Today was one of those days.

I went home over the weekend, unexpectedly. 

The first thing I did when I walked in the door was tell my Mom and Dad’s old dog, Carly, hi. At 16, Carly always made sure to come see me when I came home.

 

I gave her a few gentle scratches, and she went off to her own little world to sleep.

 

At 3 a.m. Sunday, I woke up and met my Mom in the living room. The reason for our meeting wasn’t good.

 

We both knew it was time.

 

When I went to leave on Sunday afternoon, I gave Carly a few more pets. I scratched her head. She was pretty happy.

 

I knew it would be the last time that I’d see her.

 

Before I left, I went to pet her one more time.

 

I told her goodbye.

 

When Carly crossed the Rainbow Bridge on Monday morning, I sent my best friend a message, letting her know.

 

My friend’s response: I’m glad Carly waited to see you first.

 

Carly did wait for me. I’m thankful for that.

 

--

 

In 2006, my family and I put one of my childhood dogs down. I was in college at the time, and it was the first time that I had ever put a dog to sleep.

 

I had that dog since I was 8, and I was a wreck.

 

I cried every single night for weeks. One night, my parents came downstairs and asked me what would make me feel better.

 

I told them a puppy.

 

The next day, my Mom called me at work. She told me to come home after work because I had to meet someone.

 

And that’s how I met little Carly Sue.

 

Carly was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. She was a mutt, part Corgi and part Heeler.

She was basically a Corgi with long, freckly legs.

 

Carly was tiny, and Carly hated people. She loved our other big dog, a Collie named Socks. But for the longest time, Carly hated everyone.

 

I took her downstairs and held her for an entire episode of Law & Order. Carly never once looked at me for that hour. She looked at the ceiling, at the walls, at the television, but never once at me.

 

Carly! I remember thinking that she’d be a whole lot cuter if she just liked people more. (Her personality never really changed.)

 

When my best friend came over and asked to see our new puppy, we told her sure, if you can catch her.

 

We caught Carly by throwing a laundry basket over her in the backyard.

 

She was mostly attached to other dogs, but eventually, she warmed up to us.

 

I remember my Dad and I took her to a nearby lake one winter day. There was still ice in the center of the lake, and my Dad and I were looking the view, talking with each other. We weren’t paying much attention to Carly, who was snooping around.

 

Carly jumped in the lake.

 

I asked my Dad if she could swim. He said he hoped so, because he didn’t want to jump in the freezing lake to get her.

 

She doggy paddled her little heart out, and to my knowledge, Carly never jumped in water again. (Too cold.)

 

Carly loved other dogs. She loved Penny, my old dog who is still around, and she loved Chief, my aunt’s old dog. For her entire life, Carly always had a Collie with her. When we took her and the Collies walking, people would stop and make fun of her.

 

They called her a Collie wannabe. A groupie, if you will.

 

She didn’t really care if the other dog was big or little, she just loved being around other dogs. I don’t know how many photos of Carly and Penny we have together, snuggled up and sleeping together.

She also loved Jasper, who crossed the Rainbow Bridge last year.

 

You can have 16 good years with a dog, full of tail wags, kisses and snuggles, walks and belly rubs and romps in the snow, and then one bad day comes along, turns your life upside down and completely wrecks your soul forever.

 

Today was one of those days.

 

In our family, we grieve the loss, and then we stop to remember that it is possible to love again. I think some people get so upset at the thought of putting another dog down that they vow to never have another pet again.

 

In our family, we learn to love again. We do eventually get another dog, and we learn to trust new beginnings and accept someone new into our life.

 

I think we just need to wake up to a dog’s love at our feet. I’ve had that my entire life, and I’ll have that forever.

 

What Carly loved most of all was other dogs, and I hope she’s surrounded by all her friends who passed before her.

 

Goodbye, Carly. You were a perfect, feisty little dog.

 

We love you.

Every time.

 

Horrible.

Of the things that I love most in life, music and Nashville are pretty much in the top of the list.

Exactly 10 days ago, I got en email in my inbox from the Country Music Hall of Fame. I skimmed through it, and noted in my head that the museum was going to be closed one day for an induction ceremony.

I read that the Judds were on the list of people who were going to be recognized at the event. I recognized that name and thought it was pretty cool to honor them. 

A couple of days ago, I read a weird headline about Naomi Judd’s death. It didn’t give details, but her daughter’s social media post did.

She lost her battle with mental illness, the post said.

And then my heart broke into tiny little pieces.

I’ve read a ton of comments online, on Twitter, news sites, Tik Tok. Some are supportive, but most just criticize Ashley and Wynonna’s appearance, a day after their mom took her own life, when both women were brave enough to go to the Hall of Face induction ceremony.

Because that’s what matters right now, right? What these two grieving women look like?

This is horrible for country music fans, and it’s a really dark time for the music world in general.

I’ve read a lot of comments about depression. Some people get it, others don’t. 

How can someone so successful, so rich, and so well known be depressed? Doesn’t she have everything to live for? 

Money? Fame? Talent?

The answer that I always tell people, and that I’ve heard throughout my life, is this: depression doesn’t care what your last name is or how much money is in your bank account. 

It doesn’t care if you have a cool job or fancy cars. 

Depression is a disease, just like cancer is. And like cancer, it doesn’t ask your permission to enter your life or wreck your life.

After someone takes their own life, there’s a group of people who push mental illness awareness, which definitely is not a bad thing.

But you can’t push out the message that people should ask for help while also criticizing someone who didn’t ask for help and then did dumb mental illness related things.

Like the woman once married to a famous man who has everyone glued to their television and trial right now.

It blows my mind that people aren’t recognizing what mental illness looks like.

It looks like a normal person, because normal people have these illnesses. 

Even attractive people.

You can’t want to save one mentally ill person and condemn the other.

It’s been a weird couple of days. It’s weird that people are talking about this right now, and it’s weird that this conversation will likely fizzle out until the next tragic thing happens in the world. 

Horrible is the only word that I can come up with right now. 

And as her daughter put it: I’m sorry she couldn’t hold on one more day to be here.

What a beautiful soul. 

As another commenter said: I hope she rests in peace. Finally.

Kansas.

 I thought to myself on Friday night that I would like a Friday night refund.

I knew the weather would be ugly earlier in the day. My phone beeped all day about the potential for bad weather that night. I asked a few people if they were worried, and even asked my neighbors when I got home that night.

Everyone said nah, it will be fine.

My town is just fine. There were three tornado warnings that night, and the worst thing that happened to me is that I had to hear my blind dog growl at the sirens each time they went off. 

The photo below is from KAKE News near Wichita. 

Right now, I'm thankful that the biggest problems in my life don't seem that big at all now.

Who doesn't love a good cheating and murder song?

Me: I'm feeling kind of down. I think I'll listen to some music to cheer me up.

Eric Church and Chris Janson's new song: I smile at the memory of my diamond on her hand as she went under.

Raise your hand if you did not see that coming.

✋✋✋ 

I listened to the song a couple of times on Spotify, liked it a lot, and then listened to it. Wait a minute. He goes to his shed to get his shovel after his girl cheats on him.

I think to myself, and then send a message to another fan club member. Did Eric Church just kill someone in a song?

And then I watched the video. Haha!

I never thought I'd see a video of Eric dragging a body into a lake, or video of him being buried, but here we are.

Who doesn't love a good cheating and murder song?

When Chris Janson teased that song in a concert in my hometown earlier this year, I thought it would be a beer drinking song by a river.

It is not.

That's pretty dark, Mr. Church. As one fan put it: "It's deliciously dark."

I love it.

867-5309

Going home means something different now that I don't do it very often.

I moved to the other side of the state a year ago. When it comes to little kids, that means that I went from being a full-time aunt on the weekends, oftentimes on Friday night through Sunday afternoon, to seeing my nieces once a month for a few hours at a time.

That's a bummer, yes, but it's a life change that was necessary for me.

Plus, it's made for some pretty hilarious little kid moments.

I went home for Easter last weekend. I was home for 25 hours, and I could probably come up with 25 different little kid stories to share.

I'll start with this first. 

My little curly haired niece, one of the twins, is 8 years old. She wanted to play 'Doctor' with her papa, my dad. Little curly haired K gets one of papa's shirts, puts it on and pretends it's a doctor's coat, and puts on a pair of my dad's glasses.

Good doctors wear glasses and coats.

Next, my dad sits down in a chair and starts answering the doctor's questions. 

But the question my little niece started out with had me trying really hard not to laugh at the kitchen table, where my mom and I were eavesdropping. 

Little K's first question to her patient: "What's your dog's name?"

Papa said his dog's name was Ralph. I have no idea how he answered that question with a straight face, because I was cracking up in the kitchen.

Your dog's name is important to you when you're that young.

Papa was eventually diagnosed and treated with Band-Aids on his ears and lotion on his face. 

After my little niece was done with her patient, my mom and I looked at the notepad that she was writing on during her appointment. She wrote her patient's phone number down as 867-5309.

And then we all laughed until our sides hurt.

If anyone reads this and doesn't understand that phone number, we need to have a little chat after you watch this.

For my own selfish reasons, I hope I influence my three nieces in a variety of ways, my love of music being the one thing I want them to inherit from me.

When your age is less than two whole hands and you know 867-5309 by heart, well, that means you're being raised right, in my opinion.

This is the cutest thing that I've witnessed recently.

I love that curly haired kid more than life itself. 

Hills

It occurred to me this week that I listen to music and podcasts the way that most people watch television.

That's probably a topic for another day. 

For now, we're going to talk about one of my favorite podcasts, which happens to be my favorite author's podcast. 

It's called Tuesday People.

I don't know if I should give everyone a tl;dr, but I will. 

Mitch Albom is the author of Tuesdays With Morrie, which has sold approximately 1 billion copies (I'm not sure of the actual number sold, but it's a lot). It's based on a true story of Mitch's college professor, Morrie, and the last days of his life.

Mitch took a break from his career as a successful sports writer to spend Tuesdays with Morrie while Morrie was dying. Mitch recorded many of the talks, which he plays back to us on his podcast.

The podcast, Tuesday People, begins each episode with the same little story. Something like: The last lesson of my college professor's life had only one student. I was that student.

I listened to an episode yesterday that I tweeted out to the masses.

I thought it was that important. 

Here you go, paraphrased:

Once you decide, all right, I'm making a change, then you can start looking ahead instead of looking behind.

When you are in a bad situation, you look ahead at change, as if it is a hill near where you live. And you keep looking at that hill.

And you think, 'I wonder if I can live on that hill. My life will be better. I want a change.' It's always a hill that you look at, but never go to.

When you're in a bad situation, you're looking ahead, but you're not doing anything about it. When you actually make the change, and you get to that hill, you find that you don't turn around and look back at the bad hill. 

You now look ahead from that new hill and have a new perspective. But it's a perspective that you would have never had, unless you went to that other hill.

--

This episode of the podcast goes on to say that the hill they're talking about is not necessarily a major life change, like moving or switching jobs.

It could be something as easy as changing your mindset.

For me, it's all of those things.

As I'm typing this, it is very late, and I'm not going to delve into the thick of my life too much right now.

Once, not too long ago, I had the same job for nine years and lived under a roof that I owned for six years. Life was stable, comfortable, and I got a little too complacent.

Life was safe.

Since then, I moved 200 miles away, started a new job in my profession, quit a job in my profession, and found a new job in my profession.

Another move is in my future, too, probably later this summer. 

Why did I do all of that?

I looked at that hill, mentioned in the podcast, for a really long time. I looked at that hill while dating people who did not want to change anything about their life, including the valley that they lived in.

I always wanted that hill, but for a long time, I was willing to sacrifice it to make someone else happy.

I thought that was normal. I thought that was love.

It was not.

Love is loving yourself enough to completely change everything in your life to be happy. 

Love is moving when no one agrees with your decision. 

Love is moving on.

Love is booking a trip across the country by yourself, and walking around that huge, beautiful city, completely in awe of things that you've never seen before.

Love is going to eight Eric Church concerts in one year because that's what makes you happy.

There's more to be discussed here, but I'm tired and going to bed.

Good night and luck good, everybody.