Travel Tips for a One-Way Ticket

Travel Tips for a One-Way Ticket

This entry is for my friends, sisters, soulmate, past and future encounters and every other loved one as it has become inevitable that we will always keep moving- even if it's not physically.  There may come a time when we can't stop moving and not by choice, but instead because of the life happening around us.  These times call and yearn for a home.  

Eight months ago I recited to family and friends exactly my momentarily sureness of my future unsureness.  Three potential job offers- one my absolute "dream," the other what I thought could be my "dream," and then finally the last- a risk, a wild card, a makes my stomach churn, shot in the dark.  

I chose the crazy eight and a week later found myself "accepting the terms and conditions" of a one-way ticket.  I used the week to pack up my belongings, memories, and treasures- not into suitcases, but rather all into my 6x8 childhood room.  The rest went to Goodwill and what I thought I could take, left with me in 2 suitcases.  I didn't take time to process my decision, which turns out to be the best thoughtless decision I've made to date and leads me to Travel Tip #1: Go with that nervous, acid reflux, gut feeling in your stomach- it can be easier to listen to than your heart.  The only thing to subside the unsureness is to do it.  So just do it.   

The tips to follow are both for you and myself- a daily, weekly, or monthly check log of how to cope, laugh, and discover.  Take them as you please, but please don't think… just do (Refer to Travel Tip #1.)  Any ideas are welcomed too... I'll be sure to try them out and then write another prolonged blog on how it did/didn't work out (See Travel Tip #6.)

In other words, my travel gift for you is:

Travel Tip #2: Do something that makes you uncomfortable.  

This could be when you're spontaneously asked by an acquaintance, who they themselves already makes you feel uncomfortable and the thought of joining them publicly or worse, privately anywhere makes you unbearably uncomfortable of the idea... just do it and pray and hope that you will meet someone else!  For me, this came in the form of a text message while at work- "Hi, I saw your name listed under co-ed softball sign-up's.  Would you like to play on our team?"  Going solely off of the fact that the text was correctly punctuated and free of abbreviated three letter acronyms, I said, "Yes!"  I showed up that night at the sight of 5 rallied bikers with shaved heads, adorned beards to the middle of their chests, and enough tattoos to make me feel out of place- also, a rare moment.  I sat on the bench questioning if they were indeed my team, when sure enough one belched after a swig of his beer, "Any girls here to play with us?"  I proceeded to stand up in my braided pigtails with matching ribbon and pink shorts.  On occasion, these are my Friday nights.

Travel Tip #3: Look for a way to create change and improve the place you're in.

Simply enough, make where you are a better place by being there yourself.  It becomes harder to allow the change to happen to yourself, rather than creating it on our own.  The change to yourself will be inevitable and in exchange, you will have changed a life.

Travel Tip #4: Do one thing solo that ignites your passion.

Don't have a passion?  This is impossible.  Think of a time that you felt any kind of emotion whether it was thrilling, evocative, or shakingly heartfelt to the core.  This/she/him is your passion, go after it.

Travel Tip #5: Dress-up and go out without any e x p e c t a t i o n s.  

I'm talking, dress to the nines in your Trina Turk floral lace pattern, complimented with Kate Spade bangles, and accompanied with too-high Steve Madden platforms (all at a bargained steal) and forget about the rest.  For the men, look sharp and dap on another scent of your best cologne.   

Travel Tip #6: Don't say no to just about anything- learn to say yes.

To be frank, this one has gotten me into trouble on several different occasions... Still, statistically it works 8/10 times.  80%, not bad!  

Travel Tip #7: Visit the dog shelter.

This is a cheap afternoon and will leave you feeling incredibly loved.  Then go back and get one when you finally leave your apartment!

Travel Tip #8: Take a chance with someone.

I realize this is vague; it should be.

Travel Tip #9: Remember everyone you have encountered who has left an impression on your heart.

Then send them something to brighten their day saying exactly that.  Don't lose these connections, they're more important than you'd believe when you're 2,000 miles away and further in thought.  

Travel Tip #10: Give someone you met before a second chance.... or even a third.  

This is hard.  And I believe always a working progress, but still worthwhile.  My only advice here is make sure they in some way lift your day in your response to try to do the same for theirs. 

Travel Tip #11: Sing like no one can hear you.

You don't have to do this one, I just think it is fun : )

Travel Tip #12: Thank God you made it through another day with Him.

This perhaps carries the most importance and I’ll be the first to say it’s usually the one I forget to do, especially at the end of a bad day.  I have struggled with the thought of independence and mostly whether I like the thought of being totally “independent” while on my own or if it’s how I am suppose to be at this point.  This however is overrated and a foolish statement because nothing I do is independent, but instead with God even when I’m not open to it I suppose.

Travel Tip #13: Turn off your GPS and drive.

It’s best to get lost in a new place,- Oh, right, because that is impossible!  More so, this becomes the perfect excuse for a directionally challenged person like myself.      

Travel Tip #14: Make friends over the age of 40 at work.

They know so much and they’re not your parents, so of course they’re right.  But really, these people may take you under their wing, and that’s the next best thing.  Otherwise, these people are the key to your future success so make sure you show them how much you care. 

Travel Tip #15: Create your own beach.

This doesn’t have to be sand or waves if you don’t live a block from it : ) .  Whatever it is, take advantage of it before it slips away.  Tomorrow could be your next move.

Travel Tip #16: Find a Rock.

This is not a cheesy, hippy slogan or an intent to find a Wilson in your castaway-like state.  No, this is someone to be your go-to support.  From venting a crummy day at work to sharing the best part of your day- they’re there.  Find this person as early on- someone you once trusted, someone you’ve just met, someone states away, or someone you’d never expect (Refer to Tip #10.)

Travel Tip #17:  Make cheap travel plans.  Then if it turns out they’re not cheap, still make them.

I can’t stress this one enough as it has even evolved into a discrete pet peeve of mine.  When given the option, spend your money on the moment with people not things.

Travel Tip #18: Put your whole heart into something even if it’s not someone.      

Travel Tip #19: Make a Feast.

I know what you are thinking and yes, even if it’s for yourself.  Sear chicken breasts, steam veggies, and hand press your own pasta in a garlic cream sauce.  Of course, while drinking your favorite drink.  Someday it’ll be for someone else, and you’ll want to be ready!

Travel Tip #20: Delve into a project.  One without a due date.

Travel Tip #21: Take a moment to look around and think of how blest you are. 

Make time.  Always make time for this one and others. 

Home exists in the belief and support of those who love you.  Build your home, then help build another’s.  

It's more than a Game

“Noooot Tooooo-day!” were the first words and my first encounter with Emily on the basketball court.  She held the ball with a strangling grip and a determination in her eyes that could convince anyone… of what I’m not sure, but the look was there and made me question just what would happen next and furthermore in no way prepared me for what would.  I had one hand up and had edged myself one step closer to her when she intensified her look, squeezed the ball closer to her chest, and worked to spin around me…running, not dribbling to the basket along with some type of battle charge/cry.  She’s always catching my glimpse, doing the most absurd things (I’d consider) in the most incognito (or so she’d believe) methods.  Like as I’m about to shout, “Get back on defense, put your arms up!”  My eyes and concentration are focused on those athletes looking at me for reassurance of what I just said while hustling down the court.  However, it doesn’t take long for my eyes and subsequent smile, no matter how hard I try to dissuade it, to find Emily along the far side swiftly jogging backwards, almost in a dancing horse rhythm… if you could imagine that without laughing- but that’s my problem too.  Rather, I’ve found it’s what lets her enjoy the game and reminds me why it’s been so fun for myself all these years.  Other times, when her rotation is up during a scrimmage and the subs are instructed to go in, she’ll ever-so-carefully sneak behind a player as to avoid leaving the court, again believing she’ll never be found and believing somehow we just happened to over count 6 instead of 5 subs … every time.   This results in stopping the game, then acting as if I need to find her, when she is clearly visible around the 10 year old, 80 pound boy on the court.  We then break into the same conversation where I have to explain she’ll get her chance to shine again in only a matter of minutes.  She relentlessly throws her arms down at her side, exhales a slight but rather annoyed sigh and works to drag her feet off the court to wait her turn in just three minutes.  What heart.      

Restin.  I don’t know much about him, though I’ve come to admire his progression amidst great adversity.  I’ve never held a conversational dialogue, only a few exchange of words rather with Restin.  Though the little we did converse or perhaps instead the exchanges of moments we shared left my heart fuller with understanding and a growing adoration.  I took my seat next him on the bench in the middle of Cassell’s court.  It was our team’s first tournament and I knew if I was nervous on a college court with beaming lights, this once in a lifetime opportunity for Restin must have had him shaking out of his skin.  I leaned in to ask the obvious question, “Are you nervous?”  He kept his expression unchanged and concentrated in the same direction- straight across the court.  Just when I thought I wasn’t understood, his slight nod began to affirm my thoughts.  I promised him the flight of butterflies he was feeling would only last the first 20 seconds and then he wouldn’t even notice a thing.  Whether he believed me or not, he shook his head again in the same fashion.  Just as we exchanged thoughts, Restin’s number was echoed by the announcer throughout all of Cassell- enough of a grand entrance to make Restin pop out of his seat and leave behind a trail of butterflies...  He joined his teammates and played the first 3 minutes.  When he returned to find his spot on the bench, I looked at him to ask, “Are you nervous anymore?”  His grin answered any questioning I might have had and, for my sake, even calmed any nerves within me before taking the court.

Andrew.  The one and only.  You just couldn’t make another of him.   I don’t think it is possible.  There is just no way.  At times he can be the most frustrating and wild spirit and in the next minute warming my heart with his child-like innocence.  I suppose he doesn’t know the ways in which he makes my Tuesday nights worth looking forward to, but that wouldn’t matter to him anyways… he’d be him no matter what.  I admire this.  My favorite time with Andrew was during our first tournament at Cassell Coliseum.  He just couldn’t keep back his joy and excitement to be there.  It got me thinking- why should we ever suppress how excited we truly are?  In my opinion, you don’t ever fully live until you express it.  We were standing in the hallway, the one before the tunnel that opens up to the court, just waiting for the opening ceremonies to take place.  Apparently, each year, an athlete from the Virginia Tech Basketball team joins each tournament team to escort them out onto the court.  I was informed of this through the athletes’ beaming smiles and jittery movements, all intertwined with random shouts of, “I CAN’T WAIT” and “THEY’RE COMING!!”  This is when Andrew ever so timidly leaned in to ask me, “are these real Virginia Tech athletes?”  Forgetful myself of how astonishing this was… I responded with the same amazement, “Yes, can you believe it!?”  And then, “Do you want to meet one of them?”  He stepped back, unsure of the reality as I called Eric Green over. 

“Hey Green!” 
“This is Andrew.”

“Andrew, this is Eric Green.” 

Green immediately leaned in to grab Andrew’s hand and slap him on the back… all in a fluid motion, slick and sleek.  Andrew, on the other hand, stood there, stiff as a board.  Eric proceeded to blurt out a few words somewhere along, “Hey man, how you doin?”  “doin alright?” “enjoying the day?”  “glad you’re here.”  All until he could no longer hold a conversation with himself.  I stood staring on the outside, Andrew’s facial expression hadn’t even flinched once.  His eyes had taken on the size of golf balls, his body stood in the most erect and statue formed pose, and his jaw had fallen unhinged.  He had just met the President. 

“All. Day. Long!!”  These were the words exclaimed from Buddy as he marched down the court with the basketball, planted his feet at the top of the key, and sunk a bucket.  I’ve never seen Buddy run, in fact most of the time when the game renders the obvious need to hustle back on defense, like clockwork, you can always find Buddy on the far side motioning with his hand for everyone to get back… as if to say, “Get back, get back.  I’ll be there later.”  He always shows up… just later.  Buddy keeps everyone in line.  No beating around the bush.  Whether you’re bouncing a ball while someone is talking or really just doing anything to annoy him, Buddy makes it known.  He’s straight forward, quite admirable.  I had the pleasure to run into Buddy off the court and in, nowhere else but, the nail salon.  Thinking he wouldn’t recognize me off the court, I stuck to my own business.  Gratefully and thankfully, I was wrong.  Buddy rushed towards my direction with an excitement of Christmas morning and eased his arms around me.  He guided me insistently to then meet his mother and cousin.  What came next, I could have never expected.  Buddy threw his hands into my face and asked, “Aren’t they pretty?!”  Buddy had a clear coat of polish; just enough to make them shine… much like him. 

 Jimmy.  68 and yet plays with the heart of a 12 year old.  What an accident waiting to happen- I’ve also never seen someone get hit in the head so many times and still beam a smile even after the surrounding breathless gasps and frightened anticipation.  Jimmy never fails, he takes a few moments- I believe to gather what his own reaction will be- and then all that can be heard around the court are sighs of relief… Jimmy is smiling.  He couldn’t have been more excited about his team’s first win against the Radford warriors.  He told everyone in his sight with a million dollar smile… you wouldn’t have known the difference.  I had missed his second game, but when I saw him Tuesday at practice, I was blown away by the black ‘n blue that now covered half of his face!  “Jimmy, what could have happened to you?!”  Expecting it to have been a story of how he tripped down the steps or slipped on something wet in his house, I was even more astounded when his reply was, “I went over the clock table at the game!”  There’s that Jimmy smile.  He brightens my day and that’s not by accident.                 

A place where they plan funerals, not futures

Approximate finished packing time – 12:30 a.m.
 Flight time- 5:20 a.m. LYN
Sleep time- none, in fear I’d miss my alarm in just two hours.
Experience flat tires- 3:00a.m. (worse I was alone in the dark and thought I had just rolled over a body)… sat in my car, too scared to look until 3:20 a.m. .. filled tires until 3:40 a.m.
On the road- 3:45 a.m.
Missed Exit- 4:30 a.m.
Car shuffle from airport to hotel to opt out of parking fees- 4:40 a.m.
In terminal- 5:00 a.m.
Boarded plane- 5:10 a.m.
Arrive in CHL- 6:30 a.m.
Board time- 7:00a.m.
In flight- 7:20 a.m.
Sick- 7:21 a.m… 7:22 a.m …. 7:23 a.m… 7:24 a.m… 7:26 a.m…. with a six hour flight to go…
Land in LAX.- 10:45 a.m.
First call to explain to above events- Jean Bean at 10:45 and 30 seconds am.


It’s easy to say the last place I wanted to be on Saturday at 10:45 a.m. was Los Angeles, California.  What an unlikely statement I would have never dreamed of saying.  Completely unprepared and furthermore unsure of what I was getting myself into (a reoccurring theme), I missed everything, the smallest of things and couldn’t fathom the strength needed to come.
But, before I could even gasp at my favorite palm trees and search for the HOLLYWOOD sign upon the infamous hills, we had journeyed outside of the glamor ‘n glitz into the projects of Boyle Heights: Home.- at least by day 7- this place, despite it’s tarnished and abused exterior, became more inviting and love stricken than the Hollywood Hills just 6 miles down the road.


Day 1: Nothing to take the previous edge off like... well I didn’t even know.  But then Mass began-Amazing how in a place so foreign, so broken, so questionable, and doubtful, you can feel so simultaneously relieved, guarded, and strengthened.  The most incredible part, the Homily.  Apparently, the week before our arriving this community had yet again been bestowed more trouble and turmoil in the form of a recent drive-by and a hard hit scandal.  The Bishop of this particular diocese had resigned from his position.  It was soon revealed the Bishop voluntarily resigned in response to the discovery of his double life as he secretly had been hiding a family of his own.  Besides your feelings/opinions on this issue regarding priests and marriage, the real inspiration and moving tell-all was what happened next, the congregation talked about it- actually held a dialogue and it wasn’t out of the ordinary.  One by one, member after member stood to give their wholehearted and honest opinion.  The miracle- none of the responses were in respect to one another, for this wasn’t a debate, but very much still Mass- a celebration in communion with one another with brothers and sisters- a family I came to not only to witness but oddly (to me) join among.  Some stood to say they understood his humanness- “that he should be congratulated for being human.”   Still, others ventured towards their own commitment as a wife or husband and the sacred vows their marriage holds despite their own struggles to uphold them day to day, year to year.  Whatever the case, whatever the side, the most awestricken thread was Honesty.  Imagine that- honestly.  Because without it you can’t form a community and in no way a relationship worth loving.  Yet, regardless of the slip-up’s, the mistakes, the hurtfulness, the outright and purposeful damage that occurs in this community, there is always forgiveness.  Not in the simple words, but rather the heart weighing and triumphant actions of a family who stands before their church and asks the family of the son-who attempted to kill himself, but in doing so drove his truck through the house killing instead his wife and 7 month old child- to embrace them.  Where does this strength come from?  The single question I begged to have answered in my next 168 hours.


Day 2: They call it “a place where you plan funerals, not futures.”  When the priest has presided over 174 gang violence funerals, this phrase becomes an all too familiar broken record.  I gasped at this recognition, more so at the normalcy of its tone and the fallen hope it entails- for this statement could only be made by an outsider- one, unwilling to find the truth.
I believe Fr. Boyer's book Tattoos on the Heart describes it in its best... or really worst:
Francesca.  The proud, proud mother of 2 strapping young boys turned honorable men each in their own way (Quite the assumption to make, though I didn’t know either of these two men, someone, somewhere constantly held them on their mind- made them honorable to them.)  One, enlisted to serve his country whom I’m the first to thank.  The other, remained at home to stay and look out for their mother.  It was the first son’s trip back home for leave and the pain, shock, terror he once encountered minute to minute, heartbeat to heartbeat soon became no match for a late night burger run to the neighborhood Jack-In-The-Box.  He died instead from the hate, uselessness, and senseless cruelty of his fellow neighbors.  Francesca couldn’t bare it.  How could she?  She wore black for the next 6 months, rarely dressed to impress, and became swallowed by the hurt of a thousand knives.  Months later, perhaps even a year, the pain still hadn’t subsided.  But how could it have?  Her second eldest son decided his part wasn’t over – he still was needed to look after his mother.  What an honorable gesture.  He asked her to please come back, be the woman, the mother, she once was, for he still needed her as she was.  So it didn’t take long for her to suppress what pain she could and mask it with a cleansing shower, a pretty face of a make-up, and her hair neatly pulled back in a direction unfamiliar to her normal part.  Her son happened to gaze in while walking past and while looking at her reflection in the mirror, could muster only two words with a clenching smile, “you’re back.”  The corners of her mouth slowly mimicked one another as each side shifted upward- I’d imagined it was as if God were pulling two strings from heaven, or perhaps even her oldest son asked for the reigns.    
These stories are infinitely numbered, tragically true, never boastful, and piercingly honest- much like love ironically.


Day 3: It’s difficult to say exactly where Boyle Heights stands but it seems ever so caught between a fierce reality and a wishful dream.  On one hand it remains completely isolated- untouched from its bordering Hollywood onlookers, yet is filled with a spirit of community, shared dependence, and unrivaled love- even more so untouched by its Million Dollar neighbors.  Likewise Boyle Heights screams guilty and criminal at a glance, but pleads an attested innocence stolen from the world’s forgetfulness.   Two of the Homeboy Industries employees were asked to attend a speaking conference in Washington, D.C. … at the White House.  Not only had Boyle Heights been their home for the past 25-27 years, but it has also been the only panoramic view in sight.  Unaware of Virginia and the East Coast, I normally had to describe where I was from as, “Well you know how you all have a really big ocean next to you?- We do too, just farther away.”- Isolated.  They’d never owned a suit, worn a suit, or dreamt of buying a suit, but this occasion called for nothing less than a suit.  Of course the gift wasn’t the suit, but instead the man he was made once embraced by it.  One man had blurted out in his excitement, “I can’t wait to see the Statue of Liberty!”- Innocence forgotten by the world.
Elaina.  The proudest exgang member I’ve ever seen.  No.  The proudest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.  She stole the room when she spoke and me within the first minute.  Among her description and anecdotal stories about the life changing works of Homeboy Industries, I was even more amazed as she riddled off her life’s story as it if it were her day’s grocery list: Kidnapped, raped, left for dead, beaten by mother, both parents’ drug use, gang entrance, her road to renewal, facial tattoo removals, in and out of jail, and finally, “Here I am today.”
Aside from the work with exgang members at Homeboy, the rest of my time was spent with the kindergarteners of Dolores Missions School.  What a group, occasionally a headache, but more often than not, a reminder of the need to laugh despite whatever gloom ever so unwelcomingly chooses to loom.
I was asked, “What’s your name?”
And I responded, “Elise.”
The boy said, “Elicia?”
I smiled as that sounded much prettier from the smile on his face.
“Yes.”
I hope the White House was the trip of Junior's dreams and I hope the Statue of Liberty across the Lawn was even more amazing in person.  I hope Elaina stands tall and I hope from time to time my kindergarten class thinks of the girl who taught them to count to twenty-five and dream beyond.


Day 4: “We are healthy and wealthy.  We may get hungry, but we don’t know what it feels like to go without food for days.  We may live in the projects, but we don’t know what it’s like to be homeless.”  - Community of Boyle Heights


Day 5:  3AM came quicker than I could have lied down to process the previous day’s events and my part in this place at this time.  I still questioned, “Why was I here?”  A question which dismisses any kind of substantial sleep and furthermore any type of answer.  I’ve come to believe despite worrisome thoughts and questions, you do what’s love despite it’s difficulties, faults, and less than thrilling moments.  Simply enough when you’re searching for the right decision, it’s somehow always automatically linked to love.  On this particular morning, the community of Boyle Heights reminded me of a love rooted in strength, forgiveness, a future, but even more importantly a present earth-shaking, life changing, makes me smile emotion. Surprising enough to myself, quite the authentic Mexican Chef I turned out to be:
3:15 AM- Arrive at Dolores Mission School Kitchen
3:20AM- Speak my best broken Spanglish to Nadia in desperate hopes I’ll understand her replies
3:30AM- Sort through molded potatoes for “useable” ingredients
4:00AM- Crack cincuenta huevos, stir, and mix with pimientos, onions, tomatoes, y papas fritas.
4:30AM- Brown la carne, add to mixture
5:00AM- Steam la arroz, add crushed flavor and spices
5:30AM- Set the tables
6AM- Flip the tortillas!
6:30AM- The Men begin to arrive… and begin picking up their plates from the kitchen as I did my best to serve in a haste knowing their stomachs ached for something to fill it.  I counted the smiles my eyes met rather than the plates I handed out… wouldn’t have mattered either way- it was the same number.
6:30-6:40AM- I stand in awe as the first Men to enter begin to fill the room and their places, yet ever so calmly remain standing with their hands placed behind their backs until the very last brother has filed in.  Then, in the same calm and gentle manner, a Man is humbly chosen to lead the blessing.  I didn’t catch everything he had said, but no language barrier could mask the sincere tremble of gratitude in his voice or the welcomeness he shared in its soft and patient delivery- for there is no rush, no time when it comes to love.    
   


Day 7: I didn’t solve world hunger or build a family’s house (a dream and longtime aspiration-and still at the top of my list)
I came to find the only strength there is, is forgiveness.  A kind of forgiveness that sees past our humanness and into one another’s identical hearts.
And finally I looked to answer, “Why did I stay in L.A.?”  It must be because I realized: you don’t turn back even when all signs seem to be pointing that way, you manage because others are always managing to do so much more, you pull yourself through because you trust someone is there, and you do it because it’s not about you.
I may not have all my questions answered, as life doesn’t seem to always provide even the most needed responses to “Why?”   But what I came to find is: A place where funerals were yesterday and futures are today.  No need to question “why?” or “how?”, but rather I believe search for the love, in return you’ll surely find your heart and perhaps change a life or even a community’s way of life.

Unwilling but Able

I thought 2012 was going to be all about new beginnings, but as life would have it- my plan isn't in control.  Instead, you have to roll with it even when it out right just stinks.  In just two short days my family and I have to put my long time consoler, snuggle buddy, hiking partner, and without a doubt best comforter to sleep.  We've apparently done this before, but I was four, and upon being told I simply asked in response, "what's for dinner?"

This time was different.

I don't know, I was taken by complete surprise- but I think that is only because I never chose to see her as anything else other than an eager and intrigued little puppy- event at 15.  So I still can't understand or rather don't want to.  I can only think instead these next two days will be some of the best and flood my memory with the ways she's made me smile for the last fifteen years. 

We picked her up just when I was a little kid, so essentially we've grown up together and I can't think of a moment she's missed out on simply because we took her everywhere.  She was the only chocolate out of the entire litter- born a Rokisky- must have been why I grabbed her.  I was so excited, I wrote about picking her up in my first grade homeroom journal the very next morning- I wrote verbatim, "She's so AWSOM, she runs everywhere and hits the wall when she can't slow down like me!"  oh geez.   

Turns out, even as we both aged we became more and more like one another.  For instance, we  both looooooove the fireplace, laying in the hottest spot by the sun, being outside as long as possible, lying under the Christmas tree lights, protecting those closest, and chasing a ball (mine a softball) for hours. 

She's in all our family Christmas stories that get told year after year again as if they're being told for the first time.  I listen with enthused anticipation knowing the outcome as told by my Dad early but I have to say, I apologize to any of our guests who are stuck as polite listeners.  Like father, like daughter I'll attempt to repeat the ways she's driven us crazy and given us the gift to look back on those same times with dying laughter.  

For instance, Sunday mornings were never a specialty in the Rokisky house hold and were never improved with the addition of a rambunctious puppy to add to the mix.  Montana must have gotten sick the night before and consequently did a number on our patterned house rugs throughout the house.  I say patterned because we couldn't differentiate between the mess and actual carpet design.  However, dressed and ready to go (or rather run out the house to make it by Father's homily) we found Montana cowered away in the corner under our furniture stand.... looking guilty as all.  The smell was enough, we didn't need to find her to know.  My brother and Dad went on, leaving my Mom and I to do the dirty business.  Getting on our hands and knees to scrub whatever the unrecognizable mess was on the carpet involved a very upset mother and a queazy stomach myself.  Thinking we got the best of it, we headed to Church, but with silence in the car.  Running in... late... we found a spot in the pew next to a lovely couple and a family of six behind us.  Then as Catholics do we began the aerobic exercise of up and down between kneeling and standing.  However in between the movements I began to smell wafts of a similar scent from before.  Then I did it.  I told Mom she stinked.  In panic, she began to search herself, twirling her skirt bottom up,down, back and forth.  And there it was.  A pile of #### sitting on the edge of her hem and upon further discovery, my shoes too.  I've never seen a look of humiliation, furry, and rage all at the same time, but my Mother framed it perfectly.  She grabbed my hand and out of Church we went.  But what's left with me is the image of those poor people beside us and the fact that neither my Mom or I can help but burst out in laughter thinking of the two of us sitting beside one another covered in Montana's surprise... in Church of all places.  She got us good.  : )  

So then it doesn't surprise me the least bit to think of the time I thought Virginia Tech would be without our most prized Hokie Bird.  It was my high school graduation and astonishingly, my Dad had arranged for the Hokie Bird to make a surprise appearance.  I was elated, Montana felt otherwise.  She couldn't understand what this strange figure was doing on her property and became hysterical as I hugged and posed for pictures with such an animal.  Her reaction: to bite his tail feathers! She followed the Hokie Bird wherever he went, gnawing on his feathers and pouncing them as they swayed back and forth.  She just wouldn't have it and I thought we were doomed for our season opener.  All went on, but I laugh to myself knowing somewhere on gameday is the suit with a bitten tail feather and a piece of Montana on it.  

Which leads me to Montana: The Fearless Protector and the time a young man broke into our house.  You always call dogs the protector of the house and make silly comments when a guest arrives unwelcomed at first to your house by your dog, but I can say Montana fully proved herself and just what she would do for my family in a time of need.  The guy broke in through our side door already distraught and running on pure adrenaline as we found out later he had already held a lady at gunpoint to steal her car which he wrecked on the side of the road and escaped to search for another at our house.  When we later found Montana she was shaking and timid to even move- I could tell he had hit her, possibly kicked her hard in fear that her barking would alarm the rest of us thankfully not there.  This infuriated me and left me heartbroken for her far more than broken garage door or stolen car.  But she without a doubt did her part and warded him off before he could do anymore.  That's my dog, that's my grizzly bear, Montana.

On a funnier note, she would and still sometimes chases her tail.  It begins slow as if she is seeing it for the first time, then ends in a vicious circle of her trying desperately to catch it.  I used to think she must have something wrong with her, but now I see she was doing it to make me laugh.  For the more I'd laugh, the more she'd run.  I've taught her to shake my hand, bring me back my softballs, lay underneath the hammock while I slept, swim in the pool, and my favorite- dance.  A true member of the family I'll miss more than anything being greeted by her overly excited greeting when I arrive home- think about it, who else ever greets you like that?  She's never mad, but can sense in an instance when you're sad and just need something soft to hold.  She's the first to chase any unwelcomed visitors and then bark out of worry that you're drowning while swimming in the pool so she jumps in to "save" you.  She runs ahead on hikes and then looks back to make sure you're still there.  She stands by the car when you're packing to leave just so she isn't left behind and she'll never give up on catching water from the water hose before you become too bored.  She's a girl's best friend too, an AWSOM puppy, and more than enough for me to have had.  

It's snowing here; I'm glad she gets one last one- I can tell that it's her favorite too.