It’s as Simple as Punkin

June 23, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

I love dogs for so many reasons.

Bad day?
I’ll snuggle up to you and we’ll exhale together.

Good day?
Awesome! Let’s celebrate!

Leaving?
Bummer, man—really? Okay…but please come back soon. Please. Soon.

Coming home?
YES!! My prayers have been answered! You’ve returned! I love life! Let’s play! Did you bring me anything???

They ask so little—some basic care and decent treatment—and in return, their love is amazing. It doesn’t get much purer than a dog’s love.

I’ve been blessed to have great dogs throughout my life, and each one of them has had a distinct and wonderful personality. We have so much fun watching the two dogs that we have play and interact—they are a continual source of enjoyment.

Don’t get me wrong—they can drive us crazy, too—especially when someone has the audacity to walk by our house and the dogs bark like two raving banshees on meth. Then I maybe might raise my voice a teensy bit and gently tell them to shush. Just maybe.

But by far the blessings outweigh the challenges.

Our one dog Vito is a shelter dog that I am so grateful made his way into our lives.

I’m very comfortable admitting that there are many sharper crayons in the Crayola box than Vito—but he is our quirky little boy and we love him.

One of V’s little quirks is Punkin. It’s his absolute favorite toy, and the only one that has survived over time. While other toys made it less than a week when he was a puppy, Punkin was loved but left whole.

For whatever reason, Vito treats Punkin like a child would his favorite pacifier or blanket. He actually suckles the thing. He holds onto it with his paws and his tongue nuzzles a spot that is now worn bare.

And when Vito is extra happy, he goes and gets Punkin. When one of us comes home, inevitably Vito will run and get the toy and celebrate with a few suckles. Yea! My people are all home! I love life! I love YOU! How was your day?! Do you want to play? Have I told you lately how happy I am that you’re home?!

Punkin equals joy for Vito. It dependably lifts his spirits and helps him rejoice. To me, it’s representative of one of the great things about dogs—that easy and complete love that they are absolutely ready to give.

And so I love dogs. I love how they love with their whole hearts and forgive quickly and repeatedly. I love how they are fiercely determined to protect those they love. I love how they are thrilled to see me—even if I’ve only been gone a few minutes. I love how they will offer their bellies up as a way to say, “Go ahead—love me. I trust that you won’t hurt me.”

Dogs just bring it down to the simple. Beyond having their basic needs met, it’s pretty much all about love. What a great reminder for me day after day. I aspire to love with that same kind of openness and joy.

So while Vito won’t win any smart dog contests, he’s certainly won my heart. And I think he’s pretty okay with that.

PS–I’m totally not a fan of dressing dogs up in silliness, but Vito gets chilly when we go for walks when it’s cold, and can he help it if he looks this studly wearing his jean jacket? I think not.

Do You Remember When That Guy Did That Thing?

June 16, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 9 Comments

I was standing in line for the deli at my local grocery store when I thought I saw a familiar face and wondered if she was someone I knew. My mind immediately went to its tattered mental Rolodex of names and faces…and I drew a big, fat blank. But I swore I knew her in some way.

Just then she swiveled her head my way, smiled and said, “Hi!” Validation! I DO know her…but…how? “Hey! How are you?” I responded, hoping she might say something that would give me a little more context to work with. No luck.

I HATE that feeling.

I hate knowing that I should know something that I don’t.

I hate forgetting.

I am happy to report that hours later it dawned on me how I knew this young woman. My frayed Rolodex found the right page.

A minor mental victory.

I feel like my memory is challenging me more and more of late, and it’s very frustrating and disheartening. Sometimes even scary. As someone who values experiences as the biggest treasures to accumulate in life, this threatens my booty, so to speak.

I don’t want the memory pirates storming my ship and stealing my goods.

Hey, lady--give me all your booty! Rrrrrrrrrrr! — Hey, lady–give me all your booty! Rrrrrrrrrrr!

Though memory loss is a worry of mine, I hang onto a lesson I learned long ago that really made sense to me—courtesy of Marilyn Vos Savant’s Q&A column in Parade Magazine, of all places.

While I didn’t save the column, I remember it well. The questioner wanted to know what value there was to seeing a play—or reading a book or anything along those lines—if you eventually forget the content of what you saw or read. Why bother if the memory fades? Does it still have worth? Does it matter?

Vos Savant’s answer drew a parallel to having a friend in kindergarten. She said that while most adults no longer remember the specifics of that friendship—maybe not even the name of the friend—isn’t it still important? Wasn’t it of value at the time and still of value now because it helped shape us into who we grew to be?

Though we may forget, it still matters.

I used this parallel throughout my teaching years when students would ask similar questions as to the value of reading. Once you’ve been touched by something, you never see the world in exactly the same way, I would tell them.

When we pay attention and let something soak in a little, it helps to shape and shade our perspective—maybe just a teensy bit—even if we can no longer bring it to the “front” of our brains, as I like to call it.

That’s what I comfort myself with when I look at a book on my shelf and barely remember the story or know I’ve seen a movie but can only recall that Morgan Freeman was in it…My memory may be cloudy, but each experience or creative work that I “let in” leaves a mark on me, even if only slight—it still touched me.

That question to Vos Savant was posed before today’s fractured world of multi-tab pages and content coming at us from all directions, and we don’t do our memory any favors by consuming experiences in that way, in my opinion. There is little time for anything to sink into our brains with scattershot. For me, nothing beats some quiet time with a book or a darkened theater about to light up with the hoisting of the curtain. Push away the distractions and engage.

Still…even with raising the odds like that, most likely the plotline will grow dim and eventually I will just remember that I really liked (or didn’t like) the experience.

And I’m pretty sure it’s only going to get worse.

And that’ll have to be okay because there’s no way I want to live in a world where the only thing worth doing is that which I know I will never forget.

Because I won’t be doing much.

Just ask the girl in line at the deli counter.

The 9/6 Perspective

June 9, 2014February 26, 2025 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 2 Comments

There are few times when a finger is pointed at you that it’s a good thing. Maybe you’re getting picked for a game of kickball or maybe you’ve raised your hand to be chosen for Let’s Make a Deal…but usually a finger aimed at you is a call-out of some sort.

Merriam Webster defines it as “the act of blaming someone for a problem instead of trying to fix or solve it; the act of making explicit and often unfair accusations of blame.”

I don’t know about you, but I’m getting exhausted with our culture of finger-pointing.

The polarization of society is something that really hurts my heart. Be it politics, religion—any number of social issues—people are so busy being adamantly, unwaveringly “right” and often just denigrating and denying the other side’s perspective, that our world is filled with hatred and so-called “righteousness.”

When I taught high school English, one of the exercises I created to try to get students ready for a healthy debate was what I called the 9/6 Perspective. (I had to put the numbers in that order because calling it the 6/9 Perspective would cause too much giggling in a room full of teenagers).

The exercise was very simple. I wrote a figure boldly on a piece of paper, set it on a desk, and had all of the students circle around. Then I’d have two students stand on either side of the desk and tell me what they understood to be written on the paper. Without fail, one would say “a 9” and the other would say “a 6.”

I’d ask them “Are you sure?”

“I know my numbers, Ms. Ancona….”

“Of course I know a 6 when I see one…”

They were certain of the facts in front of them.

Then I would ask the rest of the class, “Well….who’s right?”

This would result in multiple voices speaking up…”They both are!” “It depends!” “If you’re on either side, it looks right!”

And so on…And eventually we would put words around the reality that each “side” saw their own truth—though the answers were completely different.

But it was still their truth.

How you see things matters. Where you’re coming from matters.

And the same goes for the other person.

Now don’t think I see myself as righteous in this respect—my own stances can be passionate for sure (ask me about equal rights, gun laws, or preaching love over law and be ready for an impassioned response)—but I know that when we shut the other side down with scorn and disdain, we simply grow farther apart when the real challenge is learning to live together.

Acknowledging and listening doesn’t mean agreeing or embracing. To listen to a 6 when you are a fervent 9 doesn’t mean they win or you give in, but it hopefully brings the debate to a healthier level where opinions are offered without calling names or spewing hatred.

The ease with which we can “plant our flags” and take stands on Facebook and Twitter has only made the situation worse. It always saddens me so when I see someone share their hatred of “the other side” in a post, and then see the “likes” and comments that follow.

Before the ease of social media to share such things, the circles of disdain or hatred were smaller—or at least more under the radar. Now people share how others “disgust” them right after they post what a great time they had at the beach.

I think we can be better.

The person who sees a 9 when you know a 6 is right is still…a person. So while we can hold tight to our belief in 6, let’s not just be “disgusted” by the 9-seer. Let’s instead work toward what we might be able to do to get that person to walk over to our side of the desk and see the 6. Or maybe we need to do the very same to see their 9. And maybe when we’ve done that neither side will have budged a bit, but at least we might better understand why they believe in what they do.

I don’t mean to simplify life’s complex issues and people.

I know it’s not easy to extend grace when we are passionately entrenched on an issue…

…but I believe it’s what we are called to do.

And I very much believe in what the late, great Maya Angelou said time and again: “We are more alike than we are unalike.”

And if we look at one another that way rather than with contempt, we just might have ourselves a better world to live in.

Don’t Duck, Goose!

June 2, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 5 Comments

While I was in the bathroom yesterday morning, my son came knocking with a, “Mom! What do you feed a baby goose?!” Of course, I wondered why this question was of such urgency, and he informed me that there was a baby goose in our front yard.

I’m sure most moms know the next line of this script: “I’ll be right out,” I told him.

In the couple minutes it took me to get to the yard, our little feathered friend had moved to the next yard over—which was being mowed by big landscaper mowers. My husband pointed me in the right direction, and I could already hear the little one’s cries over the white noise of the mower.

The landscaper knew we were trying to help the little bugger who, for simplicity’s sake, I will now refer to as Gus. Gus the Goose. He wasn’t quite a baby goose, though, more like a toddler or tween (beyond “gosling”—and I don’t mean Ryan—I am not up on my goose terminology). So the landscaper scooped up Gus, who was ensnared in some tall weeds, and gently set him down on our side of the fence.

Little Gus freaked.

He cried and ran around, well—for lack of an appropriate goose cliché—like a chicken with his head cut off.

No matter how slowly we moved or sweetly we cooed to him, he wanted nothing to do with us. The trouble was, he couldn’t fly, and unless he wanted to live in our yard until that day where his wings would lift him, he needed our help.

Unlike the wonderful nature shows filled with men and women who are extremely knowledgeable about wildlife, our little group’s best instinct was to offer water and some sunflower seeds along with some calming and reassuring voices.

Shockingly, Gus did not speak English. If we approached two steps, Gus frantically waddled seventy.

Eventually he resigned himself to his panic and fear and the seeming futility of it all. He waddled to the corner of our house by the glider door, nestled down, and ducked his little beak under a row of siding.

Our dog, Vito, as you can see, offered up a welcoming committee that Gus denied.

Here he was, needing help, having people want to help him, and all he could do was poop on our deck.

After he rested a few, we planned to pick him up and put him over our fence to set him free.

Still not speaking English, Gus freaked again.

He ran to the far corner of our yard, which has a compost hill, and climbed it. It wasn’t tall enough for him to make his escape, though, and while my husband moved in to scoop him up, poor Gus just jammed his head through the hole of the chain-link fence—as if maybe if he tried hard enough, his whole body would pop through.

He pretty much looked like a tween goose in the stockade.

But while he was in his own self-imposed stocks, my husband scooped him up and set him out of our yard.

Now he had his freedom, but…what would that mean? Little Gus on his own? My son and husband jumped the fence to follow Gus and make sure he could find his way to our nearby lake.

Within minutes, they came back and shared that they hadn’t made it to the lake because on the way, there was a group of adult geese that Gus ran into. It didn’t seem like his family, they said, because the geese didn’t exactly welcome him. No, first…they pecked him. I guess there is actual meaning behind the term “pecking order”! And once they pecked him a couple of times, they let him stay.

Now, I don’t speak Goose, just like Gus didn’t know English, but I’d like to think that that was their way of saying, “You can stick with us, just know your place,” because my guys said that after that, they all just kept on waddling.

It was time to exhale. Our little Gus had found his adoptive family, or at least picked up with a group that might show him the way back home.

After all of the excitement, I got to thinking—how many times had I, like Gus, been unable to see the helping hand extended to me? How many times had I ducked my figurative beak into a wall and hoped the problem would go away?

Gus was offered help all along—from the kind landscaper to our clumsy family—but he was too scared to be able to trust the offer. How many times and in how many ways have I been running around squawking and essentially running away from help, just like our little goose?

Someday Gus will make it to flight stage. He will be able to soar and swoop and see the world in a whole new way. I doubt that he’ll remember that before he could fly, he needed a little lift from a family of strangers…but I’d like to think that somewhere in his birdbrain he does have a little less fear and a slightly better understanding of the world around him.

Just like me.

It’s Not About the Burgers

May 26, 2014May 25, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 1 Comment

flag star — A star from my father’s flag.

It’s that time of year where we speak of “the kickoff to summer,” as we celebrate a long weekend and fire up the grill…

But it’s not about the burgers, is it?

Of course, it is a great opportunity to hang out with family and friends and enjoy time together–but if we don’t stop to remember why we have this day off, well, then…we miss out. Memorial Day isn’t just an arbitrary Monday off in the US.

It’s so much more than that.

Since I post to this blog on Mondays, I knew that there would be a post of mine from last year’s Memorial Day. In looking back at it, it still pretty much says what I feel about this day, so I’m going to share it here again. I hope that you will find it worth a few minutes of your time. And I hope that you make the time to remember this day for its true intent: to honor the fallen who gave their lives so that we might be able to live ours in freedom.

[To the international readers who grace me with your visits–thank you! And I hope you can understand and appreciate my focus on today’s American holiday of Memorial Day.]

On This, We Can Agree

Originally published 5.27.13

Most people recognize that today’s America is extremely polarized. Hostile camps are set up on pretty much every issue, to the point where our government can’t even work together to solve very solvable problems, and our population is all too comfortable denigrating one another’s views. But on this—I hope, I pray—we can agree: we thank and honor those who have given the ultimate sacrifice in service to our country. And we are grateful to all those who serve.

crosses at cemetery on Memorial Day — Thanking and remembering ALL.

Memorial Day was created after the Civil War to honor both Union and Confederate soldiers who died in that war. (And, of course, it has evolved to honor all Americans who have died in military service.) But perhaps its origin should be a lesson to us today—that extremely opposite sides can come together to honor the sacrifices made for this blessed country of ours.

I don’t mean to be simplistic about this at all. War is certainly not just good vs evil. Sometimes it is not even right. But no matter what the gray areas are of any given conflict, we must always remember that we have people who say, “I will risk my life for this”—and the “this” is ultimately the freedom we Americans enjoy—warts and all.

My dad served in World War II. My father-in-law was present at the Cuban Missile Crisis. I never got to know a cousin of mine because he died in Vietnam when I was just a baby. I have friends and neighbors who bravely serve and have served. Hundreds of thousands of people who don’t even know me are taking care of business on my behalf.

Thank you all.

I pray that as a country we strive to be better people every day, and that we grow in acceptance, respect, and love for one another. To me, anything less is a dishonor to those who have given us their all.

Failure’s Fortune

May 19, 2014 ~ Lisa Ancona-Roach ~ 4 Comments

Barbara Walters retired last week. While I find her to be grating at times, she is certainly due much respect and kudos for being a pioneer in the news business. I watched some of her farewell coverage, and one thing stood out among many significant things she has accomplished in her life:

Her epic failure.

In a groundbreaking move for 1976, she was paid an annual salary of one million dollars to co-anchor the nightly news with Harry Reasoner. He was ticked that she was earning twice his buck, plus he hadn’t been asked if he even wanted a co-anchor—let along a woman. (Anchorman, anyone?)

He didn’t hide his disdain. In the video below (click the pic), they give a quick summary of the relationship. In this day and age of the “photoshop mentality,” where we gloss over everything to make it look the “best” it can be, I find his raw contempt remarkable.

The ratings tanked and the duo failed. I’m sure in part it was due to the anti-chemistry that Reasoner created, but Barbara herself has said that news anchor wasn’t her strength. Later that year, she found the very thing that would turn her career around—the Barbara Walters Specials that became a resident part of our pop culture.

But first she failed miserably and nationally.

It was kind of like she got pantsed for the whole world to see.

On top of that, first Gilda Radner and then Cheri Oteri did hilarious parodies of her, too. It was easy to laugh at her—she was Barbara Waawaa.

I can’t imagine what that must have been like. My feelings can get hurt if someone doesn’t like the gift I thought they’d love, and here she is being patronized by a coworker and made fun of for her speech impediment on national TV.

I certainly wouldn’t have blamed her if she just licked her wounds and said “enough.”

But she didn’t. She just kept working at it. She developed her skills and found the perfect niche for her abilities.

Flash forward nearly 40 years, and as part of her recent tribute, women currently in the national news industry came out to say thanks to her for paving the way for them. Scores of women. It was an amazing testament to the impact that Barbara Walters has made.

I wonder if she hadn’t failed as that news anchor…would she still have accomplished all that she did? I know there’s no way to really know that, but…I wonder.

Failure can indeed propel us toward fortune. I don’t just mean monetary fortune, but the fortune of our calling…our creativity…our heart. When we fall, we have to make that decision to get up or give up. When we choose to get up, we do so knowing that we could fall again. We consciously decide it’s worth it, even with the pain of falling.

And yet it is so hard to risk it. At least it is for me. I’m not a fan of getting pantsed. I’m not a fan of falling on my face. But if I only choose a path where I can ring up successes, then the path must be pretty flat and probably leads nowhere.

For several years I helped out with our school’s rollerblading unit for our younger grades. So many wobbly little ones trying to stay upright. Often I would tell a child, “You know what I think is the best thing to do to get over your fear of falling? Fall.” They would look up at me like “Who is this crazy lady helping me?!” but then I would tell them how once they fell, they would know what it feels like…and maybe it wouldn’t be so scary anymore.

Inevitably, they would indeed fall, and if I was there to help them up, I would ask, “So…what do you think about falling now?” and they would typically say “It’s not so bad!”

Of course, there are falls that you don’t bounce back up from. Some that can really break you, and I don’t mean to sugarcoat life’s devastating falls.

But Barbara Walter’s public failure is a great reminder to me that failure can be the first step on the road to fulfillment.

I need to let my wobbly little self continually put on my metaphorical roller blades and have at it. Hopefully every time I fall I’ll look up and say, “It’s not so bad!” And if it is bad, let’s hope there’s someone around who knows how to dial 911!

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On This, We Can Agree

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