Of Mice, Men, Hamsters and Little Girls

My daughter lost her first pet today. Well, her first furry pet. Yes, she's lost fish before and yes, she was sad, but it seems that the watery grave they return to has gotten less painful for her as she has gotten older.
Yesterday we returned from Thanksgiving in MN and she went to check on Bonnie, her dwarf hamster. Bonnie had died while we were gone. Harper's little heart was broken. Her brother was sad as well, but Harper was devastated. It's such a blessing to own a pet; they give unconditional love every day. yes, they can leave hair all over and can be messy, but that doesn't seem to be limited to just pets. Bonnie was her little compadre, her OWN pet, the one she was solely responsible for. And so this blog today is dedicated to Bonnie, in the words of Harper. It doesn't matter if you have owned a hamster or a cat or a dog......it will touch you regardless.

Bonnie the Hamster
by Harper

   Bonnie is a beautiful ginger and cream colored hamster with a black stripe running from her head down to her tail. In the winter, she turned gray. She had big, kind, understanding eyes and was very smart. I bet she still is. 
  When I first met her, I put my finger up to the glass, and she put her fuzzy paw up, too. I would beg Mom to take me to see her before I owned her. I got her 5 days before my family, Nieve, and I went to Hayward. I love her, because we are a match made in heaven.
  Over the years she acquired some nicknames. Bon Bon was the first, and I used it almost every day. Bitty Bonnie, Da and The Bonster, and BB were some others. When Bonnie hissed, it wasn't a snake-like sound, like a cat, or a growling sound, like a dog. It was a squeak. A loud, squeaky-toy squeak. I loved it. I only heard twice in my life. Once when Bonnie was being held by her vet for the first time, and once when I scruffed her for to long.
  When she was angry at you, she'd spit her food at you. It was more funny than threatening, but we always left her alone if that happened.
  Bonnie was the hardiest hamster in the world. She survived, in order, a URI (Upper Respiratory Infection), 3 major cat attacks (one in which Zeus the cat knocked her cage off my desk 5 feet to the floor where it shattered in to all it's little attachable pieces with Bonnie landing safely and unharmed in my swimsuit drawer which Zeus had opened the night before and that I hadn't bothered to close), a tumor (which was about the size of my first finger, then it shrunk to a tiny pimple sized bump and then it became slightly larger), a seizure, and at least 180 small cat attacks. Despite all this, she lived a year and a half beyond a Djungarian (DJ for short) hamsters average life span.
  She had her own car, too. It was a red car with flames on the side and back and front lights and a license plate. I customized it myself, turning it into the "Bitty Bonnie Mobile." I even customized the license plate so it said "I'm NOT the small!" Inside the frame was a red hamster wheel she could run in, so I could swap the modes. If If it was lower, her running powered it. If it was high, she could run, but it wouldn't move.
   I joked about her being a "Grumpy Old Lady" almost every day. She nibbled and bit almost everyone but me. In her last year, Zane, my brother, would pick her up , but if I set her on him, he'd squeal like a little girl.
  She starred in the home made movie Super Luna. She was also in the Super Luna comics. I was going to make a second Super Luna, titled "Super Luna 2, Bitty Bonnie's Story", but I never got around to it. I regret that.
  In the finals days of her life, she wasn't falling apart or sleeping all the time. She wasn't withdrawn or depressed. She wasn't sick or weakening. She was her happy, hyper self. More hyper, in fact, then I'd ever seen her. She ran around day and night. She ran so much her wheel shook, rattled, and squeaked. Her eyes were bright and her little was filled with tunnels. On Thanksgiving, in her final hours, she dug, ran, ate, and was happy. She dug so many tunnels that her tiny TV house tipped over. Then, though this drove me insane, she went to sleep in her water bottle passage. I had always forced her out, worried about her getting soaked. Once, she had dyed her tail green by sleeping in her puddle with green food. But anyways, as she slept, her old, tired heart gave away, and she went to a better place in her sleep. I cried at first, but everyone does. I'm happier when I tell myself she's in a better place, but I'm still sad. Bonnie touched my heart in so many ways, and I'll always miss her until we're reunited in heaven. She, to me, was the perfect hamster , and I love her. Whoever said hamsters were tiny obviously didn't count their hearts.

Joe Paterno....a parent's take

So I am having a bit of trouble with all the adulations of Joe Paterno. I feel sorry for Paterno's wife and his children and grandchildren who have all lost someone they loved very much. Yet, I find my stomach is a bit queasy over the outpouring of support for someone who played a part in the sexual abuse of a child. I read an article where Paterno said it wouldn't have mattered if he had been given more information about the abuse, because he couldn't understand the "rape of a man". Really, Joe? I find this hard to believe. You never heard the don't drop the soap jokes in your locker room? Saw the Shawshank Redemption? Read the news? Yet, in the same instance, he went on to say that if someone had touched his child or grandchildren, he would have gathered up a group of people and given the molester a bloody nose. His wife's take is more blunt: "If someone touched my child, there wouldn't be a trial, I would have killed them. That would be my attitude because you destroyed somebody for life. " Yet, Joe passed it on to the powers that be. And then sat back and DID NOTHING FURTHER ABOUT IT. No phone calls. No check ins. Nothing. And that is the part that troubles me that most. This man, who supposedly instilled accountability in his players, did not follow up with his higher ups because he "didn't know which way to go. So rather than get in there in make a mistake...." Let's finish this, shall we? Rather than taint the reputation of his school, he didn't follow up on the abuse of a child. Where are the ethics that Joe constantly hammered home to his players? Joe continues to live his life while this child (and the others molested by Sandusky) are relegated to a life of shame and fear and pain. I feel no sympathy for Joe Paterno. My sympathy lies with the victims....the children who could have been protected had he followed his own code of ethics and spoken up. The outpourings of love and support make me ask....what if it was your brother? Your son? Your child? Would you still be continuing to idolize this man who basically tossed your loved aside? The out of touch grandpa act just doesn't cut it for me. After receiving the phone call that Paterno had been fired, his wife called back the trustee and snapped that Paterno "deserved better." Paterno was not the victim and he did not deserve better simply because he was a winning football coach....a man who got paid to coach a game....a man who's wins brought in millions of dollars for a university. No. The children who were abused deserved better. And they were failed in epic proportions.

goodbye carol goldfish

my friend carol goldfish passed away yesterday after a heroic battle with cancer. carol was a tiny powerhouse of a person. you would never know she was in pain, never know she was suffering. she was a dynamo to be reckoned with when it came to her life, and more importantly, her faith. she ran three bible studies at church and attended numerous more. she glowed with the joy of god's love. she was kind, compassionate, and inspiring. with all her personal health issues, she still always took the time to care for others. two weeks ago she was telling us she would see us after the new year and now she is gone. my guess is that she is singing loudly with the angels in heaven, as carol not only loved music but loved to sing. cancer sucks. death is painful. even though i know that i will see her again, the thought of not seeing her now hurts. i pray for peace for her children and that they know how many lives their mother touched....mine included. i will miss you, carol. i already do. yet i am so happy that you are now cancer and pain free. and i know that your voice has definitely been added to that angelic chorus. god bless you carol. you will be missed.

Richard Hoffman, Coe College Music Professor - A tribute

I remember when I arrived at Coe. I was all about music. I wanted to be a music teacher. I wanted to perform on Broadway. I wanted to sing my way through life. Until I took theory. And then I realized that theory is much like math. And I'm not good at them. And, to quote a little Lord of the Rings, "me hatesssss it."

I also realized that there's Coe College and then there's the Coe College Conservatory of Music. It's a secret little part of the college and, since I don't like secrets, it cemented for me that I wasn't going to make music my life. Except for now. Which I do. Which he knew.

I auditioned late for music scholarship and, because of that, didn't get any money for voice my first year. But I met a very quirky man in the hallway that day. "My GAWD," he gasped at me. "That was amazing. Where did you learn to sing like that?" And he wandered off. "Lovely," I thought. "There are weirdos at this school." It wasn't that he WAS weird....he was just so dramatic and so big and so Hoff!

Imagine my surprise to find out that that "weirdo" was actually a very talented, very tempermental, amazing director at the college named Richard Hoffman. And for the next four years and beyond, my life would intertwine with his.

I had to drop out of Collage, Coe's now extinct show choir/small group performance when I was a sophomore because of knee surgery. (And yes, it was like Glee, complete with all the talent, all the divas, all the drama, and all the fun.) I hadn't auditioned my freshman year because I was too terrified. I screwed up my courage my junior year and auditioned again. And thus began a two year journey of being screamed at, being terrified, being challenged, being beyond exhausted, having my feet ache, and feeling as though every bone in my body was smashed. And thus began my journey of being encouraged, still being challenged, learning to tap dance because I was thrown in the front row, becoming a pro at winging it (remember Matt Clark?), belonging to part of an amazing group of people, seeing the south in style, and being nuked when the lights first came on at Disney.

But I digress. That's another story entirely.

Richard Hoffman lived and breathed Collage. And he expected his performers to do the same. And sometimes we didn't. And when we didn't,ooooooo, child. Watch out! But for as many times as I thought Hoff was a bully, there were as many times when I was proven wrong.

Richard Hoffman died yesterday.

The man was so complicated. One minute I hated him, the next I adored him.

I remember when he took my friend Jen and I aside prior to a performance and handed us each 2 bandaids. "Go put them on the girls," he said. "I know sex sells but this is a g rated show." And we went and put bandaids on our nipples. What kind of person would have someone do that? Hoff. And why would we do that? Because it was Hoff. And it was a g rated show.

I can't forget Hoffography which consisted of weird jazz hands and "doing your own thing." I can't forget when he would greet us. "Hellllloooooo Chickens!" I still use this.

I can't forget when he would yell out "FREEDANCE". Yes, Hoff will be missed. That strange little man who I met so many years ago - my own little garden gnome. For every time I wanted to slap him, there were double the times I wanted to hug him.

He showed how hard work and passion can overcome anything and how a family isn't just your blood relatives - it's truly about those you love and support you - who grow with you through every blister, song, and bump in the road.

I hope everyone up above is ready for Hoff. Let the freedance begin.

Rise Above

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Used by Nelson Mandela in his 1994 inaugural speech

Dear Harper and Zane,

There's been a lot in the news lately about what can happen when kids are mean to other kids. Some people will want to make it into something huge and then try to disect every aspect of it, from the cruelness of society to the abuse of the internet and technology. And I will agree with them on certain points. But the bottom line is much simpler: People can be mean. People think it's okay to make fun of others who are different than them. And it's not okay.

See, some of these kids have been picked on for being different. For example, a boy might like a boy. Or a girl might like a girl. Some kids have been picked on because someone is jealous. Some kids have been picked on just because. And again, I say, people can be mean.

But you don't have to be.

Harper, you have an amazing gift. You understand what it is like to be a little different than everyone else and, because of that, you go out of your way to be kind to people. I am so proud of you. And I hope you never lose sight of that gift or that amazing part of yourself.

Zane, you understand what it is like to have someone in your life that people might consider different. And you have the gift of loving everyone equally and accepting others....just like your sister does. Never lose that gift.

God is love. God created everyone with special talents and likes and dislikes and abilities. God doesn't make mistakes. Love those in your life with all your heart. Treat them with kindness and compassion. Defend those who others take pride in persecuting. You may be their only friend. You may be the one who makes a difference. You have that ability.

Life is an amazing gift that you have been given. You are amazing gifts that I have been given and it would break my heart if one day you decided to throw away the gift that is you because someone was being cruel. So I tell you this:

Never give up.
Never give up.
Never surrender to the cruelty of others.
Never give up.

NEVER EVER think there isn't something you can tell me or dad. Because we love you, unconditionally, for all the time. NEVER EVER think that life isn't worth living, because it is. NEVER EVER forget that we are always here to support you, guide you, listen to you. Because, again, we LOVE YOU. Every part of you from the freckles on your noses to the hairs on your head to the feet that keep growing and growing and growing. Every part. Inside. Outside. You are beautifully and wonderfully and awesomely made.

You are surrounded by people who love you, who you can always talk to. Do so. Encourage others to do so. They are loved as well and deserve the chance to know how truly wonderful life is and will be.

Treat others with gentleness, because you might have someone who looks big and strong on the outside with a scared heart on the inside. You are never to small or to young to make a difference. Treat everyone with the love and respect that you desire and it will come back to you....maybe not right away, and maybe you will never know the difference it made, but know that you will have made a difference.

You don't know who the Beatles were, but I hope that someday you do. In the meantime, know that one of them said something incredibly important:

Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

You are my sun, my moon, my stars, my world.

All my love,
Mom

Volleyball to the side of the head

Harper played volleyball yesterday. She's the smallest on the team. She has, in my non biased mom opinion, the most drive on the team. She wills her team to win. She challenges herself to do better. She wants to serve the ball over the net. And when she does, she does a funny little dance that makes my heart sing.

About two weeks ago, she did just that and the crowd errupted in cheers. See, us moms and dads and grandparents know who has gotten the ball over by now and, when someone who hasn't done so in the past finally makes it....well, we let them hear it. However, since that time, most of her serves haven't made it over. They've made it to the side of the court. They've made it to the people in the crowd. They've almost taken out the ref. And they have bounced back harmlessly from the net.

Friday, something short of a miracle happened. Not only did she serve it over the net, but it was an ace AND it was the winning point of the game. Oh yeah, it was a good night for her.

Today, the JV played 2 separate games, 3 games each. The coaches do a good job of mixing up stronger players with those who are still learning. Harper is 49 pounds, with little matchstick arms and long colt legs. It was Christmas in July again because Harper not only served over the net....she did it twice in a row and scored points.

During one game she got whacked in the side of the head with the ball. Her coaches wanted to know if she wanted them to take her out but she said no. She wanted to finish. So, blinking back tears, she carried on while I sat, stranded, on the side of the court. After the game, Coach Franck gave her a hug and she collapsed in tears. A good friend went and checked on her and her coach brought her back from the bathroom where she had fled out of embarrassment. Sitting next to one of her coaches, she looked so tiny and vulnerable. She made me want to hobble across the court and scoop her up, even though she is ten years old. And yet she saw me watching her and waved at me with a smile, ready to go.

Now the coaches that we have for our team are great people, the epitome of what you want in a coach. Harper has learned a lot from them. But in cases like this, where Ms. Tiny But Mighty keeps going, even with a ball to the side of the head, I think she's the teacher. She shows that it doesn't matter WHEN you play but THAT you play. It doesn't matter if you weigh 110 pounds or 49. What matters is that you make the most out of every second of every game, of every day, of every life. And when life boots you in the head, you cry, but you keep going. There are always going to be balls hurled in your direction. It's the ability to serve them right back that counts.

A Lazy Dazy Afternoon

Ahhh, the midwest. I don't think I could ever live somewhere that doesn't have the season changes. Today is no exception. It's gray and it's chilly and I love it. Tomorrow it will be 80 and sunny. Where else can you have such extremes? I'm on day 7 of my surgery recovery and this laying in bed with the foot elevated thing is getting realllly old. My nationality consists of Norweigan and German. Translation - laid back but extremely stubborn. I WANT to be up. I WANT to be doing things. I do NOT want to be laying in bed, feeling the lovely brownie that I had with lunch settling on to my hips. Though, on the flip side, it IS rather nice to have the children and hubby catering to me. No, no........What am I saying? I think every mom has a daydream that entails being waited on UNTIL it actually happens. This is how my past days have gone:

Hear large crash

Me: What was that?

Daughter: What?

Me: I SAID what was that?

Daughter: I can't hear you. What?

Me: WHAT WAS THAT?

Son: Why are you yelling?

Me: Huh? Because your sister said you can't hear me. What was that crash?

Son: Oh. I don't know. I will go check.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

Me: Hello? Hello?

No answer. Imagination left to run wild. I have to say that recovering is not as relaxing as one would hope.