Alison Krupnick is a former world-traveling diplomat, turned minivan-driving mom and writer. As a Foreign Service officer with the State Department (March 1986-September 1995), she served in India, Thailand and Vietnam and in Washington, D.C. on the country desks for Egypt, Sri Lanka and the Republic of Maldives. Her writing has been published in Harvard Review, Brain, Child, the magazine for thinking mothers, Seattle magazine, Crosscut and other news and trade publications, literary journals and anthologies.
Our dear hamster Zen passed away a few days prior to Thanksgiving. Her death was not unexpected; we’d been on hamster death watch since August, when the ravages of old age were beginning to show, and on high alert for most of November, as she slowed down and eventually became paralyzed.
Zen’s death was the first we’d experienced since the death of my mother, in February 2010. Just as we had with my mother, we observed Zen eventually stop eating and had to coax her to drink. In her final hours, just as we had with my mother, we took our iPod and played the songs she’d loved, while telling her how much we loved her and what she had meant to us. My mother’s play list: the Israel Kamakawiwo’ole version of ”Hawaii Aloha,” Madama Butterfly, Camelot and “Stardust,” sung by Willie Nelson, because that’s the only version I could find on iTunes. Zen’s playlist: Sean Kingston’s “Dumb Love,” Ed Sheeren’s “The A Team,” and Bruno Mars’ “Count on Me.”
We went out in the pouring rain and buried Zen in the “kitty arbor,” where three cats and one bird rest beneath a pieris japonica plant and a statue of a sleeping cat.
There’s a wonderful David Sedaris essay (which I mentioned in a previous post about dogs) called Youth In Asia that, among other things, talks about how the pets in our lives mark the passage of time.
Zen was Daughter #1′s fifth grade graduation gift. Now as D#1 prepares to go to high school, it feels as if the last vestiges of her little girlhood are fading away. As we tour prospective schools, she is feeling the pressure of PSATs, SATs, leaving some of the friends she’s gone to school with since kindergarten and contemplating college and beyond. I used to say that our kids’ remaining time living with us was equivalent to the lifespan of a guinea pig. Suddenly, for Daughter #1, it’s dwindled to the lifespan of a healthy hamster.
In the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, many of my friends from New Jersey posted updates on Facebook about the havoc wreaked by the storm, including how they had coped with power outages. One of the most heartfelt updates came from my high school friend S., who included this picture:
This is her turtle Speedy, wearing the sweater S. made to ward her off from the cold while the power was out. S. says she also held Speedy over a steaming pot of boiling water, but reassured her that it was for warmth, not turtle soup.
Speedy has lived with S. for more than forty years. When we were young and S and her family went on vacation, I used to feed Speedy cantaloupe and watch her slowly make her way around S.’s house.
Speedy has been a constant in S.’s life, and, I guess by extension, mine. Though S. and I haven’t seen each other since we were in college, the fact that she still has Speedy is a reminder that she is still the person I knew and loved. Speedy brings back fond memories of S.’s and my mostly happy high school years.
I wanted to do something special for Daughter #1 to acknowledge the loss of her pet. Quiet, gentle, bookish, artistic and dreamy, D#1′s feelings are sometimes overshadowed by the loud and harsh realities of everyday life.
I decided that after Zen’s funeral we would have lemon curd, something D#1, adores almost as much as she enjoys Britishisms. (In a recent report she did on British cuisine, D#1, who has an excellent sense of humor and a firm grasp of the inner workings of the middle school mind, decided to steer clear of mentioning “spotted dick.”).
When she was little and couldn’t pronounce the letter L, D#1 would refer to the tangy marriage of lemons, butter and eggs as yemon curd. Other little kids, who had trouble pronouncing her multi-syllabic name, sometimes referred to her as Lemony. For birthdays she enjoyed the Lemon Butter Cake with Fresh Strawberries and Butter Cream from our friend Leslie Mackie’s Macrina Bakery and Cafe Cookbook and my favorite White Chocolate Whisper Cake, featuring lemon curd and raspberry preserves. You can find that recipe in Leslie’s new book More From Macrina. I am the “fellow soccer mom” mentioned on page 169, who enjoyed the cake on my fortieth birthday.
So even though I was up to my ears in Thanksgiving preparations, I took a breather from pies, turkey stock and the cranberry- pomegranate sauce from Food and Wine magazine that will now be a staple in my Thanksgiving repertoire and I made lemon curd, using David Lebovitz’s recipe. We ate it with shortbread cookies while watching an episode of Modern Family to cheer us up.
I don’t know if we will get another hamster, though, if we do, we agreed a few years ago while vacationing in Turkey to name it Suleiman the Magnificant (there is some back-pedaling about that agreement now).
The advice about high school I would give Daughter #1 comes from the immortal words of Bob Marley:
Finally, in the immortal words of Jon Stewart, here it is, your moment of Zen (and Speedy’s brush with fame):
As the holiday roller coaster speeds up, we could all use a few moments of Zen. I finally took some time to collect all the recipes on this site onto one page and also to provide some information about my forthcoming book. It was kind of relaxing. You’ll find both of these pages at the top of the site.
Move over, soccer moms. There’s a new stereotype in town: middle-aged mothers of middle-grade kids in love with middling (okay,small) dogs.
And I am soon to be one of them.
How to explain the yearning?
What parent hasn’t listened to years of entreaties from kids begging for a dog? In our case, the begging came mostly from Daughter #2. When we describe the difference in our daughters’ personalities, we sum it up this way: Daughter #1 is like a literary cat, who loves solitude and curling up with a good book. Daughter #2 is like a dog, craving activity, people and balls.
It was difficult to harden our hearts to Daughter #2′s dog dreams because we knew how good a dog would be for her and, by extension, for the rest of us. And when your child is naturally inclined towards something, it’s hard to resist. I say this as the mother who rushed out to buy a discounted piano the night before we hosted a party for 100 people in our cramped 1912 house because our neighborhood piano store was going out of business and because Daughter #2 showed musical promise.
I sobbed as we re-arranged the furniture, so moved at having had the power to grant her wish. Have I mentioned that now, four years later, Daughter #2 would like to quit piano lessons?
We managed to push aside the dog requests by making sure Daughter #2 had plenty of access to other dogs: her friend R’s dog, dogs in our neighborhood and in her dogless friend B’s neighborhood. We were never so rash as B’s father RC to make promises such as, “if you clean up 40 dog poops, we’ll consider getting a dog.” Daughter #2 and B have steel wills and have probably picked up 400 poops between them. RC is on the spot.
Around two years ago, I found myself wavering. If Daughter #2 wanted a dog so much, I reasoned, why not give her one? We’re already experiencing family life at full throttle, so what’s one more thing?
This had been my rationale for breaking my anti-rodent injunction when Daughter #1 graduated from elementary school. A rat, or any rodent with a long nasty tail, was out, but I could live with a hamster. And live with a hamster I do. A very sweet hamster named Zen, whom I found on Craig’s list and whom we drove from Seattle to Whidbey Island to get, after several email exchanges and photo sharing with the owner of her birth parents.
Around six months ago, after a particularly heartfelt request from D #2 for a dog for her elementary school graduation, Jeff confessed to me that he was softening (for the record, his opposition to a dog had been our limited yard space. If we moved to a bigger house in the country, he was all for a dog). A few months after that, I injured my neck and began taking long walks every day, passing a host of neighbors and their dogs strolling companionably together.
“If you get a dog, no matter how much your kids promise to help, the dog will end up being your responsibility,” everyone warned me.
I had a lot of time to think during those walks. I imagined what it would be like to be responsible for a dog and began listing the qualities my ideal dog would have: no shedding, easy-going and good with cats,
small with small poops. A far cry from the Lab or Golden Retriever Daughter #2 had dreamed of.
Luckily, her friend G had just gotten a Shih Tzu puppy. I tested the waters, Given the choice between a small dog or no dog, which would D #2 choose?
We considered all sorts of breeds before I settled on Havanese, a breed that is growing in popularity.
I hunted down reputable breeders looking for puppies and we suffered one disappointment when a possible puppy was sold the day before we were scheduled to visit her.
Meanwhile, I trolled petfinders and rescue sites and Jeff, wary of a small, designer dog, suggested we visit shelters. We found several sad dogs and a few big, beautiful dogs, but none that was right for us.
In the end, I found a lovely breeder named S and things worked out similarly to the way they did when we got Zen, though we didn’t have to drive as far. S invited us to visit her expectant dog and sire, and shared emails and photos when the puppies were born. Shortly thereafter, just after dropping Jeff off at the airport for a business trip to Taiwan, the girls and I went to S’s house to choose our puppy.
This weekend, Jeff will meet him for the first time. He says he’s slowly getting used to the idea of a little dog, though draws the line at walking the dog if he (the dog) is wearing any article of clothing.
The girls have nixed all the great Cuban names we came up with and are hoping that once he meets him, Jeff will agree that the compromise name the three of us came up with is a perfect fit.
While we were en route to meet our puppy, we listened to a rebroadcast of This American Life’s episode In Dog We Trust. In Act 1, The Youth In Asia (which you can also find in his book Me Talk Pretty Someday), David Sedaris reminisces about his family pets. The death of one of them, he says, felt like the end of an era.
For me, this puppy feels like both the end and the beginning of an era. I have wondered, with the women I know who love these little dogs, whether they are replacements for our children, who are beginning to stick a few toes out of the nest.
My recent experience with a chronic ailment was a sobering reminder that I won’t always be able to push my body the way I want to.
The dog walkers in my neighborhood all seem to be in pretty good shape, though.
Though I have a few years left as a soccer mom, I can tell I will be entering a new subculture. My puppy and I already have some summer play dates lined up and I’ve gotten tips on where to find the best groomers in town.
When I think back to those sweet early days, when my kids were babies and toddlers, I didn’t always fully appreciate being in the moment.
I plan to enjoy every (or almost every) moment of our remaining time as a family of four with two cats, one hamster, eight fish (last time I checked) and one dog.