Ten Things About Tobi

I wasn't sure what direction I wanted to go with the next little post about Tobi. She was a quirky character, overflowing with personality. I think it's important to understand that she wasn't just any dog. When I write about Tobi, her name could never be replaced by another. Here are ten things about Tobi's personality that made her so special. 1. She has been to four countries and was bilingual. 2. A kitten once decided she was her mother. Even though Tobi never had puppies, she managed to make milk for the little thing. 3. She liked to skateboard. 4. Whenever I took Tobi to a creek, she would put her head under water and bob for rocks. She would then proceed to make a pile out of them.

Tobi at the Creek from Morgan Loomis on Vimeo.

5.If you talked to Tobi like she was a dog, she would sit down and ignore you. But if you talked to her like a person, with respect and in complete sentences, she would do anything for you. 6. She has had multiple operations on her knee, tail, soft pallet, eyeballs, and foot. This is why I do not recommend getting a bulldog (unless you don't have anything else to spend your money on). Morgan has documented all of her operations and health issues at poortobi.blogspot.com 7. Tobi loved the water. But it took her years to learn to swim. The first time she saw a pool, she leaped into it and sunk right to the bottom. I had to rescue her. So we got her a life jacket.

8. She was very gentle and loved all creatures, big and small.

9. Her favorite thing to do was to stand on this springy surf/balance board at the park. In fact that is what she was doing right before she passed away.

10. She once met a bull. At that moment her life had changed forever because she had discovered her purpose. After hundreds of years of breeding bulldogs so that their only purpose is to be amusing, Tobi still knew what to do. She charged the bull and we had to wrestle her to the ground before she was injured or worse.

Sweet Tobi: A Multi Cultural Beauty

My sweet little Tobi passed away yesterday. I don't believe most people understand just how important she was to me, or how unique she was. In fact, people who knew her well agreed that she was much less of a dog and much more of a mythical beast. To express why this loss is so hard and why she was so amazing, I have decided to write her story. My dad and stepmother had just gone through a terrible custody battle, which was very traumatic for everyone. Divorce is something that has scarred our lives deeply. It wasn't this moment that made me feel that I needed to make a change, it was the layers upon layers of divorce that came from every corner of my family's make up. So I went away to Costa Rica for a year. I volunteered with the missionary organization JUCUM (youth with a mission). Meaning to stay for three months, I ended up staying for a year. Being in a place completely foreign to what I was used to allowed me to think through my life, upbringing, beliefs, and identity. It was my walkabout. Even though it was a good time, it was also the most lonely time of my life. Because I spoke very little Spanish, and was not accustomed to the culture, I often felt isolated. A friend whom I had met a few months before coming to Costa Rica decided to come for a visit. But he would be what we should really call a suiter. I didn't like him in that way, and made it very clear. But it was awkward and weird just the same. One day we were downtown and we walked by a petshop. In the window, there were little puppies tumbling around and looking adorable. As we got on the bus I told him I wished I could have a dog. He smiled, got up from his seat and said, "I'll meet you back at the base. Theres something I have to do." That night he returned with a little two month old bulldog puppy sleeping in his shirt like a baby in a hammock. He handed her to me and said, "Here's your dog." I thought for sure the base director wouldn't let me keep her. But he was an animal lover. He just smiled and said nothing. I kept the puppy ... but not the boy. So she was my baby and my little terror from that day forward. In the morning we would go for walks before everyone else was up. Through the brightly colored houses with bars on the windows, and up the windy and rocky roads we would walk, until we got to a little grassy spot. There I would lay down, look up at the clouds and pray. Tobi would rest her little puppy jowls on my cheek and I would tickle her ear with a blade of grass. For nine months we did this, and over time she became my little protector as well as companion. Being a tall, blonde, young woman in Costa Rica made me a magnet for male attention. As Tobi grew older, she looked outward toward the path while I lay in the grass, to see if anyone was coming. You may know Bulldogs are known to noisy breathers, and Tobi was no exception. As I lay there, she would hold her breath for about three seconds and listen for people approaching. Then.....gasp for another breath and hold it again. When men did approach, she sounded the alarm. Even though she was sweet natured, she could also be frightening to a stranger. Not only did she protect me, she also discouraged unwanted social interaction. It was wonderful. When it was time to go back to the U.S. I wasn't sure what to do with Tobi. A nice family had recently come to the base and they seemed to really get along with her. I asked them if they would take her when I went back. I didn't want to leave her and just the thought killed me. It wasn't until my dad said, "well you can't leave your little dog behind" that I even considered a dog traveling by plane. It was such a relief to think that she could chome with me. Before I left Costa Rica, I had a real meltdown. As I cleared out my room and packed my bag, I cried and cried. My good friend Cinthia's mother heard me. She came in and comforted me. I love Cinthia's family. They were always so good to me and accepted me as their own. They were kind to each other, loving and open. They also loved Tobi and cared for her when I went on trips to panama or nicaragua to renew my visa. I told Yami, (Cinthia's mom) that all I wanted was a family of my own, a loving little family like her's. She prayed for me and I hugged Tobi and cried. On the day of my flight, the ticket agent told me that it was too hot for my short nosed dog to fly and I had to wait until Autumn to get her on a plane. My heart hurt so bad to leave her. But there was nothing I could do. The base director's had dogs and they agreed to take her for a while. I flew into LAX and stayed with my aunt for two weeks, just waiting for the my little dog. Every day I called two different airlines and a pet courier, trying to get her to me. Finally the day came. She was to arrive at the cargo area at 10:00pm. When I got there, no one knew anything about a dog. They suggested I waited until midnight when another truck would be unloaded. So I sat in the car for two hours, praying that Tobi would be in the truck. I desperately needed my little dog. But she was not on the truck. I ran around peeking in every warehouse, asking the people working there if they saw a little bulldog. Finally I came to a building where I heard a group excited voices and my lovely little Tobi, hysterically barking like an alien getting his toes stepped on (thats just how bulldogs sound). I took her out of the crate and we ran, skipped and rolled around on the black top kissing and hugging eachother. Never mind that she was covered in her own shit because she had been sitting in her kennel so long. I was just so happy to see her. And she was so happy to see me. As I cleared Tobi through customs, a large, stern, and lovely black man in a military uniform stamped her little doggy passport and said, "welcome home ma'am." It was such a strange thing to say. But I realized it was true, wherever Tobi was, I was home.

Goodbye Joe

Last weekend I said goodbye to my father inlaw Joe Loomis. To be honest I could never write something that would adequately describe what he means to me. But I will try. When I was in high school, Morgan and I started dating. For my 18th Birthday we had a party at the Opera House. Being young, we didn't think about practical things like what we were going to eat, or where we were going to sleep. No one brought food that night. We just wanted to play. Joe looked at me and Morgan and asked, "What are you going to eat?" I said, " I don't know. We'll be alright." An hour later Joe had returned from town with tri-tip steaks and garlic bread for us. He didn't have to do it. We really would have been fine. But he wanted to. When Morgan and I were having a hard time in high school, Morgan decided to go for a walk in the middle of the night. He walked for hours until he finally walked so far that he didn't think he could walk back. So he called his dad to come get him. Joe asked him what was wrong. After Morgan explained a little, all Joe said was, " I thought it was either drugs or a woman." That was all he said. When we told him we were getting married ten years later, he giggled with delight and said, "I thought that was what you were going to say. Wonderful! I loved being married" I remember the first time he told me he loved me. He was standing in the doorway of the house he was building. He was laughing with delight when he said it, I just couldn't believe how happy we made him. He was a great listener and curious about everything. I love historical narratives and he loved history. We went on and on about Columbus, Cortez, and little Lady Barker from the NZ Sheep station. Every time he saw me he brought up a book that he thought I would like. It was a collection of journal entries from women who crossed the United State by wagon train. He never knew what happened to his copy of the book. It most likely got burned up in one the many house fires he lived through. A few days before the memorial I found the book he recommended on my grandma's bookshelf. I guess I am destined to read it. Morgan's mom and dad had an interesting relationship that I never really understood. When my parents divorced, they avoided each other. Even now, they don't talk and only see each other when it is absolutely necessary. Morgan's parents though, were very different. Wherever their kids were, they both were, even after being divorced. They made conversation and never minded each other's presence. They did this for their children. I thought when people got a divorce, that was it. You take these friends, I take these. We don't talk to each other. The kids make all the visitation arrangements, and I no longer care about you... at all. Most people think this way about divorce. Its normal. But Carol and Joe were never normal. When you talk to anyone about their marriage, everyone agrees that they loved each other very much. And even when it was over, their respect and a tinge of love lingered. I believe how they handled their divorce left their children whole. The combination of Carol's abundance of unconditional love, and Joe's unconditional acceptance and respect for individuals made some amazing children. Joe was a man of principle. He believed that things were the way they were and people were the way they were. It wasn't our job to change anyone or anything. It was our job to wonder. He found amusement and pleasure in the simplest things. When he was showing us around his amazing home that he built himself, I made the polite conversational comment that all he needed was a few pictures to hang on the walls. For some reason he thought that was hilarious. The next time we came to visit he had maps, family photos, and art hanging everywhere, all because of me he would say. He never did things to achieve higher financial or social status. He never did things for the sake of completing tasks. He did things for his pleasure and enjoyment. When I think about this I think that his mind was closer to godliness than any of us, as pleasure is the purest motivation to create. Because of Joe, my love for people has become simplified. While some see his refusal to dwell on problems as a fault, I see it as optimism and idealism. For this I can respect him and be eternally grateful for what I have learned from him.

Reflection

I have been following the Travon Martin and Mark Zimmerman situation for a while now and thought I would reflect on how I feel and what I think about all of it. I think firstly, it is tragic on so many levels. Any loss of life, especially someone who is so young, is painful and horrific to see. Secondly, I think it is wrong that people are judging Travon Martin by how he dressed and what he may or may not have done in his short life. He is dead. It is not right for anyone to criminalize him to justify his death. What we need to do is show respect to his family. As a nation we need to love them and mourn with them for their tragic loss. As big as the United States is, we are supposed to be a family. As a spectator of this tragedy, I don't believe there is enough evidence to say if Zimmerman "murdered" Martin, or "killed" him in self defence. I know very small pieces about the confrontation and it is not right for me to pass a judgement like this. It isn't right for people to feel like they have to pass such a judgement. This brings me to the real issue. The culture of the U.S. is "Right or Wrong, Yes or No, Hot or Cold....Black or White." Whatever happened to "I don't know, I need more information, I choose not to judge, I can see both sides of the situation and they both have merritt...every situation is different?" People are so obsessed with being right that they don't take a moment to try and understand how another person is feeling. There is no reconciliation in the culture of the United States. This is why race will always be an issue, even if it was or was not a motivating factor in the death of Travon Martin. The United States is one of the most legalistic places I have ever lived. This is why this situation is so sickening. The deeper problem is the law that allowed one man to carry a gun, shoot and kill another without any legal accountability. While yes he went on trial in the end. It was however, only because of the outcry of the public. If it were up to the law, there wouldn't have been a trial. And in the end, because of the law, the entire trial and judgement only caused more pain and resentment for our country. What the public wanted in this situation was a country that made judgements based on morality, rather than law. But laws these days are so hard to change in the United States that there is little room for conscience any more. In New Zealand, the government can pass a law in three days if they want to. In the United States it takes years because of all the earmarks, 1000 page bills, lobbying, and corruption. Even though people desperately want change, It takes lifetimes for it to happen. In Travon's case, a very short lifetime. Race is in the very soil of our country. It is cut into every person's subconscious like a dry river bed winding through a desert. It is not Travon Martin's death alone that causes people to cry out and rebel. It is the history of our nation. People talk about slavery as if it were a thing. It is not a thing. It is millions of people being uprooted, chained, beaten, raped, whipped, and murdered for over 100 years. After slavery was "abolished" black people were in even more danger, this time of losing their lives. Because they were no longer considered "property" it didn't matter if they lived or died. Thousands of black people were lynched, burned alive, and shot without proper trial for at least another 70 years (withoutsanctuary.org). Then, for another 40 years, black people were legally prevented from voting, attending the same schools as white people, and eating or drinking or using the same bathroom facilities as white people. This was all permitted under the legality or the fabric of our society until 1964 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civil_Rights_Act_of_1964). So for nearly 200 years our country, our constitution, "we the people" allowed for this terror to take place. I refer to this history because I can understand why people choose to riot and use violent protest, especially in a society where the most influential nonviolent civil rights leader was assassinated. Today, when a young black man is shot, people cry racism not because they know all the facts. They cry racism because of our country's track record. This history is crazy making. Honestly, what would 200 years of violence do to a group of people? In the end, I do not believe that violent protest solves anything. But I can at least understand it. When I first started learning and exploring issues of race, I would become defensive. I would say, "I did not do this to them." While this is technically true, it does not give me the excuse to deny that racism exists and that it is still a problem. By denying it and taking no responsibility for this problem, I am the problem. I am not writing this because I have the answers. The only thing I feel certain about is that we need to stop being defensive and listen to each other even if it makes us uncomfortable. We need to let someone who is angry vent on us for a while. We need to be strong enough to not be afraid of anger, be compassionate and brave enough to be empathetic. We must be big enough to forgive even when we are not forgiven. In the very end, Love. Love doesn't mean criticizing or judging. It doesn't mean being confrontational and closed minded. If you don't know what love means, go look it up, 1 Corinthians 13.

Here are some things I have learned through other people's breakups and divorces 1. Don't have unrealistic expectations for the person you marry, let them surprise you. It is not their job to fulfill you, give you babies, or make you happy. 2. Show your kids how much you love them by putting your spouse first. 3.Don't marry someone just so you can sleep with them. 4.Don't expect your spouse to be able to read your mind. 5. Share how you feel several times a day, even when you don't want to. Encourage them to do the same. 6. Don't try to live up to the cultural expectations of marriage. 7. Always be willing to try. 8. Believe that people can and will change.

I would say about eight years ago I had a dream. I was sitting on a beach in my swim suit, looking out into the ocean. Everything was all grey and purple, the way it gets in Maui. There were either a few islands, or I was nestled into a large bay that wrapped around and made the illusion of islands across the channel. Classical music was playing in the background, yet it wasn't actually background music. It was like the wind, perfectly natural and soothing. As I sat there, a warm northerly breeze kissed my face and pushed back my hair. I was all golden and happy. Out in the Channel, Humpback whales who's bodies' were painted with Maori designs were leaping and dancing to the music. As a cymbal crashed they lunged out of the water and slapped their backs down in unison. There were big and small whales, dancing and breeching to the music. It was totally lovely. And there I was, warm and peaceful, looking out at this amazing sight. My hands and fingers were slowly digging themselves into the sand like roots spreading at the bottom of a tree. The whales were on a journey and traveled quickly while putting on this epic show. I knew when I woke up that they were from New Zealand and one day I would go there. But I didn't realize until later, that New Zealand would become my home and this is where my roots would spread.

Teaching fun things

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