Hello beautiful readers! I am on vacation with my family, but I will be back with fresh content on September 8! In the meantime, enjoy some beautiful pictures of the beach! Please, everyone… stay safe and wear a mask! “See” you in two weeks!
I got up for sunrise yoga but I was a hair too late!
Cotton Candy skies at sunset…
Family dinner!
I was so honored to be the voice of the volunteers on this segment from our NY WABC affiliate.
Over three years ago, I began volunteering my time at Marty’s Place, a sanctuary for senior dogs. When I stopped working in 2014, I felt it was my duty to volunteer my time somewhere, because I wanted to give something back to the greater good while also instilling within me a sense of purpose. Before discovering Marty’s Place, I had been volunteering at the MS Center where I have been a patient for almost 17 years, at the request of the medical director there. While I enjoyed my time there (working the front desk, answering phones, confirming appointments, and trying to make the patients feel a little more comfortable), I felt undervalued and unappreciated, and without anyone even holding a conversation with me, suddenly I was “no longer needed”, after being begged for months to please volunteer there. As much as I was upset and surprised that the people who I have considered integral members of my care team didn’t even give me the courtesy of a conversation about my position there, I was equally as happy because that’s when I found out about Marty’s Place. It was the best thing that could have happened, because I would happily spend my time with dogs rather than MS patients (or people in general) any day of the week.
I used to call this guy a little Tootsie Roll because he was a chunk when he first arrived, but now thanks to a proper diet and exercise program, he is so slim!
Marty’s place is NOT your ordinary facility. It is NOT a shelter. It is a loving home for senior dogs (age seven and up) who have found themselves without their human family for a myriad of reasons. Some of their owners end up in long term care facilities where they can not take their animals with them. Some of their owners’ life circumstances change. And some of their owners pass away with no family able to take on the responsibility of a senior dog, many of whom require special attention. Even though these stories are heart-breaking, most of the dogs who find their way to the sanctuary settle in quite nicely.
These are the “twins”… not really twins but bonded sisters who are the absolute sweetest.
I drive a good 40 minutes each way to be there because I love it so much and as soon as I enter the driveway, my heart feels so much joy because I know what awaits when I enter the facility. Let me just tell you that there could be no better fit for me to volunteer my services. Think of an assisted living facility, but for dogs. It’s bright and clean, and each dog is loved and cared for according to his or her own needs. They even do aqua-therapy with some of the dogs in order to ease medical conditions that benefit from this kind of activity. This is not a shelter, it is a home. My job is to hang out with the “residents”, playing, belly-rubbing, loving, hugging, walking, and feeding them. At one point on my very first day there, as I was on the floor snuggling with three different dogs, I remember looking around and feeling overwhelmed by the goodness in it all. I told the other volunteer (as this place relies heavily on volunteers and there are two volunteers for every shift) that I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a day. I was surrounded by love and gratitude. When I leave after my shifts, I always find myself smiling uncontrollably, even if the walks are rainy, snow-filled, or brutally hot and sweaty, and I smile like that the entire car ride home.
This is the main entrance and behind those doors lies wagging tails, wet kisses, and so much love.
If you are a regular reader of the blog, you know that I am a firm believer in the universe and that things happen just as they are supposed to. I believe that I was meant not to volunteer my time at a medical office, scanning papers, answering phones, and talking to other MS patients, but that my compassion could be put to better use taking care of truly helpless beings who only want to love and be loved. The kicker is the name: Marty’s Place. Having had my own little Marty made me even more aware of the universal connection.
This girl right here, Abby the Labby, got adopted so quickly that I only spent one day with her! What a lucky family…
When COVID first hit us here in NJ, many of the dogs were quickly sent to foster homes, mostly with seasoned volunteers who know the quirks of each dog well, while the director of the sanctuary tried to figure out how they could sustain the same level of care that makes Marty’s Place so special. We were unable to volunteer until they reopened for us in June, with a reduction in the number of volunteers working. So instead of working with another volunteer, we are alone with the dogs, and we have limited contact with the very few employees unless we are walking the dogs, safely distanced, yet wearing masks for extra precaution. I can’t even tell you how I felt when I walked back through those doors, seeing my furry friends again, and even meeting some new ones. The economic situation has taken a toll on Marty’s Place, a non-profit that relies heavily on volunteers and donations, much of which comes from annual fundraisers that have proven to be successful but can’t happen with the proper precautions in place to keep everyone safe and healthy. It breaks my heart that a facility that does so much good for helpless, loving animals is struggling so hard to give these seniors everything they need and deserve as they live out their golden years. And even with limited shifts, and my inability to be with these “rescues who don’t live with me” as often as before, I make my time count and I do everything in my power to make these very special dogs feel loved more than ever before.
Beautiful Bella.
As much as I’d love to be able to put in more time than a few hours every week, I do know my physical limitations, so I know that I am doing as much as I can manage. Plus I’m pretty sure I have enough love to give these dogs to sustain them until the next week when I return. These animals are never nasty or demanding, they don’t get frustrated when things don’t go their way, and they greet everybody with a tail wag. I’d choose to spend most days with dogs over people anyway, and I won’t make any excuses about it. I have a sign in my house that says “Dogs Welcome, People Tolerated”, and a T-shirt (in three different colors) that says “Dogs (because people suck)”. Need I go on?
I wasn’t kidding!
PS. If you are able, please feel free to donate here: https://martysplace.org/donate (no amount is too small and every penny is appreciated and put to good use) or you can check out the Amazon wishlist here: https://smile.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/YFNYQ96R4MCB/ref=cm_sw_su_w
I am also doing a personal fundraiser for Marty”s place until the end of August, so if you would like to sponsor me as I do Sun Salutations for Sanctuary Seniors, you can check it out here: https://runsignup.com/Yogaren
After my grandmother died in 1994, my grandfather and I would go to her grave together every year. It was one of our little rituals. I’d go pick him up, we’d go visit Grandma, and then he would buy me lunch at the diner (insert comment on stereotypical Jews here). Each year I watched him read from his Yiddish prayer book, ask her to pray for all of us, and sob on her headstone. And every single year, he would repeat this same request: when he died, he did not want the year of his death carved into his headstone. I can still hear him telling me, “No end date!”
Me and my Gramps. He was the apple of my eye and I loved him so very much.
I hadn’t really considered my grandfather’s reasoning until I was introduced to the poem “The Dash” by Linda Ellis (I really hope you read the poem above!). I finally understand now why my Gramps was so insistent on this tiny detail, which once upon a time seemed ridiculous to me.
So here I am almost eight years after his death, and at long last I recognize the lesson that my grandfather (even if inadvertently) taught me. What was most important to him was the life he lived, not the day he died. He did not want to anyone to focus on his death, but instead he wanted to be remembered for the person that he was.
I visit my grandfather every year on his birthday, and on the anniversary if his death. Notice how we honored his wishes by not putting that “end date” on his headstone.
Ever since I read that poem, I can’t stop thinking about how adamant he was about the “end date”. I also can’t stop thinking about my dash, but not in a morbid way. Quite the contrary, actually.
I have been reflecting on the many changes that have happened in my life since MS decided it was time for me to take disability retirement, and I feel so incredibly grateful. I never would have chosen to leave the classroom when I did if I had a choice, but I didn’t. As much as I miss my students (my children), I am secure in the fact that I taught them something, no matter how small, at some point in time. I would bet money that if they were talking about me after my passing, they would not be talking about the “end date”. They would be talking about the dash. On the other side of the coin, I find that I am a much more patient, loving, and attentive wife, sister, daughter, and friend since I stopped working. As much as I treasured every moment as a teacher, I was never really living my dash when I was working. I was the typical “live to work”, not “work to live” kind of girl. I never completely enjoyed anything because I was only ever able to focus on my job. It was always on my mind, because the job of a teacher is never done (shout out to my teacher peeps out there!). It is physical, emotional, stressful, demanding, and oftentimes, thankless. It’s no wonder that me, and my poor compromised immune system cracked under the pressure! Now that I am 100% focused on life outside of being a teacher, I am actually concentrating on my dash.
Teacherly duties: signing yearbooks at the end of the year!
I loved being a teacher. I hope I’ll always be remembered for it (in a good way!). But now I’m living for me and enjoying every moment that I don’t spend working….or agonizing over work. I haven’t taken the teaching part out of my dash, I’m just adding to it now! I’m so grateful that I have been given the opportunity to live my dash now, before it’s too late, because I am fearlessly working on this chapter of my story.
I have taken my teaching to a different classroom now… teaching yoga and loving every second of it. (Photo Credit: Jin at FotosForTheFuture)
Being that I live with a host of chronic conditions, I became accustomed to flitting around from different doctors and medical appointments without giving it a second thought. I would do my appointments in between yoga classes, meeting my MS family for our own little support group, volunteering, and catching up with the many former students who remain a very important part of my life.
I miss teaching this crew in person!
On March 16, I self-quarantined ahead of the governor’s orders here in NJ, which came a week later. Sadly, my chronic illnesses do not stop just because we are in the midst of a pandemic. But from March 16 – June 8, I did not leave my house. Appointments were missed and cancelled (on both ends) but I was not comfortable going anywhere. And when I say I did not leave the house I mean not beyond my front stoop or my back patio. Having multiple underlying conditions (or co-morbidities) made me utterly terrified to go anywhere. We were even isolating in isolation because Bruce was taking weekly trips to get groceries, and early on things seemed so precarious. If I contracted the virus and the only person who I had contact with is Bruce, he would have been devastated.
I have never been more grateful for my laptop and the technology that allows me to continue taking and teaching yiga classes.
So on June 9, I finally ventured out to get bloodwork done for my endocrinologist and have my infusion that I take every six months for Multiple Sclerosis. I did them both on the same day because they both happen at the same place and I wanted to limit my time out to just one day.
I felt quite comfortable in both of the above scenarios. I entered the building and was stopped for a touch less temperature check by a woman wearing a mask and gloves. In fact, everyone was in masks and gloves, from the administrative personnel, registration workers, front desk people, phlebotomists, receptionists, nurses, techs, and doctors. I was never worried about anyone being too close to me, and it kind of felt like business as usual… with some new precautions in place.
So now that I have been catching up on all my doctor appointments, MRIs, ultrasounds, mammograms, and everything that was paused from March until June, we are no longer isolating at home, which has made things much better. But one thing that has not returned to normal is that I continue to stack my appointments as much as possible to avoid the number of times per week I have to be out of the house. Rather than doing an appointment here or there between yoga classes and MS (or chosen) family time, I go out, take care of business, and come straight home.
Out for an appointment and then headed straight home.
Even as things have started opening up ever so slowly here, I have not done any of the things that are now open at reduced capacity. It’s just not that important to me, and I never want to compromise the integrity of my “bubble” or “quaranteam” because they have made everything easier. And it’s a small bubble… just my small little Rankin family. But all of us (seven including my five year-old nephew) depend on our necessary spirit-lifting visits, and so we are very serious about our behavior and keeping each other safe.
Best quaranteam ever!!
It’s very sweet because my bro (we have never included in-law as part of our titles) always says their primary concern is keeping me safe since I am the most vulnerable one. Anytime we make plans, they make sure that I am comfortable with it. Any time they do something they ask if I’d be comfortable seeing them after, and I really appreciate that more than I can even express.
My bro (we have never used the in-law label with each other) is always concerned about me first, being the most vulnerable one in the family.
Everyone has their own comfort level with doing the things that are now accessible, and it’s important to respect each others’ feelings no matter if they are family, friends, or anything in between.
For a while there I think Bruce worried that I was not going to leave the house ever. In that time between March and June, he would say that maybe we could take a drive, just to get me out. I wasn’t ready.
This was taken during the time Bru was trying to get me to go out before I was ready.
I still won’t eat outdoors (which is the only option in NJ), but we support our favorite local place every other week by ordering take-out. I won’t go back to the yoga studio just yet, even though it just opened at 25% capacity. I will always wear a mask and I will always tell people if they get too close to me. Because I know what I am comfortable with, and I might be more conservative about things than other people.
Take out from our favorite local place… if you are in Central NJ, give Harvest Moon in New Brunswick a try!
Now more than ever, can’t we just respect each other? Can we wear a mask, not to protect ourselves, but to protect each other? Can we acknowledge that personal space (at least six feet) is more important than ever? And can we be responsible human beings who actually care about others and believe that not one single life is expendable?
If we can’t do these tiny things, we are doomed. The optimist in me believes that we can agree to protect each other because it’s the right thing to do. It’s not about divisiveness or about politics. It’s about being good people. And even though world events have made me question the optimism that has always been a part of me, it’s still there and I want to believe that good does (and always will) outweigh bad. And in the end when we look back upon this time knowing that we came together the way we needed to, we can all toast to our good health with our half-full glasses of lemonade.
Can’t we just be good to each other?