The One About The Best Little Teacup Pitbull There Ever Was

Yesterday was the ninth anniversary of Madison’s passing (for my MOT friends – yes I light a yahrzeit candle every year for her), and this year, it was also the day I spread my sweet Chloe’s ashes on the trails we used to hike in Topanga.

Remember when we used to take pictures with an actual camera?  Remember sometimes you had your finger in front of the lens and there was a little curved cutout spot in your picture?  This was the coloring on the top of Chloe’s head.  I always said this was G-d’s finger getting in the way while taking a picture of her. 

Chloe came into our lives 51 days after we put Madison down.  There was a pool at Benjamin’s office – how long can Evelyn live without a dog?  One of the paralegals in his office was a big dog rescue person, and she got an email from this fabulous organization called START Rescue, which pulls dogs out of high-kill shelters and transports them up to Oregon, Washington, Montana and Idaho.  Chloe was set for transport; Benjamin sent me the picture and I said, don’t send that dog to Oregon – that’s my dog!  It was truly love at first sight.  She was in our driveway 24 hours later, and sleeping on the bed with us 3 days after that.

Chloe was somewhere between 3 and 5, they told us.  She had an amazing energy – we used to walk about a mile and a half every morning at the beginning, and she would chase every lizard and squirrel in sight.  We had her for about a year in our first house, and then we moved to the doggie dream home – the treehouse in Topanga.  She had a huge backyard, full of trees and wonderful creatures to stalk and chase.  She would spend hours standing under a tree if she saw a lizard or a squirrel in it – even when they had long since relocated themselves.  She actually followed a lizard up a tree whose trunk was angled just enough that she could literally climb up it.  She was 12 feet above the ground, totally focused on that lizard!  Scared the crap out of me!  Benjamin was the hero in that one – he followed her up it and got her to turn around.

After we had been in Topanga for a year, we got Chloe a companion.  Hank joined us on my birthday, in 2014.  We did a really good job of socializing them, and they became the best of buddies.  ‘Baby brother, sometimes boyfriend,’ I called him – there was some humping now and then.  He’s bigger than her and protected her when we sent them to boarding.  They curled up on the couch together, found a way to share space on the bed (I’m still not sure where I slept) and we spent loads of time hiking the trails behind our house. I learned a lot about where *exactly* a lizard’s tail detaches, how long it can stay alive in a dog’s mouth, how fast ground squirrels can really run, what it looks like the moment a dog tears her ACL, and lots of other fun stuff, thanks to my chasey-chaser Chloe.

At the risk of sounding like pretty much every dog owner, I have to tell you that Chloe was both the most beautiful and the cutest dog you’ve ever seen.  When I would leave the house and return, she would come running to the front deck with her lips curled up in what you might think looked like a snarl, but it was really a big wide pittie smile.  I have 8 million stories I could share about cute things she did, and an equal number of pictures on my phone. (I selected just the greatest hits for you, here.)

Two summers ago, we picked up stakes and headed to NorCal.  We needed a change of pace and scenery, and we found an area we liked.  Unfortunately, after just a few months, I realized that the move hadn’t really been a good idea for me, and more importantly, Benjamin and I decided to amicably go our separate ways.  After giving it a lot of thought, and with great reluctance, we decided that he would keep Hank and I would take Chloe.  She and I moved back to the Valley and hung out with my parents for awhile while I house hunted. 

Fortunately I found a house that is really perfect for me, just as the COVID shutdown was beginning.  It was also the perfect house for Chloe to call home for the last year of her life.  She’s a huge part of the reason I bought a one-story house, and she certainly appreciated splitting her time between sunbathing on her patio and snoring in my office (all of my work videos have a soundtrack in the background….).  Our neighborhood has tons of lizards!  A few coyotes too, which we’ve been able to avoid. 

Chloe had one ACL surgery in 2015 and tore the other ACL the week we were moving back down to SoCal.  The chasing instinct was always there, but her body’s ability to do what her brain wanted to do was declining.  I knew last summer that the decision would not be far off. 

It’s incredibly hard to make the decision to put a dog down.  With Madison, we didn’t really have a choice – we were told this is the end.  With Chloe, I was much more attuned to the signs – I looked at her face and asked her regularly if she was going to tell me when it was time.  She was at the point where her back legs really didn’t do an effective job of holding her (well-fed) body up – the legs would sort of ‘melt’ as she was standing there in front of me, begging for cheese.  Or broccoli.  Or edamame.  She put on a brave face for me because she knew her purpose in life – aside from making me figure out where exactly on the bed to sleep – was to get me through the transition to being single again.  And that she did, beautifully.

And so, with the heaviest of heart, and with an incredibly good friend with me at her side, I made the decision to let her go on March 13.  I gave her the gift of having a vet come to the house, so she was comfortable on one of her favorite nests, being fed snacks and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos up until she peacefully fell asleep.  I’ve second-guessed my decision every day for the past two weeks.  I never thought I could love a dog more than I loved Madison, and yet I cannot express in words how much I loved this teacup pit bull, as we used to call her. 

Her ashes arrived a week later, and I waited four days to open the box.  Benjamin helped me through the entire situation, from decision to box-opening.  And I decided that Topanga, where she lived for 6 of her 9 years with me, was the right place for me to release her.  It was 86 degrees yesterday, and yet one of my colleagues with whom I hike regularly came with me to keep me company.  We recited the Mourner’s Kaddish, and then sprinkled her across a few of our favorite trails.  I couldn’t have done this without amazing support from my friends.

How long can Evelyn live without a dog?  Well, 51 days when coupled with another human.  Less than that, when not.  I’ll share the new addition when the details are final! 

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The One About Feeling Helpless, Far From Home

It was April 29, 1992.  I was renting a room in someone’s townhouse in Rockville, Maryland.  I had finished my undergraduate studies at Johns Hopkins a few months earlier, and had moved to the DC suburbs to pursue my Master’s degree.

April 29, 1992.  I was a week away from my 21^st birthday, and I had spent a very intense 10 days volunteering on a successful primary campaign in Philadelphia.

April 29, 1992, was a Wednesday.  After sleeping in following the victory party, I hopped into my car to return to Rockville.  I got home at about 6 pm and flipped on the news.  I was horrified to see Los Angeles, my hometown, going up in flames, as a riot moved through following the verdicts in the Rodney King police beating case.  I was 3,000 miles away from home.  I felt helpless.

It’s April 29, 2015.  For the past two days, I’ve watched the tensions in Baltimore manifest themselves in rioting and burning.  I lived in Baltimore – granted, not primarily the parts that are filled with strife right now.  But I’ve walked down North Avenue, past that check-cashing place, past that hair extension place.  I’ve seen the desperation, the boarded-up homes in East Baltimore, just blocks away from Johns Hopkins Hospital.  I’ve been to Mondawmin Mall.

I’m 3,000 miles away from the city that is the only other city that I’ve considered “home” in my life.  Baltimore – that gritty, segregated, flawed city you probably first saw on “Homicide” or “The Wire.”  Baltimore seems to be precariously balancing on the thin line that separates most of America today.  And again, I’m 3,000 miles away from “home,” and I feel helpless.

Interestingly, I’ll be in Baltimore for a long-scheduled conference next week – happy to say it’s a conference that (so far) has not changed its plans to meet there.  I’ll find a way to show my love and support for Baltimore, my home away from home, next week.

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The One About Staying Hydrated

So I was sitting at O’Hare Airport last Friday night, on the floor, staring out the window, eating airport food, chatting with a friend who had been on the same college visit trip.  A pilot walked up, wheeling his Jeps behind him.

I’m a pilot, so I like to chat with pilots.  So we start chatting.  He invited me to come up to the cockpit before the flight; not the first time I’ve been invited up and on a few occasions, I’ve taken them up on it.

I think I really just wanted another excuse to show you this picture. From an overnight flight to Boston in 2013.

So we board the flight – 8:15 pm out of Chicago for LA.  It had been a long week.

About a half hour into the flight, a guy – Asian, about 30 I would say – came walking down the aisle as if headed to the bathroom.  I was sitting on the aisle on the left side.  A row ahead of me, the walking guy sort of stumbled into the guy sitting on the aisle on the right side.  The sitting guy sort of pushed back on him, and he made it one more row and basically fell into my lap.

My first reaction was, “oh my g-d, how rude, look where you are going!”  And then I realized that I was supporting his entire body weight and he was clearly not in control of himself.  And he wasn’t drunk.

The sitting guy realized that the now-stumbling guy is having some type of medical situation, and came up behind him, with his arms underneath the stumbling guy’s arms, and when it was clear that continuing to stand up was not an option, he laid him down in the aisle.  He asked the guy what day it was, and he responded clearly that it was the 11th.  I asked him what his name was.  “Jonathan.”

We called the flight attendants, who brought a cloth to put on his face.   I offered him some water and pulled out my trusty dark chocolate raisinets, in case we had a blood sugar situation on our hands.  The way he was laid in the aisle, my hands were at his knees, so I kept one hand on his knee and kept telling him, “We’re with you, Jonathan.”

Then the announcement came that you never want to hear on an airplane:  “Is there a physician on board the aircraft?”  Two people from first class responded.  The flight attendant pulled out an emergency kit, and the first doc immediately began using the stethoscope and the sphygmomanometer (I am shocked at how many people know this word and don’t have to look it up!  Pat yourself on the back, smartie!)

Jonathan’s blood pressure and pulse rates were high.  I asked him if he had eaten or drunk anything that day – remember this was an 8:15 pm flight.  He said no.  I was relaying information back to the other two flight attendants – the first one was straddling him in the aisle (which I sort of thought was odd and a little bit constricting but what do I know?) and two more were behind him.  At some point it occurred to them to tell the cockpit.

The first doc (the second doc didn’t really do much the whole time!) told the flight attendants to get him sugar water and tomato juice.  He was dehydrated.  He needed sugar and salt.  Electrolytes.  The flight attendants brought Sprite and tomato juice, and then they all left.  The original guy one row ahead of me helped Jonathan up to his knees.  I opened both cans and poured a cup of each, and he downed both of them.  He literally got up and walked away, leaving me holding two half-full cans, and that was that.

And I thought that was the most exciting part of our flight until I got off, and saw the pilot I had chatted with before, who said to me, “Did you see Buzz Aldrin on our flight?”  And he showed me pictures.  Indeed, Buzz Aldrin, wearing a bright red flight suit that said “Dr. Buzz Aldrin” on it – though he doesn’t want to talk to you (I tried – saw him at baggage claim – told him I was a pilot – I could see him in his mind wanting to say to me, “You fly a single-engine putt-putt and I’ve been on the f@#$#@#ing MOON!”) and won’t let you take his picture.  Yes indeed Buzz Aldrin was also in first class on that flight.

Don’t forget to stay hydrated, boys and girls.

 

 

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The One About Networking. Again.

So I went to another networking group the other night, one I’ve attended in the past. There were many familiar faces in the room. We were given a blank Bingo card and told to walk around the room and get people to sign the squares. Networking Bingo, as it were. Fun. I just love icebreakers.

So I found myself standing with a guy I’d met before – a chiropractor – and a very tall woman whom I know I have attended networking groups with before, because she has a very distinct look, and I knew as soon as I saw her that she was a speaking coach. But she was wearing a guest name tag. So I welcomed her, and said my name, and reminded her that we’d met before.

Blank stare.

I was pretty sure that I had actually met her more than once, so I started naming groups I attend.  She shook her head no.  I said to her, “Do you remember seeing me stand up and say that I’m an independent college counselor?”  Nope.

So I asked her what groups she attends.  This Chamber.  That Rotary.  Nothing.  Then she named the one.  The one group where I had met her.  The one group that met last week, for lunch on Tuesday.  The one group WHERE I HAD BEEN THE FIVE-MINUTE SPEAKER THE PREVIOUS WEEK.

So here’s the thing about networking.  We all do it.  It’s about getting your name and your card out there.  But it’s about making sure people LIKE you and WANT to refer people to you.  And what makes people like you?  Making people feel like, even though you are there to promote yourself, you are looking out for opportunities for them as well.  Who wants to network with someone who can’t be bothered to remember what anyone else does?

So after a little bit of “oh, thank goodness we finally figured THAT out” bullshit, she moved onto the topic of my work.  And then she proceeded to tell me how I could refer my clients to her.  “You know,” she said, “if you  have clients who are going for college interviews, I can help prepare them for that.”  I told her that after 15 years of being a college interviewer, I take care of interview prep.

I left the meeting with another woman I’ve met several times – someone who was also in the room for my five-minute presentation the week before.  She works for a local cemetery, helping people take care of “advanced planning” issues.  She told me that the same person had informed her that she could refer HER clients to the speech coach if they wanted to deliver a stunning eulogy.

Yeah.

The One About Flying Around on Labor Day, 2013

I sent this photo of me with my dad and 8228J – “Juliet” – his Piper Seneca that he has flown since 1987, when the Daily News asked for photos and memories of Van Nuys Airport (VNY).

My dad got his pilot’s license a few years before I was born.  In fact, he relishes telling people that my first “memory” of flying came when my mom was 7 months pregnant.  There are some details you probably don’t need to hear.  There was barfing involved.

In spring, 1996, I was working on a project in Florida; I took myself to the airport and announced, “I’ve been flying right seat for 25 years, I’m ready to learn.”  I didn’t tell my parents about my lessons for three weeks, when I soloed on my 25th birthday.

I haven’t flown for awhile; I’ve recently developed a little bit of positional vertigo, and really, who wants a dizzy pilot?  But I was thrilled when I was chosen (at random, so they say) by the Daily News to go up in Lear 35 with legendary pilot Clay Lacy, who runs one of the larger charter flight operations at Van Nuys Airport, one of the busiest general aviation airports in the world.

Dodger Stadium was empty on Labor Day

I was able to take a guest, so of course I took my dad, who arrived wearing the shirt I got him after I took my checkride in 1996:  a green polo with the words “My daughter is a PILOT too!” stitched in blue on the front breast pocket.  He’s worn that shirt so much over the past 17 years I can’t believe it’s not in tatters by now.

I did actually get to fly with Clay one other time many years ago, a ride home after an aviation convention in Atlanta.  But I’d never flown in a Lear, and this week’s flight was just for fun.  Four of the six passengers were pilots.  We took off from VNY, with its freshly repaved 8,001-foot runway (longer than Burbank’s 6,500-foot runway 7 miles to the east), and headed through the Sepulveda Pass, past the Hollywood sign and Griffith Observatory, over downtown LA, and then Dodger Stadium.  We were at about 2,000 feet the whole time.

Then we headed out to Pasadena and circled the Rose Bowl, empty except for the joggers circling the 3-mile path and golfers wondering why a jet was flying so low.  Then we turned west again, flew past Burbank and VNY where we started, and skirted through the Santa Susanna Pass at not much higher than the rocky hills, to the Reagan Library.  Clay gave us a nice view with a 45-degree bank, which made me sit back and stop shooting photos for a moment (veritgo is FUN boys and girls!).  Then he decided to show us what a 1970 Lear could do by punching the engines and climbing at a rate of about 10,000 feet per minute.  Thankfully he did that for less than a minute, as we topped out just over 10,000 feet and headed over to Malibu, where we descended (quickly!) and flew up the coast.  Here’s a little video of our ride over Malibu – we were at about 1,000 feet (you may want to turn your speakers down as the engines are loud!):

And finally, we headed over the hills and back home to Van Nuys.  You can see all of the photos I took here.

Pretty nice photo of LA City Hall!

When I posted a photo after we landed, one of my cousins reminded me that I live a charmed life.  I do.

Thanks VNY, thanks Daily News, and thanks Clay, for the ride!

Clay chatted with us about 50+ years of flying after our flight