Killing off Cable - Part II

My blog (as dormant as it has been in recent years) still informs me when I last cut the cord - September 2013. At that time, I wired up an external digital antenna and beefed up my streaming capability.

I'm not really sure when I decided to re-enter the cable fray; guessing it was 2-3 years ago, perhaps around the time mom passed - was feeling a little punk / lonely and I had some extra mom legacy money. I also think the results of the 2016 election factored in, when I kind of tuned out of public radio (my usual 24/7 jam) because 45 was all over the news. So I signed up for a promotional package.

Sometime over the past year I realized that the promotional rate had expired, that I was paying full boat for cable / internet / phone package, and that I was stuck with a contract through the fall. To add to my frustration, Comcast had steered me into paperless billing and automatic payments, so I never really took notice of what I was paying (smart on their part, and more reason to be cranky about them as a corporate entity). So my promo rate (reasonable) bumped up to full boat (ugh) and then another $20 or so recently (contract expired? annual price gouging?). It was enough to get me to cut the cord, again.

Evidence of my energy in that direction - yesterday I called, cancelled, disconnected, returned the equipment, reconnected the antenna, and cleaned up / re-bundled the cables (and this on my busiest yoga day, teach two classes). They offered me a lower rate / better package (and I'm sure a lot of folks play the "I'm cutting the cord" card as a negotiating tool) but by the time I make the call, I've got a good head of steam up and I'm not likely to be dissuaded, no matter how good the offer.


I'm still paying a lot for a premium internet service (I regularly need to sling around 1 GB files for work) and a landline (also needed for work, I regularly get on long calls where I'd prefer not to be on mobile, and having a landline with speakerphone is useful) - but it's about $80 less than what I paid last month.

But more interesting to me is the social and cultural stuff that comes along for the ride. I've definitely dropped into the habit of planting my ass on the couch to channel surf. My vices: American Pickers, First 48, Live PD. Nothing I can't live without, and in the case of the law enforcement reality stuff, probably stuff that's brainwashing me. So no big loss there. The one thing I was a little punk about was MSNBC - I'm not watching regularly but it's nice to have - but I can stream shows the next day via Roku, and I realized that I've got the live audio stream of all the big news channels via Sirius XM (also on Roku). So no big loss there.

And there's just a little part of me that equates cutting the cable to my overall rejection of the culture - from relationships to career to holidays to religion to social events to television. Which is not a particularly good thing. But on the other hand, it's easy to practice non-attachment, at least to the things that most of the people in this culture are bound up in. 

Although I guess one could say I am attached to detachment. For what that's worth.

New Lights / Old Lights

Wandering through Lowe's the other day, I stumbled across some close-out LEDs - a box of four for 98 cents. Not cheap, unpleasant ones either - GE brand, warm color / temp, equivalent to 60W incandescent. I knew I had a couple of rogue CF bulbs floating around, so I bought a couple of packs.

Ended up replacing two CF hallway lights, which I had installed when I moved in (circa 2009), replacing the incandescent bulbs the previous owner had been using. Pretty sure they've not needed replacing; testament to the better reliability of newer tech lighting. Now both are LED bulbs.

Also replaced a bedroom table lamp, as well as the front porch lamp, both CF. I've gotten used to the warm-up of the CF bulbs (in a kind of kerosene lantern, coming up to temp sort of way) but truth be told it's nice to have the lights on full strength from the start, especially the front porch light (on a timer, but more of an issue when Elo needed to go out at random times, and during this time of year when the waning daylight forces me to reprogram the timer)

I also wandered out to purchase some LED bulbs for other fixtures - two three way floor lamps which had been fluorescent (the CF 3-way bulbs never really worked well) - the replacement LED bulbs (30-70-100W equivalent) are perfect - almost identical to incandescent in light level and color.  Sidebar: Does anyone prefer the brighter, bluer "daylight" bulbs? Not I. I like the warm yellow glow of incandescent lamps. 

I have two more CF bulbs to replace; both almost never used (overhead deck light, and back door light) - so I'll get to those when I can.

And I've stuck with older technology in one place - my yoga room, which has overhead track lighting and halogen PAR20 spotlight bulbs. I picked up some supposedly dim-able LEDs to try, but they were harsh and could not be dimmed that far down. I really love just a touch of light in that room when I practice in the morning darkness - the halogens dim down to practically candlelight. I'm not in there all that much (just to practice, and occasionally poking around the bookshelves or closet for something), and dimmed down, the bulbs do not consume much power, so I don't feel super bad about that. My one concession of style and comfort over economy and environment.

It's sort of interesting to have lived through (in one decade, in one residence) a complete transition of lighting tech (CF to LED). And it makes me wonder if there are stats out there about the reduced number of fires and overloads related to new lighting tech - does not take too many incandescent bulbs to overload a circuit, but a house full of LED lights could be handled by a single 15A circuit. And a hot (temperature) incandescent bulb was always a fire risk (clothing, window treatments, etc.) in a way that LEDs are not.

New Art

Today's mini project: hanging a large framed print up in my office. It's something my brother Tom gave me, I think he got it from his best work buddy who pre-deceased him (not exactly sure). It was a big deal to him to pass it along to me and he asked several times in the ensuing months if I had hung it. I never had the space for it (it's 24" x 36", kind of a back of couch in the family room kinda thing, a little oversized for my small condo) so it's been stashed in the corner of my basement office for a while. 

It's not exactly fine art (you can get your own copy for $15 at the link) and neither the balloons nor the baskets are really right (as a balloon crew person who sees scores of balloons each year, one notices such things) but someone spent some time and money getting it framed up. It has a Bob Ross "Happy Little Tree" or perhaps "Happy Little Balloon" feel to it.

I recently made some office changes; bought a wire shelving unit onto which I've moved much of my tech: cable modem, backup drives, specialty printers, UPS, etc. several of which were on a now removed wall shelf. That freed up some wall space and I thought "what the heck" - hanging it will honor both my brother and his friend.

The First Walk

Back out on the street this morning, for my first "litter walk" since letting Elo go. Definitely a moment for sadness and memories.

The litter walk and the dog walk have been two separate things, lightly linked by geography (overlapping routes, although the litter walk covers more ground) and origin. The litter walks began one day as I was walking Elo and noticed the street was particularly littered. "Someone should clean this up" rose my inner voice. And from a slightly different place in my head "Well, you're someone...." Whoever that was (and I have my suspicions) set me upon a mission that I've continued every since.

Elo's walks have taken on a rather contemplative tone in recent years. As a pup, he was a bit of a handful, pulling on the leash, turning to grab the leash for tug of war. Among the things I tossed this week were a cloth muzzle we tried when he was particularly naughty, a metal choker collar (hoping he'd not be able to bite it), and several leashes with partially chewed ends from his younger days. Later, we'd take long walks at Deming-Young Farm, where I'd watch and listen for Bobolinks, and we'd both keep an eye out for dive-bombing red winged blackbirds. Pretty sure I stopped those because one too many entitled dog walker would let his (men, always) dog off the leash, and Elo and the dog would get into it, and I'd get yelled at because my dog (on leash, under control) was aggressive and his dog (off leash, not under control) never had issues with other dogs. Won't miss that.

In recent years, as Elo's vision and hearing slowly dimmed, it was all about the nose, so walks became one prolonged sniff. I'd mainly let him go as long as he wanted (my own exercise in mindfulness and patience), with an occasional gentle "let's move along now" tug on the leash if he just seemed to park it.  Elo had a few local fans - dogs who would notice his passing and get excited / barky. Occasionally we'd pass another walker on opposite sides of the street, and Elo might notice, his tail alert, his back up, his old ornery self. But mostly, walks were peaceful and solitary.

Dog walks would be an opportunity to scout out the litter situation, notice things for future reference. Occasionally (if I had a pocket or a free hand) I'd pick up something glass to prevent it from getting broken. But mostly, I kept the two walks separate.

So, back out today - a fairly typical litter walk after days of rain and wind. Thankfully none of the neighbors or Elo's canine buds were out (I'm sure they've noticed that Elo has not passed by in a few days) but I'll catch them up when I see them. A little sadness as I passed the first spot at the edge of the property where he'd usually poop, and the second spot down the road a bit. The places he'd usually stop for a good long sniff, the place we'd cross the street. I'm sure the sadness will fade but this first time back out, was good to acknowledge it.

Taking Up Space

As I slowly disassemble the infrastructure that Elo and I had built up to support our long co-habitation, I'm noticing how much space the little guy took up in my condo and in my life. Had I inquired a few weeks back I would have said "not much, he's no bother" which would have been correct. But now that I'm packing things up, going through things, I'm finding all sorts of places he just kind of moved in and took over.

The first awareness was almost comically clear - dog beds. There were two in the living room (one came over from my former partner's place, Elo's second home when I traveled or had teacher training weekends). One in the basement office; I'd move it off to the side and Elo would pull it to a better (underfoot) location where he could keep an eye on me as I worked. Another was a spare I guess, finding employment in the bedroom, on the sofa, on the back deck. I spread all four out on the deck to air out, before deciding they were too worn, too fur covered, too smelly, and too hard to launder / clean - not worth keeping or passing along. But the recovered floorspace evident in this small island of dog beds was crystal clear.

Next, a small mat where Elo's food and water bowl lived in the kitchen. It was a larger woven cotton rug for a while until that got too worn and dirty, I picked up a small placemat designed for the purpose at Target a while back. Not really much in terms of reclaimed space - the bowls lived under ceiling hung pots and vegetable basket. But still, no longer on the floor, collecting fur.

Dog food - a bag in the basement with a big scoop that I'd use to transfer the food to a smaller Rubbermaid container. A big box of Milk Bone biscuits (my final purchase was a bit optimistic, I guess). I transferred the biscuits to zip lock bags in case I find a place to donate them, broke down the box. More closet space.

A basket of dog toys, tucked under an end table. I tossed pretty much all of the plush (some pretty beaten up, some hardly touched) but kept one little black and white dog which I think was a gift when Nipsy, Elo's predecessor passed. Elo might have played with it a bit, but it's in good shape, and has moved to the bedroom as a reminder of both dogs. I set the near mint dog toys aside for donation or future use, the basket may find another use.

Leashes. So many leashes. There were two retractable leashes, used for regular walks and bathroom trips, both in rough shape from his past life as a leash biter. As I type this I realize they can be tossed.  They hung from hooks affixed to the back of my door along with a little tray for poop bags and a hat with a light for evening walks. The hooks and tray can be easily removed but I might keep them for a while - handy place to hang my bag as well as the recently de rigeur reuseable grocery bags as they cycle from car to house to car. Two smaller retractable leashes, not regularly used and in much better shape, can be donated. A few other short and stout leashes - remnants from Elo's early days when he'd pull and bite at the leash and needed something shorter, stronger. And a couple of collars, in decent shape. Pass 'em along.

A set of lightweight, carpeted stairs, purchased along the way when Elo started to slow down a bit. He never actually learned how to use them, preferring to leap up and down off the high bed until the very end (and occasionally missing and falling back, terrifying us both and embarrassing him). They lived in the corner of the bedroom for a few years, I'd bring them out on occasion when he was not doing well, tripped over them for a few days of non-use, and go back to the corner. I gave them away through Facebook marketplace, guy with a Jack Russell terrier was delighted to have them.

Finally, one of those inexpensive plastic drawers on casters, repurposed from my long self employment, with stickers that read "floppy disks" and "blank floppy disks" and "random cables". It sat in my kitchen, a glass canister of dog biscuits and a Rubbermaid cereal bin of dog food on top, and in the drawers collections of poop bags, grooming supplies, nail trimmers, chew sticks, unused and long expired heartworm meds and flea/tick treatment, and some never used tennis balls, leashes, and rope chews. Emptied, vacuumed out, ready to come back to the office for it's next mission.

In its place, my kitchen garbage which has been underfoot and in the way for years, moved from corner to corner but never really finding a permanent, satisfactory home.

The one thing that I think I'm gonna keep is one of those infant safety gates, installed in the doorway of my yoga room to keep Elo out (because yoga pants are magnets for dog fur) while permitting the door to stay open in the summer for ventilation. It's been there nearly 10 years and I'm sure will leave marks when it's removed. And it has served a dual purpose: keeping Elo out, but also preventing me from turning that room into a dumping ground - it remains clean, empty (save two bookshelves, bins of yoga props, and a closet full of seasonal clothes and bedding). As I open and close it each day to do my practice, it will be a touchstone to remember that little dog, and the love and friendship he brought into my life.

It's weird, Elo has been gone less than 48 hours and I'm already deep into the "post Elo" life - doing a thorough dog fur cleaning of floors and carpets, pulling out quilts and afghans I did not want him to ruin, repurposing this found space, etc. It's not that I'm not mourning - I am. The tears come, lightly, sometimes racking and sobbing. But there's also the yogi in me: observing the attachments, the emotions, and conscious that as this being departs, with all of the commitments and complications that come with living with a dog, space is opening up. And I'm curious as to what will fill that space, what is next.

I was planning to fold into this posting some words about time and habits. But this one is long enough - I'll get to that one anon...

The New Normal

Mostly noticing the silence with Elo gone. I wrote this last night as I lay in bed:

Right now it’s the sounds I miss. The way Elo’s collar tags jingled, the lapping of water, the click of nails on the kitchen floor when I’m in the basement, the thump as he jumped off the bed or the sofa, the slow quiet steps up and down the stairs.

I also am realizing all the ways my patterns bent to him being here. Each meal an interaction as he waited for the bowl or plate. The last thing I’d do at night is let him out for a final bathroom trip before locking the door. Each morning I’d be puttering around in the kitchen and he’d make his way down the stairs, pausing a few steps from the bottom waiting for me to move to the door to let him out. He’d wait in the living room, when I had his food ready, I’d peek around the corner and make eye contact and he’d come into the kitchen. And he’d follow me up and down the stairs, to the basement office, the bedroom - my shadow, all day long - even as he got creaky and slowed down.

And now, in bed. He’d get his nerve up, leap onto the tall bed. Once in a while he’d fall back, I felt so bad for him, but he never figured out the stairs I bought for him. Then come to the head of the bed and wait for me to lift the covers so he could scurry under, on his side. Each morning in these last years, I'd get up and check to see if he was breathing "still with me, old dog?"

This morning, I caught myself turning the hot water faucet on to let it run and warm up, a prelude to wetting down his dry food.

I've been slowly collecting his things - decided to toss the dog beds (full of hair and smell, and not easily cleaned), gave away the bed stairs (which he never did learn to use, preferring to jump up and down). His food, biscuits, rawhide chews are packed up to go to the local pound if they'll take them. I've tossed many of the toys, packed up the "equipment" (brushes, clippers, nail trimmers). Still deciding what to do with leashes, spare collars, newish toys.

And I've decided to make lemonade out of these bitter lemons - I'm giving the floors a good cleaning (so much dog fur that defied even regular vacuuming; I've lived with it for 10 years). I put a new quilt on the bed that I've been saving for post-Elo life (he's been a bit rough on bed covers over the years). And pondering the ways that Elo has limited me - preventing most overnight trips, not being a very dog friendly pup, etc. and how my life might be different going forward, if I let it.

Goodbye, My Beloved Dog

It was a sad, difficult day. But also kind of perfect. On Sunday morning, my friend Kristen had passed along the card of a visiting holistic vet based out of Morris (western part of state) who turned out to be kind of an angel of death - so no need to take Elo anywhere (car trip, stress, cold, sterile). I've done that version a few times and it's always pretty horrible, no matter how nice and compassionate the vet is. She was amazing, turns out this is pretty much all she does. She assumed I got her name from my neighbors at the other end of the condo, who used her for one of their cats.

I cleaned up the space, put Elo's adopted quilt down (an old quilt purchased during a top surgery benefit many year ago). It's been my "cover up on the couch" quilt forever, and Elo had sort of claimed it over the years.  I lit some candles, put some quiet music on (Annie Wenz, a yogi / healer / musician who is a mainstay at Falcon Ridge), brought my meditation cushion down and just sat with him, breathing, metta, crying, making contact in turns. I read Mary Oliver's poem "Her Grave", about letting go of a dog, aloud.

He'd been pretty down since Sunday, so I assumed he'd be a lump on Monday, but was able to give him some beef broth, and he made it outside for a morning bathroom trip and then a short walk at noon. That felt like a blessing. I was not planning to post anything online but the vet called to say she was running behind, so I had time to take a few pictures and post some thoughts - it was nice to share it and to feel the love / energy heading inbound. I'm sort of working under the concept that all this sadness has to get out somehow and sometime, so might as well go with it, share it, express it, let it out.

The actual death was very gentle - Dr. Leah got down on the floor, I held him for a sedative shot (no drama) and he slowly dropped off asleep, then she shaved his leg and administered the final shot. No big drama (sometimes there's some hard breathing or nervous system movement).

She went outside to make space in her truck and got a small gurney, it was nice to have a few moment alone with him (no doubt planned on her part). We wrapped him in the quilt, put him on the gurney, and carried him out.

I'm not getting the ashes returned or do the whole paw print thing. I have enough stuff, his memories, his collar, and photos.

Also a house full of dog fur. I suspect Elo will be with me for a while...although now I'm faced with all the potential home improvements I've put off "until Elo was gone" - painting, carpets, floors.

I took it easy the rest of the day, a little nap, a litter walk, starting to gather up his things. Hoping to bring the food, chews, biscuits to the local animal pound along with some old towels that I've been meaning to donate, if they want them. Going through the toys, tossing some, keeping others. Packing up all the leashes and trimmers and brushes in case I find another pup. No plans either way, I need some space, but expect that if I'm meant to have another dog, it will come into my life and make itself known. He was not a big dog but took up space - I've got four doggie beds out on the deck airing out, a set of steps to get onto the bed that he never figured out how to use. So I'll be getting used to a more spartan home. 

I wish I could have taken today off, but long planned jury duty and no luck getting a last minute reprieve (where you call and they tell you to stay home). It will be fine - I'll bring stuff to read, to keep myself occupied.

And persistently, throughout the day, the refrain "This is why we do the work". So that we can meet stuff like this honestly, with compassion for ourselves, our friends or family members or animal companions, for all beings really. That we can feel the profound sadness and loss and know it's not the end of the world - that our sadness means we're still alive, feeling. But that our own mortality is right there with us. 

Letting Go

Holding space for this little guy as we wait for the vet. Candles, quiet music, metta, tears. It’s a beautiful day with the windows open. It’s also a sad day as I let go of my little buddy Elo. We got one last small walk in this noontime; a final, unexpected blessing.

He went down fast, another blessing. Sunday morning he was just different. Not eating, coughing, very swollen lymph nodes. It’s very clear that it’s time, and without a lot of drama or second guessing.

Mary Oliver says “A dog lives 15 years, if you’re lucky” Elo has lasted 16, a good run.

In the same poem “A dog comes to you, and lives with you in your own home - but you do not therefore own her, as you do not own the rain,or the trees, or the laws which pertain to them.”

The poem ends “Finally, the slick mountains of love break over us.”

These tears, this profound sadness, wrapped around a core of gratitude for this being coming into my life, keeping me safe and warm and loved over so many years and so many life changes.

Gentle transition, dear friend Elo. I won’t leave you alone.