8 to a ringing phone. These people will not let up. I think, half asleep. This time, it is my co-worker calling from the lobby. “Where are you?” I hear from the phone. This is when it hits me. I am going to miss my flight. “Give me 10 minutes.” I answer back and immediately drop the phone. I hear a faint “Wait, Trisha…” coming from the receiver, but I have no time to chat. I begin frantically tossing my belongings into my suitcase. Still in my clothes from the night before, there is not enough time for a shower. I manage to change and wash my face before rushing out the door.

I arrive in the empty lobby, frantic.

“Have you seen my friends?” I shout to the front desk.

“Do you mean those blokes?” I hear from across the room. I glance out the front door and see a cab pulling away.

“Oh no!” I cry as I sprint out of the hotel. “They have my passport!”

I run down the street yelling after the cab. The car comes to a stop as I open the door.

“We are so sorry; we waited as long as we could. Thank goodness you are awake!” My boss says as she hands me my passport. “You’ll probably need this. Brad is waiting for you in the lobby. He’ll take you to the train station. See you at the gate!” They drive away.

Pathetic and sweaty, I wander back to the hotel. I check out as my coworker, Brad, calls a cab. We arrive at the train station and he sends me on my way.

“Have a safe flight.” He says. “And do you have sunglasses in your bag?”

Confused and very tired, I ignore his last question. I walk to the platform and find that the benches are all occupied. I drop my bags on the ground, and take a defeated rest on my suitcase.

Paddington Station

“Is there anything I can do to help you miss?” I hear from a concerned but calm British accent behind me. Wishing for just one moment of peace, I turn from my hunched over position and am face to face with the shocked gaze of a train attendant.

“Oh, thank you,” I reply, “I’ll be okay, just waiting on my train to the airport.”

“You mean that train, miss?” He points behind me just as its doors are closing. “Not to worry” he says as he sprints toward the moving locomotive.

The attendant reaches the train just as it begins to depart. Panic strikes as I leap from my suitcase and run toward the doors.

“Oy! Oy!” he shouts. “Stop the train!” The doors open, and he extends his arms for my bags. He promptly crams my luggage into the sardine can of a storage area, and walks me to passenger seating.

“Could anyone spare a seat for the lady?” he says as he reaches for my arm. Yeah, right. I think to myself. There is no way anyone on a crowded train is willing to stand for 45 minutes so the girl who held it up can rest her feet. I scan the passengers and notice the same concerned stare.

“Gladly,” says a voice from the back. I am in awe as I move toward his seat. “Thank you so much,” I reply. The attendant looks me in the eye, gives a kind touch and says “Have a safe journey miss.” We depart the station and I take a sigh of relief. I reach into my bag and search for my makeup, hoping to mask my fatigue. It is only now I begin to understand the many concerned stares. Covered in sheet marks and mascara, my face looks like a sad clown. While I had managed to splash a few drops of water in my rush out the door, I had not considered the fact that my eye makeup was not water proof. With all of the running (and London’s extreme humidity) my scraggly ponytail would suggest that I had endured a tornado. I look down to realize that my shirt is on backwards and inside-out. I spend the remainder of the ride freshening up as best as I can, grateful that so many people had come to my help.

While the many dilemmas I find myself in may not be life or death, a helping hand always makes a difference. If it weren’t for the security guard, taxi-driver, Brad, or the train attendant, I would have missed my flight. I could have easily been written off as a stranger in a crowded train station, but the compassion of others came to my rescue. Months later, as I miss an opportunity to lend the same helping hand, I can only take it as a lesson learned. And vow to be that compassionate stranger at the next chance I get.