Truth: I am the fortunate honoree to read/review a Sonya Huber book that will be released in the Fall of 2022, and I can't wait to get that book in the hands of my teachers. It's a perfect National Writing Project text that will be beneficial to directors everywhere. But, shhhh, Crandall. You know nothing. You just know this stupendous human being who arrived to Fairfield when you did and who has kept you in awe ever since: a rock, a sounding board, a fellow collector of knick knacks and silly shenanigans, and a passionate human being in love with the power of words. Their utility. The insanity. The joy.
Truth: There are some human beings that make this life thing a little more tolerable and a lot more hopeful. Sonya Huber is one of these people. I adore her and the writing she gifts us with.
But what I mean is the every day is draining because the hours are made up of attempts to keep functioning and keep a job and do normal things and microwave mozzarella sticks for one's teenage son (actually, don't microwave, these should go in the toaster oven, trust me) and so every day dealing with the mundane is a stark wrongness, a sign that we are all more split inside, that we have to dissociate or compartmentalize, but I don't think people are numb or tuning out, we're just all divided in several pieces and we know we should constantly be setting things on fire so we are trying to figure out what constitutes ethical action. (p. 7)
Phew. That's Sonya.
But, then again, that is faith for me, the faith that people who care about making the world better have to add their supremely tiny acts together, and if you can function in that constant impossibility of your tiny actions, then you can contribute grains of sand that might stop the engine of doom. (p. 8)
Boom. All of this.
Tiny Act: After I left the Fairfield University bookstore, Karal got sick. I'm not sure what she got into, but she began shaking, shivering, and swaying. I could tell she was not feeling well, so a call to the vet (who also happens to be a friend and someone I consider family) suggested a teaspoon of peroxide to get her to vomit. This worked and she released much of what was in her stomach, but as the puppy she is, she didn't want to lose her puppydom, so kept following everyone around wanting to play, wanting scraps of food, and wanting love. But she was exhausted. She couldn't stand unless she was leaning on something. So, I coached in her toward a dog bed, and was thankful when she finally settled in.
Not sure whether her shivering and swaying comes from nerves about being sick or something more severe, I laid down with her to keep her caressed and calm. She settled, and seemed to appreciate the warm embrace of her human taking care of her. I can only channel the times I've been sick and how I don't want to be sick, especially because I can't keep the pace I'm used to if I'm sick. It goes against Crandall tendencies. When I do get sick I get rather nutty and neurotic, and I have to think the same is true for her. Being sick is confusing, out of the ordinary, especially when you're a puppy and you want nothing more than love, attention, and treats.
In that moment, though, stopping the pitter-patter of a day, I could only flashback to the morning I held Glamis in my arms last spring as she was dying and her body was shutting down. She wanted to hide from me, disappear as death came upon her, but I wouldn't let that happen. I was with her until the end, and I can't help but think this is good for dogs. They are ashamed of their weaknesses, as are we. So, on that Easter morning, I simply cuddled her, keeping her safe and wrapped in blankets, lying for 24 hours until offices opened and veterinarians returned to work after the holiday weekend.
Karal seems better this morning, and because she is due for shots, I'll bring her to Companion Hospital. I was channeling my friend Sonya, however, as she's always there for me in ways I hope to be there for Karal --- that is, modeling how to find meaning in the sanctity of each and every second. Pam, Leo, and Bev are saints. So is Jake. They care, and I'm appreciative of them. I'm happier, however, that the puppy came back to her normal self...it was just a temporary scare, perhaps triggered by eating something she shouldn't have...a random berry, a tree ornament, goose poop, a cigarette butt...a sea shell. Who the hell knows?
Moment by moment, we never know when our tiny acts will put us in a tailspin of worry, overthinking, drama, and concern. But that is life, especially for empathetic and compassionate souls like me. One second we're walking along the shores of Walnut Beach, the next second we're holding the jaws of a sick dog so she'll swallow H202 and vomit her eternity onto a concrete entryway.
All this is to say, Congratulations! Sonya Huber, on the book launch. I can think of nothing else I'd rather do today that read more of this memoir. That is, of course, after we pay a surprise visit to Chitunga in Stamford, delivering to him his first Christmas tree, and lunch, all while sharing joy in the chaos of a Sunday afternoon, when I should be grading, should be writing, and should be finishing Sonya's latest book.
Enormous acts within every tiny moment. Tiny victories within the enormity of it all.
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