Gilded Italian Tree: Duolingo Reflections

Sixty-one days ago, I logged back into my Duolingo account for the first time in years where I rediscovered the Italian tree. Every lesson was leveled up to 2, but no further. I realized, a bit dumbly, that only leveling it up to 2 was barely scratching the surface of the language learning DL had to offer, and so quested myself with the only real option: gilding the Italian tree. Today, I have finished that quest. It has taken many hours to get here (and some choice curse words, not gonna lie) and I wanted to meditate on the experience. I’m sharing my thoughts here in case anyone else could possibly benefit from them.

First, DL deserves a lot more thanks than it gets. Their staff put tons of work into gameifying language learning and it’s FREE. FREE. Sure, I got ads for upgrading to Plus, but never hit a paywall. I have scoured the language section at the library I work at, and let me tell you, those dusty workbooks *do* help you learn, but the method is not nearly as fun as DL’s. 

I’ve always been a gamer, and gaining EXP - whether in Pokémon, Fallout, Final Fantasy, or DL – works on the neurochemistry in my brain exactly as the developers intended it to. Leveling up in anything instantly incentivizes me to push a little harder, go a little deeper. In this way, it was much easier for me to stick with daily practice on DL compared to reviewing a workbook. Plus, it’s an addiction I don’t feel bad about. And it makes learning le gasp fun! THANK YOU, DUOLINGO!

Secondly, it was easy for me to take the gameification too seriously at times. I had to remind myself that DL never promised to get me to a level of fluency, or that they would provide in-depth lessons to explain nuances of the language I’m studying. My language learning journey is my responsibility, not anyone else’s, and not DL’s. It took me a minute to notice, but at some point I remembered I was doing these lessons on a computer that, if I took the time, could give me all the answers to any questions I had. I realized I was taking one giant open-book test and I could ask the internet when I was stuck (except using Google Translate - that would count as cheating! It’s not a very helpful resource for learning a language anyway). For instance, I struggle with differentiating the use of the various Italian prepositions. One quick search cleared up a lot of confusion!! DL is aware that it is not a one-stop shop for language learning, and it never claims to be. The internet is full of free lessons already – why would DL reinvent the wheel? Ultimately, it is up to me to help myself understand, not DL. Anyway, language learning is an adventure! I’m honestly having fun squirreling away non-DL resources! The world (and internet) is my oyster!

Sub-secondly, the forums were more fun when I assumed DL knew more than me, I didn’t downvote an exercise just because it was hard, and I took everything I read in the forums with a grain of salt. Sometimes, the ones who call themselves experts actually know the least. I should always do my own research if I’m stuck on something. There are some wonderful contributors dropping helpful tips in the forums (sandrabruck, Ake Marninger, and f.formica are some of the best in Italian – thank you!), but there are also users who think they know better than DL and take every chance they can get to rant about how DL is wrong. Yes, sometimes a translation is a bit off, and a native speaker will pipe up, but most of the time, it’s user error. I had no trouble downvoting and/or reporting someone who is almost abusively spouting erroneous information in the forums. Even if I get chewed out in response, the least I could do is drop a helpful link in the reply, as it might help another user who comes along and struggles with the same things I did. That is what DL forums are supposed to be for, not platforms for inconsiderate, arrogant tosspots to pontificate about how much more they think they know than DL and the rest of us. 

Thirdly, learning was better when I slowed down and allowed myself to have fun. Yes, it’s possible, even when learning difficult material 😊 Because of the rush gaining XP gave me, I’d sometimes find myself racing through lessons and then getting frustrated when I’d make a dumb mistake (made a typo, forgot an obvious apostrophe, used the wrong verb because I was going too fast, etc.). That’s totally on me. Sometimes DL is a little harsher than I think is necessary about some typos (Italian has a lot of double letters, like in the words “addirittura” or “poliziotto,” and on some lessons I would put “polizzioto” because I was trying not to look at the hints, and that would be enough to mark the answer wrong. This is a little unfair, IMO). DL tries to give useful feedback on why my answer was incorrect, though it’s not always clear. It’s up to me to find out why. I began thinking of taking a few minutes to search the Google for an explanation like sharpening my language saw – I’m not earning any XP now by researching, but I knew if I put a good effort into understanding where I made the mistake, I would be sharper later, and those same lessons I had been struggling with became much easier in the long run. Sharpen your saw now so you can cut down the tree with more ease and confidence later!

Fourthly, before I complained on the forums, most of the time I tried figuring out if there was a way to resolve it. For example, I’ve seen a lot of people bellyaching about the Leagues, and it has frustrated the heck out of me because, y’all, it’s totally optional. If you go into your settings, you can turn off “make my profile public,” and that removes the Leagues altogether. You have the power to remove yourself from the competitions if it’s not your thing. And all it takes is a quick Google search to find out how to do this. In my experience, someone else on the Internet has already asked the same question. Complaining about something you can fix is one of the highest insults to our collective intelligence, IMO. The tools are often right there at your feet. If you’re not sure, then ask. But don’t complain.

Lastly, FREE. FREE, FREE, FREE. Second only to my local library and YouTube, where else can I learn something so extensively for free? DL is such a boon to the internet, ladies and gents and nonbinary friends! I am so grateful to DL. It has changed my life, truly. I’ve begun having dreams in Italian and have had great success translating some thoughts from English to Italian, all thanks to DL. Am I fluent? Not hardly! If I was dropped in Milan tomorrow morning with nothing more than the shirt on my back and a pocket dictionary, would I be able to survive? Absolutely! Language is kind of like math in that if you understand the equation and the variables that fit into it (e.g. subject – verb – direct object), you can usually get your point across at the very least. 

Duolingo is the perfect language learning tool for me, hands down. The gameification makes it ridiculously fun, so much so that I won’t be stopping at Italian. I’m going to work on my Spanish tree next, then Japanese, and then…who knows?! I love languages just for the sounds and the feel of the words in my mouth. Will I ever use this knowledge in real-world conversation? Who knows?!? That’s not why I’m doing this. I simply love learning languages, and Duolingo has reignited this love. Thank you, DL. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Grazie, grazie mille~

Death, Grief, & Come What May

Come what may.

It's easy to say when things are easy. It's difficult to live out when every day is a struggle for composure, for normalcy in light of sudden tragedies.

In recent weeks, my husband has declared that it hurts tremendously to shed the skin of who you once were. Shedding this skin not only includes making peace with your childhood self or college self or even the self who occupied the entirety of last year; it also includes internalizing and moving past the deaths of loved ones.

Within the last year I have learned an excruciating amount about myself through such experiences.

As many of you know, I grew up with dogs - never cats. My dad was not terribly fond of them, so we stuck to canines. When I got married, however, I knowingly married a cat person, and without much effort he convinced me I’d enjoy the company of cats if we got them as kittens. So we did. A month after we married, we decided to enlarge our family with two furbabies, Sophie and Emmerich, both barely 8 weeks old as rescues.

They stole my heart from the very first moment these skittish balls of love came to rest on me of their own volition. I had no idea I had such a capacity to love cats so much, and I’m so happy Sophie and Emmerich were the ones who showed me. They made me a catmom for the first time in my life.

Then, a year later, we had to say goodbye to Sophie because her kidneys were failing. It turns out lily poisoning is fatal if not caught early enough. On August 28, 2018 I was reminded for the first time in ten years how much it hurts to lose someone you love.

About a year later, I was due for a painful reminder again.

Friday morning July 19, 2019 I cuddled with Emmerich on the couch while I drank my coffee, a ritual we’d established over recent months. I noticed he was breathing heavily but otherwise totally lovey and normal. Later that morning, Joseph took him in to get checked out. We thought it might be asthma or something similarly minor. Five hours later, we were taking him home in a box, taped closed.

Feline leukemia is a tricky little virus that manifests without much warning and with a smorgasbord of potential symptoms. Emmerich had been carrying the virus in his bone marrow and it chose to present itself and start shutting his body down. There was nothing we could have done and nothing we could do except hold him and tell him how much we loved being part of his life while the vet put him to sleep.

The suddenness and utter surprise of his death are what gutted me the worst; I realized with painful clarity over the following week that looking into the face of an old, well-lived pet is very, very different from having to unexpectedly put down an otherwise healthy two-year-old catbaby. You look at the latter and wistfully imagine a long life with them; you look at the former and experience a twinge of reality that says the possibility of them dying of old age increases each day. How could I look at Emmerich like that? His death due to any reason seemed so far off as to be intangible. I can and have looked at my 12-year-old dog, Maxx, like that though, ever since I moved out.

I try to visit my parents where Maxx lives once a month or so. I live two hours and twenty minutes away now - that’s not close but it’s also not far. But in the last year, the fruits of my maturity have come to light in how I’ve regarded Maxx every time I show up and he’s still there, howling his greeting and bounding up to give me kisses: I look at him very deliberately and think “this could be the last time I see him.” It is a bit painful and uncomfortable, staring the inevitability of death right in the eyes, but it provides a sturdy jumping off point for our subsequent interactions. They feel so much more meaningful to me and I practice a present mindfulness, appreciating the silkiness of his coat as I pet him, the sound of his baying as he launches out the front door after a crow. This could be the last time, I think, smiling a bit sadly while Maxx prances around the yard, sniffing for deer poop. So let me be here with him while I can.

The second chapter of my grief opened with the death of young Emmerich and continued in the last couple of weeks as a lesson on the many shapes and sizes grief comes in. It can come on suddenly and without fanfare much like a tsunami, and it can also arrive somewhat slow and steadily, but still end in a jolt.

Death, even when totally expected, still manages to strike deep and quick into the humanity of those left behind.

Chapter three of my grief opened suddenly barely two weeks after Emmerich’s death. My dog Maxx died on Sunday, August 4th of 2019.

Loss, of this rapid-fire nature, certainly makes it hard to breathe.

I remember taking Maxx out for an evening potty break when he was about a year old. My family were in the final stages of readying to uproot our lives and move to Peru, but we were uncertain whether Maxx could accompany us. On that walk, I kneeled in the leaves next to him and took him into my arms, crying into his silky coat. I wanted so badly for him to come with us; imagining this next chapter without him felt hollow and dull, so much so that the image alone brought me to tears next to this clueless, happily wagging animal in the trees behind our house in Virginia.

Thankfully his goofy butt was able to fly over with us and my life during that period of isolation and soul searching was the slightest bit sweeter because of his presence.

It’s amazing how meaningful these animals are, even though they can’t talk to you and don’t see the world like you do and can’t even begin to comprehend their own mortality. Maxx was alive for exactly half my lifetime. That’s plenty long enough to leave a lasting, profound, stinky paw print on my heart. He was my buddy, great for cuddling and singing but not so great for fetching. I will miss him dearly, but I rest in knowing he lived a full, well-traveled life with a loving family, and now he’s enjoying a vast field full of crows to chase, popcorn to munch on, and all the butter wrappers to lick clean whenever he wants. No pain. No tears. No strangers. Just love.

It’s easy to feel sad for myself in the wake of these deaths. One terribly young, the other approaching old; one like a child, the other more of a little brother; both unexpected in their own ways but woven of different hurts. And I have every right to fall to pieces at seeing a photo or talking about them while the wounds are still freshly glistening. But you know what is also true at the exact same time? I can, and should, keep moving forward. If I’m truly living out the Come What May permanently inked on my body for all to see, I can certainly dig deep into this grief - but that doesn’t excuse me from my habits and goals. I still need to take care of and stay true to myself and my family. Both grief and unrelated meaningful pursuits can happen simultaneously. And they will.

Some days it hurts to keep going, but each day I’m able to manage the weight a little better. For the first week after Emmerich’s death, coming home from work sent me into hysterics because of how he used to greet me after a long day. Now I can pat the arm of the couch where he would perch and await scratches and smile fondly at the memory, thankful I even have the capacity to remember such things. And it will be the same with Maxx. If I don’t keep moving forward, the grief will turn into quicksand and consume me. I have to keep getting up at 6. I can cry while I drink my coffee because the weight of how much I miss them hits me - that’s acceptable. But when I dry my eyes, it’s time to hit the gym and throw around some weight. Then I hoist up that backpack of grief and go to work. So far I haven’t missed a single day. Gotta keep moving. Then I come home and work on my book or clean the house or make dinner. Do my nighttime routine, go to bed, and do it all again tomorrow. The backpack won’t be quite as heavy then.

Death sucks. Grief hurts. Understanding our own mortality and the mortality of others sets us apart from other creatures. It is a heavy burden to bear, and it will happen to all of us. Come What May, you gotta keep moving. It’s the only way to stay alive.

That doesn’t mean I won’t miss these precious babies of mine like hell.

In memory of:

Sophie (1yo) ~ August 28, 2018

Emmerich (2yo) ~ July 19, 2019

Maxx (12yo) ~ August 4, 2019

Respect Your Vessel - NO MORE EXCUSES

“I don’t have time to work out.”

I hope that was a joke, because I’m over here laughing my butt off.

No, you know what the problem is? You don’t *make* time. The slightest bit of semantics is CALLING YOU OUT. We prioritize things we deem important, don’t we? Grocery shopping because you prioritize feeding your family. Filling up at the gas station because you prioritize reliable transportation. Stopping at Dunkin or Starbucks every morning before work for that Moo Moo latte frap, hold the whip. Parking your rear on the couch at 8 o’clock sharp every Thursday night for the newest installment of that CW show you love.

We all have the same amount of time in a day. Why can some of us seem to pack more productivity into it than others? We prioritize. Time management and self-awareness are tantamount here. I guarantee you have 15 minutes to spare out of your day (1.5% of your waking hours if you sleep ~8 hours – ONE PERCENT!) to contribute to your body’s wellness. Can you really sit there with a straight face and tell me you are willingly disrespecting your vessel by not making any time for it? This is the only body you’ll ever get, and don’t forget it was given to you despite that you hadn’t done a single thing to earn it. The mere fact that you exist calls you to be a good steward of yourself, and that starts when you put a stop to the whining and complaining about how fat and unhappy and tired you are. You have more control than you think. There is nothing worse than a person who complains about things THEY HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE.

Before you throw out counterarguments like “I can’t afford a gym membership,” “I have kids to take care of and they need all my attention,” and “the closest gym is 20 minutes away,” allow me to blow your mind: All you need to get started is an internet connection (which I know you have), a device, a FREE subscription to a channel like FitnessBlender (https://www.fitnessblender.com/videos), and a positive attitude, and you’re already most of the way there without leaving the comfort of your own living room. So don’t give me that crap. You don’t need fancy equipment or state of the art leggings to get fit. Be a positive example for your kids and invite them to try it with you! Laugh together about how silly jumping jacks look. With FitnessBlender you don’t even have to waste brain energy putting together a set of exercises – just follow Kelli and Daniel’s lead, sweat a little, and that’s it!

Fifteen minutes, guys. I know you have 15 minutes you can reallocate. Believe me, I’ve been there – deep in the couch cushions laughing at fail videos for 30 minutes at a time, stuffing my face with Cheetos. It’s a waste of your life, and the shallow, fleeting pleasure you derive from it is just that: temporary. You know what isn’t temporary? What pays dividends the more you commit to it? What actually makes you less fat, unhappy, and tired in the long run? So, stop scrolling, put your phone down. Pause Netflix – the show will still be there in 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes! One measly percent!

I am tired of the excuses and the outright disrespect. I get tired of it in myself, too, when I go through phases of irrational justification and skip out on the gym. Be honest with yourself and stop making excuses. I know it’s uncomfortable, but “I don’t have time” is at the top of the list. GET RID OF THAT MENTALITY. It is not that you don’t have time, it’s that you don’t MAKE time. It’s that simple. Frankly, exercise is not a choice, it is a biological, psychological, emotional, mental necessity. Now go challenge yourself. Make the time. You’d be surprised at how everything else in life fills in the space around this prioritization. #Respectyourvessel. You weren’t given this body to pursue hedonistic pleasures and that elusive byproduct of experience they call “happiness” – no, you were given this vessel to pursue meaning. Meaning begins when you start taking care of yourself the way you deserve to be taken care of it. You owe that much to this body that carries the precious light in your eyes. Bad habits can’t be kicked overnight and you sure as hell can’t wish yourself into a sexy, fit body. You’ve got to put in the work. You’ve got to put in the work until it transforms into an automatic behavior, and then you’ll be amazed to see how bad it feels to miss a day or two. Being active is not a choice, it is a necessity – so start treating it that way.

No more excuses. GET AFTER IT.

Portrait of a Woman Becoming

     

   
       This may come as no surprise to some of you if you know my husband, or even me, at all. Two weekends ago I took a motorcycle safety course, which entailed a few hours of classroom teaching and several hours of putting those learned concepts into practice on the riding range (parking lot). The end goal of this course was to acquire my Class M license and therefore enable me to legally ride a motorcycle on the streets, ideally working up to riding with Joseph no longer on the passenger seat behind him but on my own bike beside him.
        While I know these two things aren't the same, I grew up loving to ride my bicycle, and that comfortable balance is probably the most important factor when riding a much, much heavier engine-powered bike, so I figured this would be to my advantage. It was; my instructors told me I took to riding incredibly well, especially considering that weekend was the first time ever in my life I was in the front seat, in addition to the fact that shifting with a clutch is still a new concept, too. All in all, a fantastic weekend in which I had boatloads of fun - along the way, however, there were some things I learned that I never could have anticipated.
        If you have been exposed to my character and personality at all in my life, then you know I work exceptionally hard at striking perfection on the first try. Of what? Well, everything. I am cripplingly averse to making mistakes and do not take failure well. I tend to get easily frustrated and have no problem crying as a result. Then, I am so adept at self-deprecation that I basically deter myself from ever again wanting to attempt whatever it was that frustrated me so badly, either out of fear of failing once more or pure stubbornness in the face of the fact that I already failed and the activity in question is suddenly utterly unappealing.
        Failure -> tears -> self-deprecation [resulting in a]= fuming, quiet, Negative Nancy.

        That Sunday after only 9 hours of riding (although truly most of that was spent sitting on the bike, stationary, waiting for next steps), it was test time. Me and 8 others had practiced everything that would be on this skills test over the course of the weekend, so there would be no surprises. To pass, there were five exercises and a points system to cater to - basically, don't run into anyone, don't drop the bike, and don't put your foot down too many times or go outside the lines and you'll be golden.
        By the time we were at exercise 3 I had done okay; I had accrued some points but was still on track to pass. Next was the quick stop after getting up to 15-18mph. I had done this numerous times in practice without fault, but until the test hadn't been concerned about the speedometer. This variable, tiny as it was, was enough to throw me off. Literally.

        When the instructor waved me on I stared down at the speedometer, which I had not yet grown accustomed to doing, and this misdirected focus banished all the muscle memory foundations I had laid for a safe, quick stop; I did the exact thing a panicked, unprepared amateur would do: I grabbed at the front brake lever, putting the bike into a dive, and tumbled to the asphalt.
        When I picked myself up the instructor asked me if I was all right, asked me to show him my hands; the gloves were chewed at the heels of my palms, but my skin was unperturbed. My right knee twinged where a new hole was torn, blood seeping into the beige fibers of my jeans. A streak of blue paint from the guidelines on the asphalt stained the upper lip of the tear.
        I walked 30 feet to the curb of the parking lot and sat, helmet off and hands between my bent knees. I was not trembling. I was not breathing hard. I wanted so badly to cry in defeat and frustration, but I tempered that easy reaction. Instead, as my fellow students lined up for the next exercise, I called out to them through cupped hands: "hey, just don't follow my example and you'll be fine!" It should have been thickly coated in bitterness, but I actually smiled as I said it.
        Two years ago, maybe even just last year, I would have cried in anger on that curb and tore myself apart as I sat there, jealously observing my colleagues' success. I may have even sworn off riding a motorcycle for a while out of pure spite for the sport entire. If I can't get it right - perfect - the first time, then what's the use of it? Clearly it's just not for me. I'm incapable and shouldn't waste any more of my time.
        Under the beating sun I should have felt the heat of shame creep into my face - historically, that is. As it was, I sat there, knee smarting and mind analyzing, and I was calm. No tears, no alter-ego shredding me down to nothing with weapons of words. I evaluated the scene and came to the conclusion that flying off the bike was not an indication of failure; it was a indication that I needed more practice. Simple and true, considering my exposure to riding solo was confined merely to that weekend.
        On the way inside to do paperwork, one instructor pulled me aside and told me she was impressed by my improvement over the last two days. It was incredibly genuine, especially since a kind word was a rare thing from her - her teaching style tended on the harsh side, which made this positive admission even sweeter. I smiled and said thanks, that I would be back to take my retest in a couple of weeks.

        I walked off the range with the bright side on my shoulders. Normally I would have spent the entire ride home glaring off into the distance and internally berating myself for pulling such an amateur stunt. There wasn't even an ounce of shame in my thoughts and I wasn't pretending to be positive. This mode of reaction was brand new to me, and was therefore shocking in the best way. I must say, it feels great not thinking of yourself as a failure, honestly and doubtlessly.
        If for nothing else, falling off the bike gave me a chance to see myself as a portrait of what I've steadily become over the past couple of years. I had long since convinced myself that perfection-focused failure-aversion was an immutable part of my character, but alas, I am so grateful to be proven wrong. After all, what sort of gaunt, sallow character must you have if you get everything perfectly right the first time, with no chance to make mistakes and adjust accordingly? With no chance to become better and do better?
        This weekend I had Joseph ride my bike (see headline photo) to a nearby empty parking lot so I could practice whatever I wanted at my own pace. And guess what? I took the retest this past Sunday and aced it - all my marks were zeroes, which means I didn't put a foot down or go outside the lines - or come close to dropping the bike again. I learned very acutely what not to do, and adjusted for it.

     
        I earned the passing grade this time around, through and through. The first time, even if I hadn't dropped the bike, it wouldn't have felt nearly as satisfying or deserved.
        It takes suffering through trials to see who we really are. If you're consistently taking the easy way out, then you're refusing to look in the mirror. If you're content where you sit, you will remain there in mediocrity and stagnation. Growth takes risk, takes doing and suffering and doing again. Learn from mistakes and continue onward. It is the best we can do for ourselves as well as those we hold closest. Do better, be better, and so on.
        "Hay que seguir adelante." - One must continue onward.

Sophie

“For one so small, you seem so strong.”

~ You’ll Be in My Heart by Phil Collins

My family growing up were unashamedly dog lovers. There was a stint or two when I was too young to care much where my mother conned my father into getting a cat. I don’t remember a lot besides the day we tried bringing her home, which was a catastrophe inside the car.

It may not be honest that I tell people I didn’t grow up with cats, but fundamentally it is true in my mind – cats were never in my house long enough to leave an impact. I’d love on my relatives’ cats, but at the end of the day always went home to my dog. It didn’t bother me not to have a cat growing up; I had an assortment of odd animals pass through my life as pets, including a ferret, chinchillas, dwarf frogs, and a hermit crab, to say the least; I was not neglected by my parents in the realm of family critters. For the last 11 years or so, our dog Maxx has been the solitary family pet. All this is to say if I ever did decide to welcome a cat into my life that I could call “mine”, it would be special.

And it was.

On September 12^th of last year, a mere ten days after marrying the love of my life and moving to Baltimore, Joseph and I rescued two kittens. They were cousins – the girl, an orangey-brown tabby, we named Sophie; the boy, my silver prince, we named Emmerich.

They were 8 weeks old at the time. Little did I know how hard I would fall for them. I never could have prepared myself for the love and joy that these two babies brought me; and, by extension, the tremendous, breathless sorrow of loss that permeated our house just this week.

We celebrated their first birthday’s in mid-July and were approaching our first rescue anniversary. Unfortunately, our babygirl Sophie would not be able to celebrate with us.

Last Thursday I received some lilies for my birthday – lovely flowers with a lovely scent, and creamy orange petals. I immediately put them in a vase of water on the dining room table for all to see. Sophie, the one notorious for eating things she shouldn’t, took this as an opportunity to nibble on the new addition to the house. She swallowed a petal and regurgitated it shortly thereafter.

For those of you who are already shaking your heads in horror, I know it seems such a simple and obvious piece of knowledge. For those of you who are like us and have no idea, please pass this message along to anyone you know who owns a cat or is thinking about getting a cat: lilies are one of the most toxic things a cat can ingest. Even the water in the vase or the pollen or the stalks of the flowers are highly poisonous – all it takes it one little bite, one little sniff, and kidneys begin to fail.

We didn’t find this out until it was too late. 

A couple of days passed without much incident since she vomited the petal. On Monday morning, Joseph noticed she was moving stiffly and acting incredibly lethargic; I raced home from my errands and beat my way through traffic to take her to a local animal hospital. At this point we still didn’t know what was going on. If I read back through my texts from that day, I am still heavily under the impression that this is something she will recover from and we’ll be back home in no time. Still, the doctors checked her in and kept her overnight for some analyses. Nothing was certain yet, although I’m sure the doctors had their suspicions.

By the next day at 2pm, the doctors informed us that her kidneys had failed beyond recovery, and that it would be the best course of action to put her to sleep as soon as possible. Fluid had built up in her bladder, unable to succeed through the natural urination process, and if this was prolonged it would end up flooding her lungs. Joseph got the call while he was at work, and he called me during a break at the library. We rushed to Sophie’s side, spending her last few moments on earth petting her silky fur and calling her sweet names. She was a little uncomfortable, though thankfully not in pain. I think we bore all the pain she could have possibly felt, and much, much more.

The suddenness is what cuts the deepest. It’s one thing to see the death of a pet gradually coming when they’re approaching 10, 15, 20 years of age, but when you go from one day imagining those long years with the precious animal growing up with your kids to the next day where they no longer exist in your arms, where you will never again call them by name and have them trot toward you with sounds of pleasure and recognition…the brutal suddenness changes everything about the grief that rushes in.

We were not prepared for this. She was only a year old. She, and Emmerich, were our babies, the first additions to our newly bonded family. To lose her only a year later and so rapidly all-at-once is utterly devastating. The last time I lost a loved one (person or animal) was my grandfather 10 years ago, and I have never lost a pet in my adult years. This grief, as one so conscious and feeling, tears me apart, sends tremors deep into my bones. I loved Sophie so freely, so thoroughly, and she loved us unconditionally – I suppose it’s only fair that the gaping hole she left behind would ache so acutely.

This past Wednesday was the first full day without her in our lives. I couldn’t stand coming home from work without her fluffiness greeting me at the door that I collapsed onto the couch in hysterics. Joseph held me tightly to him, our bitter tears mingling. It hurts. My God, oh it hurts like hell. Her absence even after such a short bright time is absolutely unbearable. Every little thing reminds us of her, and the grief that follows floods my stomach and my lungs, rendering my appetite entirely absent and making it hard to breathe.

She was the most brilliant little light of my life. As John Smith says in the Disney movie Pocahontas: “I’d rather die tomorrow than live a hundred years without knowing you.” If I could travel back in time and warn myself on September 12^th of 2017 that this tragedy would inevitably happen, that it was a fixed point that I couldn’t change, I would still have bundled her in my arms and taken her home. As much as this pain is all-consuming, I am thankful for the year I was able to spend with her. She taught me that cats can be more than grouchy balls of fur. We passed many hours with her napping on me while I wrote or read or slept. She nuzzled her way into my heart and before I even knew it, I was wholeheartedly in love.

Something that makes me feel more at peace is imagining this visual: God sits at his desk, checking prayer emails, and Sophie jumps up onto his lap like she did to us on a regular basis when we were at our computers. She snuggles into him and dreams of chasing flies while he pets her softly with one hand, typing with the other.

She went without pain to the giant windowsill in the sky, where there is eternal sunshine and an infinite supply of birds to chatter at. We did the right thing with the knowledge we had. Still, this wave of grief will lap at our heels for a while, and we will never forget our first kitty – our first baby.

Rest in peace, Sophie. You were the best little kitten anyone could ask for. Your heart was too pure for this world.

Friends, I now ask two things of you: first, pass along the knowledge that lilies are lethal to cats – don’t assume longtime cat lovers know. As soon as cats come up, lay that fact down. Be aggressive about it if you have to. Sharing that little tid-bit of knowledge now might save a life later. Second, we would appreciate it if you could share photos or memories of Sophie in the comments section. Her legacy is one of love and softness, and we know that we aren’t the only ones who will remember her with fondness.

In Memory of Sophie

7/15/17 – 8/28/18

Pokémon Blue Glitch: All Three Starters

Hello!

This is very unrelated to the rest of my blog, but I felt possessed to write a guide due to the dearth of how-to on this topic. That being said, welcome Pokéfans! Today I will walk you through how to obtain ALL THREE STARTERS on Red and Blue cartridges within the first 5-10 minutes of gameplay!

Continue at your own risk. This is a process that begs much patience and precision. If you'd like to get your feet wet with a video, I used this one to lay a foundation: Getting all three starters (YouTube) Keep in mind, though, you will likely need the visual as well as my directions that follow. The video is unfortunately not thorough or clear, but at least you have something to follow with your eyes.

Got your cartridge? Console? Extra patience? Then let's go!

I used my GBA SP with a legit Blue cartridge, but I've read that you can pull this off via VC on 3DS as well as emulators on computers/other devices. ALSO be aware that this is a GLITCH, not a CHEAT - the distinction is important!

1. Turn on your console and select new game (*yes, if you have a pre-existing game, the only way to utilize this glitch is to start fresh - if you've got a well-played save file, I'd recommend doing some research on the Ditto glitch)

2. Blah blah, what's your name, blah, suddenly you're in your bedroom!

3. Walk up to the grassy area as if you're leaving Pallet Town - Prof Oak will stop you and drag you back to his lab

4. Oak offers you a choice of ONE Pokémon - if you're like me, it matters that you choose one of your top two choices. I chose Charmander.

5. Save the game! 

6. Reset the console once the save is successful.

7. Now...here comes the tricky bit. Don't continue your game. First I will take a minute to explain how this next portion works: you just created a save, right? You will need to start a new game again, and here's why: the Charmander (or first Pokémon selected) contained in the first save will be traded to the new save file. We will do this very carefully. It is almost guaranteed not to work on the first or second try, so don't get discouraged.

8. Here's what you do...start a second new game (the first save isn't modified until you try to overwrite it), go through the intro, tell Oak your name, etc etc...you will probably be doing this a lot so hone in that superhuman patience! Okay, once you arrive back in your bedroom, you are going to do a sneaky, partial save right in front of your SNES system.

9. Like in the screenshot above taken from the video linked in the intro, when you go to save this second time it will register the first save and ask if it's okay to overwrite it with this second save. This Yes/No box is incredibly important. You will say yes and then immediately after the box disappears, before "now saving..." appears, you will turn off your console. Yep, I said it. The thing you don't do. Timing here is critical, which is why it will probably take at least several tries. You will memorize Oak's and your rival's dialogue, this I can promise. To recap: you click "save" and this overwrite text comes up, along with yes/no. You click yes and as soon as the box disappears you turn off your console.

There is a spectrum of responses here, and the one we want is in a very small plain at the center. On the one side, if you click yes and shut off too quickly, the previously saved file will corrupt and you are back to square one without even a "continue" option at the start menu. On the other side, if you wait too long to turn off after hitting yes, the previous file will be overwritten with this new save, also essentially putting you back at square one, without your first Pokémon selection. It took me hours to finally get Charmander and Squirtle on the same save (admittedly I tried for Bulbasaur twice and totally toasted my saves both times, and had to start all over. I wanted all three, but pulling off the precise save timing twice in a row is such a gamble. Acquiring all three is for the patient and mighty, and I am not among you). If you're watching the video, you'll notice this process messes up numerous times. It's definitely a feat.

The only way to check and see if you did right is to boot up your console. If the message "The file data is destroyed!" pops up, this indicates you shut off too quickly and should retry with that in mind. "Too quickly" or "too late" can mean milliseconds, folks. The timing is no joke.

If that message does not pop up and you are offered the options of continue and new game, don't celebrate just yet. There's one more step before we know it was done right. Press continue, and you should be back in your bedroom. Press start and try to click into Pokémon at the top of the menu. It will merely make clicking sounds if the transfer didn't work; if it did work, you will be able to open your party, with your first selected Pokémon bouncing around in the top slot. Once you arrive at the latter result, you will rejoice. It is a sweet feeling to know you hit the timing perfectly. If this isn't your result, repeat until successful.

10. Already with one Pokémon in your party, you need to repeat the steps that got you to that first Pokémon: namely, walking up into the grass and having Oak drag you back to his lab. Here you will select your second starter. Hurrah! Two out of three ain't bad. (My Charmander gained a level from defeating my rival in Oak's lab in this photo, btw, which is why he's lvl6 and not 5.)

At this point it is wholly up to you if you want to attempt getting the third and final starter. I would recommend against it unless you have an emulator in which you can toggle time to speed up and get past all the fluff. If you're like me, with a hard copy cartridge and don't have a million hours to grind through this process fifty thousand times (and don't like Bulbasaur anyway), then upon obtaining your second starter, save for good measure. Then you can resume game-play as normal, fighting your rival in Oak's lab and playing delivery boy with Oak's parcel, etc.

A note of importance: the Pokémon you "trade" over from the first save(s) will act like a traded Pokémon, meaning its EXP will be boosted and after certain levels it will not obey you if you don't have the badge to properly "tame" them. Keep this in mind when choosing the order of your starters - for instance, I chose Charmander as my traded Pokémon so I could level grind my Squirtle in order to blast Brock out of his own gym; I believe Charmander will stop respecting me after level 10 until I get the Boulder Badge.

It is astounding to me the lack of guides on this glitch. As far as I can see, there are only two videos on YouTube, neither of which are incredibly helpful, and no real written instruction. In any case, hopefully this guide is helpful to you! I am supremely excited to have Charmander and Squirtle in my team, without having to cheat :) These older cartridges are a lot of fun because of their inherent glitchiness.

Enjoy your fortified team! Now I'm off to level grind in the Viridian Forest, yay me...

Toodles.
V