Eulogy for Ripley

It is with deep sadness that I tell you about the death of Ripley, our 16 year old Pomeranian yesterday (Sept. 27th). An inoperable, benign tumor in her jaw finally got the best of her. She is survived in death by her mother, Fancy Dancer, 18 years old, and of course, Jer and me.

Ripley was large for a toy Pom, tipping the scales at 14 pounds. In contrast, her mother is barely 6 and ½ pounds. Food was her principal joy, making this tumor doubly troubling.

She had a waddle/swagger to her walk and an irascible nature at times, prompting me to give her the nickname of “Aint Bea” from the Andy Griffith Show. She was not above snapping at a grandson who ran too quickly in her general vicinity. They learned to give her a wide berth. She was the spinster aunt of our household.

Ripley came from Jer’s side of our blended family. After my 15 year old Schnauzer, Daisy Mae, died years ago, she attached herself to me. The last four years that I have been working from home, she was my constant and boon companion, moving from the Babynut office on the second floor, down to the basement to fill orders, back to the office and out to the mail box. She would also sit in the yard with me as I planted or weeded, barking at passersby who thought she was a puppy with her short summer “do”.

Over the last few weeks the tumor grew larger and the secondary infection that weeped through her fur got worse. Her joie de vivre lessened until at last even food held no allure. The Vet came late in the afternoon. Crystal drew two beautiful pictures. One is a portrait of Ripley with the words “We love you, Ripley”. That one was buried with her. The other picture was of me, Jer, Jordan, Crystal, Fancy and Ripley with the words ”We love you, Ripley. Thanks for being our friend.”

The grandkids left for home, and Jer, Fancy and I were in attendance as Ripley breathed her last breath. She is buried under the large wild rose bush near the front porch, where she will be joined by her mother in time. The second picture Crystal drew is hanging in the downstairs bathroom, where Ripley loved to sleep. No longer will growls be heard to surprise unwary users of that toilet.

Rest in Peace, Ripley.

Organic Cotton - Good for the Planet!

I sell organic cotton baby clothes and organic cotton maternity and nursing clothes on Babynut because I truly believe they are good for babies and mothers. Always in my mind the health of the baby was first and foremost. And then I started researching information about organic cotton for an artcile on my web site, Why Use Organic Cotton? I realized as I wrote that article that: not only is organically grown cotton good for baby's skin and mother's skin, organically grown cotton is good for planet Earth!

90 million acres are devoted to the production of cotton worldwide, consuming 25% of all pesticides used on our planet. Genetically modified seed accounts for 50% of the cotton grown in the United States. We can only speculate about the long-term consequences of genetic engineering. Petroleum based hydrocarbons (chemical fertilizers) are intensively applied to cotton crops to speed up and enhance the plant's growth cycle and productivity. The runoff of these chemicals pollutes our watershed and food chains.

Organically grown cotton is not treated with pesticides, herbicides or petroleum based fertilizers, nor does it use genetically engineered seed. In the United States, Egypt, India and other countries, farmers are raising cotton organically, without the use of costly, often ineffective and dangerous chemicals. They are courageously developing alternative sources of the world's favorite natural fiber.

So I have come to the conclusion that whenever I can possibly afford to do so, I will buy organic cotton sheets, towels, clothes, toys, etc. Because if I don't, the health of the planet is at stake.

For my son, Joe

अनंदा
Joe, you have always wanted to see how your middle name - Ananda - looked in Hindi. Well, here it is!

Family Endures

I was talking to my cousin, Helene, on the phone this morning. We talked about a book she is writing about our family. Helene and I are first cousins. Our mothers were sisters. They came to this country from Russia after WWI. Helene is writing the story of our family in Russia and then in America up to the point when all the cousins of our generation were born. I am the youngest cousin of my generation.

Helene said to me, "In essence I am looking for people who no longer exist and I am finding them." She is giving new life to our mothers and aunts and uncles, to our granparents and great grandparents. They will no longer be two dimensional pictures in an old album. She is infusing them with personalities, with hopes and dreams.

"Does family remember family?" she asked me. "There is something that pulls families apart and brings them back together. Something in the DNA that makes us recognize each other."

I agreed with her and, to illustrate her point, will relate a story from my own recent experience, but on the paternal side of my family. I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania, went to college in Boston, then moved to California. In essence I moved away from my family of origin to find my own way in the world. While I kept in contact with my mother's side of the family, I lost touch with the uncles, aunts and cousins on my father's side.

In the last few years I started to reconnect with some of my first cousins on my father's side of the family, when I came to Pittsburgh to visit with my step mother who lives in a nursing home there. Email helps keep us in touch with each other's lives now and erases time and distance.

A few months ago I got an email from my cousin, Marcia, who got my email address from her brother, Phil. Her father and my father were brothers, which makes us first cousins. We had not seen or heard from each other since we were in high school - over 40 years ago!!! We have each been married, had children, grandchildren, but never did our paths actually cross. Marcia told me via email that she was planning a trip from her home in Chicago to an island in Alaska where grizzly bears lived. She wanted to know whether she could stop by our house on the way to visit for a few days. We live in Washington state.

I said of course - come on over! And then I put the dates of her visit on my calendar. I didn't give it much thought until a week before she was to arrive, when she emailed me again to give me her flight arrival time and cell phone number. "Wow, she's really coming," I said to my husband, Jer. "I really do not know her at all. What if we don't get along?"

My husband and I discussed her upcoming visit. I realized I really wasn't worried about her coming. "If she wants to come and see you, it is meant to be," Jer said. "Trust to Intent (the cause behind all actions) that you and Marcia will connect in a meaningful way."

I agreed. Rather than feeling apprehensive, I was actualy looking forward to her visit. When the day arrived I picked her up from the airport shuttle with my grandchildren in tow. She was short with curly hair like me and completely without makeup of any kind - also like me. We went to a park so she could stretch her legs and the kids could play. As we walked along a path together, we were both feeling the pieces of our separate lives - so long apart - coming back together.

Marcia is a healer, trained in Healing Touch Therapy. She also studies with a Cherokee Shaman. While my path has been to study with east Indian holy men and women, the lessons we have been learning were basically the same. We were both actively pursuing a path of devotion and learning on the way to (hopefully!) enlightenment.

Marcia helped me to heal a nagging chronic injury to my feet. She held my grandson's energy while he underwent surgery to repair decay to his teeth, she taught my granddaughter how to make princesses out of Hollyhock flowers, she bought me the book "Animal Speaks", she went running with my husband, Jer. When she left three days later I could not imagine a time when we were not connected, when our lives were far apart.

I never met Marcia's husband - a Rabbi who died six years ago. I have never met her three children, her six grandchildren. She never met any of my children or grandchildren until she came for this three-day visit. It didn't matter. The family that we are both a part of pulled us back together, helped us reconnect.

We realized how similar our childhoods had been. Both of our mothers died when we were very young and both of our fathers died when we were teens. Marcia is six years older than I am, and she often spent the summers at our house with my older sister before I was born and when I was a baby. She had loving memories of my mother, the mother I lost when I was three.

The visit was a blessing to us both in so many ways. We regained a part of our past and enriched our present. If we never see each other again, we will be forever changed by this three-day slice of time spent together. On the shuttle back to SeaTac Airport, Marcia wrote to me: "I am feeling and thinking of our time together, which seems like it always was. I want to thank you...for the gift of who you are that allowed for the seamless relationship we had and have."

It is never too late to reconnect, to touch the life of someone we once knew and loved. Family can nurture us in all phases of our lives: as babies, children, young adults, crones. There are reasons we were born to our own particular families. We have lessons to learn, gifts to give and receive. I am fortunate to have such wonderful cousins on both sides of my family. Family endures, love endures, hope endures. And so it is.