In My Own Words, Lifestyle

Happy 168th Homecoming, Cornell College

It was Homecoming weekend for my alma mater, Cornell College, in Mt. Vernon, Iowa.

I’ve been to more homecomings than I haven’t since graduating—only missing this and last year, due to COVID. I loved Cornell while I was there, and love it still. Though, as does everything, it had it’s faults and shortcomings, it was the place I needed, as much for classes and maybe even more for the people it brought me. I still wear my Cornell clothes. I don’t follow the sports teams, but I didn’t do that while I was there either. I read the newsletters. I’ve donated money. I follow them on social media. I continue to sing its praises. I have a Cornell Alumni sticker on my car. I’m, what you may call, a die-hard alumna. Since I couldn’t be there, I celebrated in my own way.

High school was not my space. For a high school, my high school was amazing, but still, I couldn’t wait to leave and find my people in college. And find them, I did. But I also found myself. 

I grew up in Iowa. I wanted nothing more than to leave. Be away from Iowa. Live in cities in new places with lots and lots of different people. I wanted to touch the world outside my bubble. I applied to big schools in big places. And Cornell College. College. Not to be confused with University. Twelve years older, located in Iowa, with 23,000 less students, and named for William Wesley Cornell, a cousin of Ezra’s, it’s easy to confuse the two. I applied to Cornell College because a) it was a good school b) I could create my own major c) if it had to be in Iowa, at least it looked like the East Coast. Long story short, I ended up at a small school, in a tiny town, in Iowa. Exactly what I didn’t want, yet everything I needed. Maybe not the Iowa part, but the other two were definitely what I needed. 

Cornell is a strange place. A tiny liberal arts college in Iowa with a one-course at a time curriculum. It attracts the weirdies from all over. By weirdies, I really mean weirdies. From tech nerds to book nerds to gamers to LARPers. All inclusive weird. You name it, Cornell has it. For only 1,200 students, you can and will find your niche of nerd. We even had some token Republicans on campus. 

I quickly learned that even smart people don’t talk about smart people things all the time or even half the time. I found out it was not only fine but good to not take myself seriously all the time… or ever. Being smart doesn’t mean being boring and intellectual every moment of every day. PEOPLE ACTUALLY DO DRUGS! Y’all, I truly thought a skunk lived outside my dorm my entire first semester. Not even a tiny bit ashamed over this level of naïveté. I also learned it’s good to think outside the box, to question authority, to push back when I knew something was wrong, to speak up with questions and answers, to fail, to ask for help, to be vulnerable, and so many more things. I also learned Russian and German and how to diagram a sentence and furthered my French and English and a lot of applicable knowledge that I use every day in my career, life, and relationships. Yes, it was worth the money Karen. Yes, I do use that expensive piece of paper in my career, Stewart. But college is more than classrooms and textbooks. It should be a safe space to explore, fail, learn, grow, and become the people we were then, are today, and will be someday.

Home is what I think of when I think of Cornell. It was the first place I felt whole. A space that gave me acceptance, love, family, friends, pain, recovery, poverty, plenty, adventure, respect, happiness, anger, truth, and peer review journals. That last one I put in there just because it was unexpected and funny.

I met my people. 

I met my person, who has stayed my person despite moving cross country and living apart for seven out of our eight year personship. She’s doing amazing things, and I could not do life without her. She’s a special kind of human, and I’m so glad she’s mine. Homecoming my senior/her freshman year is really where we started bonding. It’s when I met her family, who would become my family. Cornell gave me a home for four years and led me to the family I chose for forever. 

I found the love of my life at Cornell. My first semester freshman year, I fell for him. Actually, I fell on him. The happiest and saddest moments of my life were shared in our home by Cornell. It was and has always been the earth shifting, head soaring, heart fluttering, belly laughing, eyes shining kind of love that turns into soul shattering, heart wrenching, inside hallowing, eyes filling, life altering heart aches. Cornell is where I lost him. Whether it’s our liberal arts education teaching us to think outside the box, our love, history, respect, or a combination, I still call him my best friend, my partner, my most favorite human .

So many people came in and out of my life at Cornell. I made friends in the dorms, in classes, through walking across the Ped Mall. I spent time with my partner’s fraternity brothers. I became an honorary member of a sorority. I was president of the French club. I had friends all over. I learned stillness and solitude are equally as important for me. I felt a part of something even when I took time for myself. 

I came into my own life at Cornell. 

Life was lived because it had to be suffered through. Then I went to college, where I met people who let me be whatever I was. Happy, sad, angry, passionate. Feelings were welcomed. I found a man who challenged me to love and be loved, demanded I allow myself to break in every way I needed to so I could recover. Cornell gave me permission to enter my own life authentically and with complexity. 

The hardest years of my life played out on campus and in Mt. Vernon. When I think of Cornell, a shimmering sadness plays across my heart. A foundational four years filled me with as much sorrow as happiness. I think I’m still catching up on the sleep I never got back then. I also really wish I hadn’t recycled all the paper handouts and copies from my classes… I’d give a lot of things—not the dogs— for all of those now. I would not be who I am without Cornell. I would probably not be at all if it weren’t for my Cornell family. I miss it as much as I am happy to have moved on. 

No matter the hardship, I am and always will be a die-hard alumna. I really didn’t like purple until I realized I had to embrace it at college. Purple and white are the school colors, and I’ve definitely acquired a collection of Cornell pride clothes over the years.

2021 is the 168th anniversary of Cornell’s existence. It’s old as shit, considering the state of Iowa is only seven years older than my beloved alma mater. Missing out on this year’s celebrations, although most were cancelled due to COVID, was sad. So I decided to fill my house with flowers in Cornell colors all week. I even did a photoshoot with a bouquet, hair comb, and corsage to celebrate. Flowers just make everything more fun, especially Homecoming. After the shoot, we went for coffee and sweets; I definitely felt like I was off to a school dance with my corsage. 

I made the corsage in markedly not Cornell colors but still in honor of Cornell. Red and white. My partner belonged to a fraternity, Mu Lambda Sigma, better known on campus as the Milts. This year marks their 150th anniversary. As any and all Milts will tell you without provocation, they are indeed the oldest organization on campus. Starting out as the Miltonian Literary Society and founded by Dean H.H. Freer in 1871, it evolved into the fraternity I know and love. I had really hoped to spend the Milt’s 150th anniversary on campus, but alas, I did not. 

Not only was my partner a Milt, he introduced me to actives and alum, many became close friends. The fraternity is and was important to me because these were men who created a space for me to exist with the knowledge that I was safe. They protected me and nurtured me. They taught me men could be good, kind, and gentle. I didn’t have to fear these men. I was able to reset my gut and learn to trust it for the first time in my life because of these men. Truly, I have been able to go out into the world and trust men directly because of my partner and the Milts. I am forever grateful to the goofiest group of dudes. So the corsage is as much in honor of my partner as it is in honor of each Milt who loved me at Cornell. Goodness, do I miss them. So much. 

Happy Homecoming, Cornell. I miss the good times and am thankful for the bad. 

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

Shop the Post
[show_shopthepost_widget id=”4594220″]

Books, NonFiction

Raygun Humble Brags in The Midwest: God’s Gift to Planet Earth

Posing with The Midwest: God’s Gift to Planet Earth in front of Raygun in Des Moines’ East Village.

Worth A Read Yes
Length 256
Quick Review If you’re not from the Midwest, you probably know it exists somewhere but the where and the what it is is probably a little foggy. This book will walk you through the important yet forgotten region.

Raygun started out as a tshirt store in Des Moines. It quickly grew a cult following because the t-shirts are hilarious and just about the only ones in my closet. Over the years, they have expanded from t-shirts to art to book publishing. 

This will be a short book review because I can sum it up in: This is hilarious and educational! Two of my favorite things. 

An Iowan by birth, I want people to know my state exists. I would also like for it to not be confused with Ohio or Idaho. Iowa does not share a border with Pennsylvania nor is it known as the Potato State. It does have a border with Illinois and Minnesota and is known as the Hawkeye state. The Midwest is a great book for laughs and learning. Whether you want to know facts about the state, history, or people, Raygun delivers the information in a relatable and very Midwestern way. 

With lines like, “Adam and Eve are prime examples of how not to behave if you want to stay in the Midwest.” followed by “Those who remained and prospered in Eden are today’s Midwesterners.”

There are so many wonderful qualities The Midwest goes over in detail, but one of the most common is “After our good looks, this niceness is what we’re known most for.” As an Iowan, I can say I hear “Oh you’re from Iowa, that’s why you’re so nice.” It gets tiring being stereotyped, but if my home state has to be stereotyped, this is not a bad one. 

The Midwest is so attention starved, this book takes advantage of every single opportunity to point out a famous, important, or any person of note real or fictional that hails from the greatest region in the “galaxy.” Out of the forty-five presidents of the United States, Raygun wants you to know “The Midwest has produced fifteen U.S. presidents. Three were killed, four other survived serious assassination attempts, and two died early. Our current Midwestern president, Barack Obama, may be in a dire situation. After all, just being a Midwestern president gives him a 70% chance of being killed, being shot at, or dying early.” Positive: Obama made it! 

Raygun never misses a chance to make fun of literally anything, including the Midwest. We have a very self-deprecating sense of humor if nothing else. The Midwest is full of information, laughs, illustrations, cartoons, and more; all of which comprise one of the most overlooked yet completely awesome regions in the world. We’re humble, but we will self promote when the occasion arises… Mostly because we want to come and enjoy the under appreciated beauty 67 million people call home!

Memorable Quotes
“Hollywood can’t get enough of us! With character attributes that range from extremely good looking and intelligent to kind and brave, Midwesterners can fill just about any role.” Clark Kent is from Kansas!

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

Buy from Raygun

Title: The Midwest: God’s Gift to Planet Earth!; An Illustrated Guide to the History and Culture of the Galaxy’s Most Important Region
Author: Raygun
Publisher: Raygun
Copyright: 2012

ISBN: 9780578116198

Experiences, In My Own Words, Lifestyle, Travel

Derecho: Iowa’s $4 Billion Storm No One Talks About

A month ago, my best friend, Alex, called on Monday, August 10 at 11:12 in the morning on his drive from Cedar Rapids to Carrol, Iowa, like he always does when he’s commuting on work trips. Nothing was out of the norm. I was switching between our conversations about nothing and everything to yelling at dogs to stop chewing on each others’ butts to pouring myself another cup of inspiration water, or tea as normal people call it. Little did we know, Alex was driving directly into a devastating natural disaster. 

Through the phone, I could hear the rain and winds beat against the windows of his car. The sounds worsened as he muttered, “Holy shit. Everything is green.” Growing up in the Midwest, “green” means one thing: tornado. Except this time it wasn’t just a tornado. The phrase “I’m going to find an overpass” was the only thing Alex said for minutes. We sat in silence, I on the couch, him driving through a catastrophic storm a thousand miles away. I hung up under the guise of giving him room to concentrate, but, in the vain of complete honesty, my anxiety and lack of control couldn’t handle the helplessness of both our situations. He never found an overpass, and stopping is more dangerous than moving forward. He called as he drove past my hometown to report he was alive and Ames was dark. 

Derecho. 

The only reason I know about the derecho and devastation in Iowa or even what a derecho is is because I was on the phone with Alex while it happened and I’m from Iowa. I spent 23 years waiting to leave and six years being very proud to be from there. I have friends and family all over Iowa. I know people whose lives were ravaged by a storm that has received almost no media coverage outside the region. I have had to rely on Facebook updates and local news sources for any information. National coverage has been all but nonexistent. 

There was no warning about the derecho. Even climatologists were surprised by the devastation that sweeped the Midwest. It began in the early hours in South Dakota; by 8:00 am, the storm crossed from Nebraska into Iowa. Iowa was going through a severe drought, so a forecast of rain was welcomed by the predominantly agricultural state, but the storm grew angrier. By the time it reached Carroll, it was no longer just a storm but an unstable force raging across the Heartland. By the time it reached Des Moines, wind speeds were over 80 mph. It reached its pinnacle in the Cedar Rapids area with wind speeds of 120 mph and higher. Iowa experienced the worst damage, but the derecho traveled 770 miles from South Dakota to Ohio over a fourteen hour period. 

Cedar Rapids, where Alex lives and a mere twenty minutes away from our alma mater, was one of the worst hit areas. I had a plane ticket to Cedar Rapids for the 13th. Three days after the storm. As I looked out the window over the familiar patchwork of Iowa, I could see silos crumpled like pop cans (or soda cans for non-Midwesterners), crops felled as if Paul Bunyan had gone on a jaunt, trees broken like twigs, and homes spread across roads. The derecho didn’t destroy everything. Like a tornado, a field would be decimated but the one next to it was fine; a silo destroyed but the home stood tall; everything was gone or everything was fine. From the sky it was remarkable, but it couldn’t compare to the view from the ground. 

Alex picked me up. Streets were completely blocked by trees. Power lines were down. Houses were dark. People were sitting in lawn chairs in their front yards with nothing else to do. We made our way through the hallways and into his apartment by the light of our cellphones. He lives adjacent to Coe College, and after three days without, he was one of the lucky ones, and had his power turned on. Some would end up going weeks without power. 

It was emotionally devastating to walk the streets of Cedar Rapids. Trees poked their way into living rooms. Windows cluttered streets. Roofs shattered across yards. Cars were tacoed under limbs and debris. Houses buckled under hundred year old trees. Power lines frayed on sidewalks. Lamps snapped in half. Orange flyers clung to doors condemning homes, signalling another family was homeless. It was everything I could do to stay the tears. Yet laughter, voices, music floated in the air. Amidst destruction lived hope and community. Families and friends congregated on porches and in yards to escape the stagnant humidity building in the homes from the lack of air conditioning. 

I wandered the streets with my camera. Taking it all in. What was touched, what remained, and the in between. People started calling to me, inviting me into their yards. Everyone saw the camera with hope in their eyes that someone was there to document what had happened to them. I said I was a writer, from Ames and Mount Vernon, living in Houston. I’m not the writer they were hoping for, but I want to tell their stories. 

Lisa* ran off the front porch of what was her beautiful blue Victorian home, waving me over. “Ma’am! Are you telling our story?” Her mother sat on the porch swing as Lisa’s three young children played with toys. Her husband was baking potatoes in a fire pit they’d moved to the front yard so they had a better view of the debris clearing. Lisa’s nephew came around from the backyard with her phone, which had been charging in the car. “Oh, don’t you worry about my house. We have some water damage and lost some windows and a few trees, but we’ll be fine.” Carpet, from what seemed like the entire house, was rolled up in the driveway; boxes full of broken glass and window frames sat next to the carpet; plastic rustled in every visible window hole; a hundred year old maple lay across their house with the side porch crushed beneath it and roots still intact. “Do you have a minute? I want to show you the people who have really been affected. This is over on Eldridge behind the Mall that way.” She pulled up a video on her phone to show me apartments collapsed on top of each other, furniture strewn every which way, and the sobbing of a man in the background. “These folks lost everything. They need help. We need someone to pay attention to this, so they can get the help they need.” She squeezed my arm and thanked me for caring when I asked how they were doing, “We’re blessed. It could’ve been much worse, but God watched over us.”

An older woman and her granddaughter sat on the ground staring up at an undamaged tree, “Minnie Mouse! We have grapes for you!” Ever the animal lover, my interest was piqued. Mary beckoned me over and patted the ground beside her, “If you’re covering the storm, don’t forget to talk about the animals. They didn’t have a house to take cover in like we did.” Sitting in a crook of the tree sat a squirrel. Emily, the granddaughter handed me a grape, “Minnie Mouse’s tree fell down. I tried to fix her nest, but she didn’t want it back.” Minnie Mouse and Gretchen are two of the squirrels who frequently visit Mary’s porch for bird seed and other snacks. Gretchen had been hanging around for six years, but Minnie Mouse was only two years old. They were so used to Mary and Emily that these two squirrels used to sit on their laps eating grapes, their favorite fruit but apples were okay too. Gretchen only disappeared during the storm, but it took Minnie Mouse five days to make her way back to Mary’s front porch. Neither were ready to be touched yet. Mary wanted me to tell you, “The storm changed them.” I don’t think Gretchen and Minnie Mouse were the only ones changed by the derecho, though.   

Rod and Phil drove down from Wisconsin to help clean up their mom’s yard, but they weren’t the only ones. Cousins and grandchildren filled the yard. Everyone had a job, and no one sat idle, except for Doris. Doris’ home was intact, but there was damage to the siding and roof with a few cracked windows. Every single one of the many trees surrounding the Victorian home had fallen victim to the derecho. Gazing at an enormous pile of freshly chopped wood, Doris couldn’t help but say with a smile, “It’s such a blessing none of the trees hit the house! I’ll have lots of firewood this winter, at least. My poor grandkids lost their house in the country, so they’ll be staying with me for the foreseeable future.” The grandkids piped up, “But you let us have cookies for breakfast. Mom doesn’t do that.” Rod asked if I had heard about the storm in Houston, “It’s a shame this isn’t getting any coverage. How can people care about a place and the people if they never see it?” 

In the evenings along First Avenue, cookouts were everywhere, accompanied by signs saying something to the gist of: “Free Food! Everyone Welcome.” Barbershops, churches, businesses, and families set up BBQs offering food to the hungry. In an area without power and a lack of food storage, people depended on these moments of community perseverance. There wasn’t a sad face in sight. People congregated with joy as they connected over food and a shared sense of surviving something remarkable.

This is the Iowa I grew up in. This is the Iowa I am proud to be from. I talked to people who were clearing their neighbors’ yards even though theirs was condemned next door. Those in the worst of circumstances never dwelled on their own problems, instead they wanted me to know about those who had it worse. Every single person I spoke with uttered the word “blessed.” They were blessed; they had fared so well. These people, in the heart of the destruction, saw blessings. They used the devastation, in the midst of a pandemic, to gather and help and find the good in the derecho. No one drew attention to their own heartbreak and struggles, they wanted me to tell the stories of the people who lost more. These are the people I grew up around. The ones who give when they don’t have much themselves. The ones who stay when they don’t have a reason to. The ones who find a reason to laugh and dance when no one would blame them for crying. This is Iowa. It is the Heartland.

Of the 35.7 million acres of land in Iowa, over 26 million acres are devoted to crops. A total of 85% of all land in the state is used for agricultural purposes with over 88,000 individually owned farms. Iowa is the largest producer of corn, eggs (18 chickens per person in the state), red meat, and hogs (seven piggies per person! for a total of 30% of all hogs in the country) in the US. It is the second largest producer of soybeans in the US. They’re also in the top five producers of goat’s milk, oats, turkey, and dairy. Iowa has the largest grain storage capacity in the country, 3.6 billion bushels to be exact. 39% of all corn production goes toward ethanol. Iowa is the leading producer of ethanol: 4.23 billion gallons of ethanol, in 2019 alone, are produced in the state’s 42 corn ethanol plants and two cellulosic plants. Iowa falls to second place in cash receipts for a total of $27.4 billion in 2018. It is the second in agricultural exports and is responsible for over $10.6 billion dollars in exportation revenues. The derecho affects every single one of these, which in turn affects the country and the world. The fall in revenue will have an impact on the local, national, and global economies. There could be food shortages for those who enjoy pork, beef, eggs, dairy, corn, and a whole bunch of other things. Not to mention the dent in ethanol production, which affects a whole long list of things. More than 57 million bushels of grain storage were destroyed, which will cost upwards of $300 million to clear and replace. 35% or more of the corn crop was destroyed, and the remaining crops may have a difficult time being harvested and stored. The derecho didn’t just destroy homes and lives in Iowa, it will have a major impact on the national and international economy over the following months and years as the state rebuilds. But you know, it’s just a fly over state that only garners attention during elections and is thought of as a backwater-hicksville. (Also false.)  

Governor Kim Reynolds requested $82.7 million to repair or replace the 8,237 destroyed homes. She also requested $100 million for private repair utilities and $3.77 billion to cover agricultural damage. Trump, ever helpful, approved $45 million. This leaves farmers, homeowners, and practically everyone else hurting. The lack of federal aid could force small farmers to sell, some of whom have worked the land for generations. 

Currently, a month later, the Iowa Department of Human Services website states that the only households eligible for federal aid must fall 200% under the poverty line and submit their paperwork by September 21, 2020. The maximum amount these households are eligible to receive is $5,000. 200% UNDER the federal poverty line. Even if a person or family meets that qualification, they might get $5,000. So if they don’t have insurance, they’re shit outta luck. The people who qualify for “aid” are the people who are having to decide between food and medication, rent and food, food and shoes, so on and so forth; there is no way they are able to afford insurance. As someone who has been that poor, insurance is prayer. Actual insurance is a luxury. At the end of the day, when a person has lost everything, $5,000 doesn’t cover much. It might be just enough to cover food and a deposit on a place to live. 

With the cost of damages in Iowa still rising and totalling over $4 billion, Iowans are feeling left behind and forgotten by their government, country, and media coverage.

Nine days after the derecho demolished Iowa, I flew out of Cedar Rapids’ Eastern Iowa Airport. After boarding the plane, we were delayed. Looking out the window, I and the other passengers on the plane watched Donald Trump and his entourage exit Air Force One. He was there for a tour of Iowa to see the destruction himself and lend his full support to the people. He never even left the airport. He got off his plane, showed his face for a press conference, and flew away with less than two hours on the ground. 

Four days after getting back to Houston, I was at a socially distanced going away party, when someone asked if I had fun on my trip. My response was, “Fun, no. Disaster zones are never fun.” A quick conversation about why I called Iowa a disaster zone, Were there riots? Is it because they’re so conservative? Once that was cleared up, I was met with a Wow, I didn’t hear about the storm in Ohio. As friends were struggling to cook meals over open fires in cities and towns throughout Iowa, people on the side of the country were learning about the storm two weeks later in Ohio, the great potato state. 

*All names have been changed.

Books, NonFiction

Amazing Iowa Women by Katy

In front of the Iowa Capitol Building with Amazing Women by Katy Salwell, Ph.D. in Des Moines.

Worth A Read Yes
Length 69
Quick Review A beautifully illustrated book about the remarkable women who have called Iowa home. 

I am very proud to be from Iowa. We have produced some really amazing people. Names you’ve heard, but most you will never know. Iowans are good people, for the most part, there’s always a shit stick. Amazing Iowa Women is a collection of mostly unknown names, but each woman has made a contribution to their community and the world.

Katy Swalwell, Ph.D. has created a wonderfully inspiring collection of fabulous females. It is definitely with children in mind, but it’s enjoyable for all ages. Salwell keeps the grammar and syntax simple. Though the message is far from simple: Women can do anything even in the face of great obstacles. 

Not only is Salwell calling attention to incredible women, she’s tearing down the Iowan stereotype. Iowa is more than cornfields and housewives. It’s a diverse tapestry telling the story of women’s roles in state and international history. With each biography, Iowa becomes more and more tangible. The women come from all different backgrounds, educations, ethnicities, and more. They reflect the world we live in, the fights that have been fought, and the wars still being waged. These women show Iowa to be the diverse and inclusive place I grew up knowing and not the stereotypical hick pig farm it’s far too often depicted as. 

Each woman’s name is accompanied by their greatest achievements and an outline of Iowa with a star marking their birthplace or home. The biographies share a short story about who the woman was and what she accomplished in her life. Some names are more well known than others, but women are rarely alone in their field or fight. Salwell includes a list of notable Iowa women working on similar things at the bottom of each biography. 

Each of the Amazing Iowa Women is accompanied by a portrait. They come in different styles, colors, and aesthetic appeal, but they are all beautiful. Each portrait was created by a female Iowa artist. 

From Donna Reed to Russell Stover’s Chocolate, Iowa women have been a part of history for as long as the state has existed. Some have gone into the world to do incredible good, and others have stayed close to home creating change in their own communities. Salwell tells the tales of Amazing Iowa Women while supporting local women artists. This is a beautiful book full of history and hope. I loved it, and I would give it to any of my nieces and nephews. 

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

Raygun’s Website

Title: Amazing Iowa Women
Author: Katy Swalwell, Ph.D.
Publisher: Raygun
Copyright: 2018

11..., Lifestyle

11… Things I’ve Missed Over the Last Three and A Half Months

Enjoying downtown Houston last summer when I had significantly less dogs and far more time and no COVID in my life. | Dress | Watch | Earrings |

The last three and a half months have been crazy chaotic for everyone around the world. You’ve probably noticed the hoard of puppies in my Instagram stories or the pictures or the posts I’ve managed to produce. COVID and quarantine have definitely had a serious impact on my life, but the puppies have had a far bigger impact. Working from home, my quotidien life didn’t change drastically because of quarantine, but it did change because of the swarm, which is what we came to call the thirteen puppies. I love them, but I have missed out on a whole lot of things because of them. 1000% worth it, though. 

  1. Sleep. I have missed sleep. What is it? I don’t even know anymore. They are sleeping through the night, so I’m getting more than two non-consecutive hours now. I am playing catch up. 
  2. Beau. Because I was living at my best friend’s house and then in Iowa, I went two months without seeing Beau. It hurt my heart, and I know it hurt her feelings because I disappeared with a gazillion dogs for EVER. Luckily, I’ve been back in Houston for two weeks, and Beau and I have been snuggling like crazy trying to catch up.
  3. Going Out. Even if COVID hadn’t shut down the world, I wouldn’t have been able to go out and enjoy the world. I feel like I’ve been so detached from everything because the puppies have kept me occupied and preoccupied. 
  4. Showers. I haven’t had tons and tons of time for showers, and even if I did, I’m not completely sure how useful they would be. The moment I get out of the shower, I tend to find poop or pee or throw up or most usually a combination of all three. It’s hard to convince myself to shower when I’m just going to be gross ten minutes later. Might as well stay gross.
  5. Reading. I have not had time to read because my time is spoken for. I’m about a gazillion books behind schedule. Woops.
  6. Looking Like A Human. I’m certain I look like an exhausted, chubby alien version of myself. Eating well went right out the window because I haven’t had the time to cook, let alone grocery shop. I’ve definitely put on some softer edges and some wrinkles. 
  7. Water. Honestly. I’m so dehydrated. I keep forgetting to drink water because… Well, I’m not good at it to begin with, so when I’m uber busy, hydration just doesn’t happen.
  8. Knowing What’s Going On. Whether it be what’s going on in the world or what’s going on with my best friend, I honestly have no fucking idea. I’m not even on social media right now. This is the first blog post in a month! I found out about George Floyd because my best friend texted me (I did take time out to protest because that is FUCKING IMPORTANT, and social justice is a huge part of …on the B.L., so I can’t not march.) I love my friends, but seriously, I hardly talk to them. 
  9. Money. I’ve been spending it like it grows on trees because these puppies have been ridiculously expensive because the number of them and they’ve also had some super fun rare medical problems, but they’re healthy now. Also I’ve not had much money coming in because COVID has slowed everything down. I so poor. 
  10. …on the B.L. Hello. I haven’t written or posted anything in weeks and weeks. It’s hard to motivate myself to do anything with the very little free time I have when I’m exhausted. So here I am, finally posting something. Woo!
  11. Houston. I’ve missed Houston. I was gone for a month, but even when I’ve been here I can’t even enjoy the outdoorsy things this great city has to offer because I’ve been momming it up. Oh well. Maybe soon. 

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

Shop the Post
[show_shopthepost_widget id=”4063750″]

11..., Lifestyle

11… Devastating Things About Raising Puppies

I have loved raising the puppies. From the moment I brought Tess home at the end of February, I knew my heart was going to break. Having had a litter when I was fourteen, I had an understanding of the difficulties lying ahead of me. It’s different because there were “only” ten puppies in that litter. Thirteen… that’s another story entirely. As an adult, though, it’s different; it’s harder. Being financially, physically, and emotionally responsible for the first three months of thirteen little puppy lives has been beyond hard. As much as other people have been around, I have almost completely been the sole caretaker. It’s one of the most taxing experiences of my entire life. It’s different than taking care of babies; in a lot of ways, it’s harder. The difference: it’s only for a few months.   

wp-1589825777860.jpg
Getting cuddles in before she goes. | Dress | Shirt 

wp-1589825777805.jpg
Boudica playing in the backyard before she went to her furever home.

  1. Boudica went to her furever home on Saturday. She’s the first to leave the litter. She needed to go to her family. She is so shy and timid, her brothers and sisters were overwhelming her, and she couldn’t grow into the explorative, happy puppy I know she will be given the space and patience she has found with her family. It is heartbreaking letting her go, but she couldn’t have found a better fit for her sweet soul. She has a huge back yard and will go on so many camping trips. My heart hurts without her, but it’s easier knowing she’s in the best place for her. 
  2. Health problems have been plaguing this journey. Puppy Strangles was one of the most terrifying experiences. Walking in after letting the two-week old puppies have an hour nap to find one struggling to breath through a swollen face and hard neck dropped my stomach. Two more had it within the hour. We didn’t know what it was; luckily, we went to the ER, and they were able to get the help they desperately needed. It was five weeks of antibiotics and steroids to make sure they would be healthy and happy the rest of their lives. They’re perfect, and you’d never know we almost lost Oryol, Athena, and Knight. Noski has a degenerative joint problem; it was so bad, I wasn’t sure he was going to make it because he couldn’t walk. He absolutely was not himself, and my heart broke watching him struggle to lift his head. Tess had a hotspot, which showed up overnight, leaving her with no hair and huge scabs around her neck. It looked like I had her collar on too tight for ages; I felt horrible. She was on steroids and anti-inflammatory medicine for weeks to get rid of it… The hair hasn’t grown back yet.  
  3. Tess has struggled. She has absolutely persevered and been a rock star mom… But there are THIRTEEN puppies and EIGHT functional nipples. The math does not work out in her favor or mine. They all want to be with her and love on her, and she’s exhausted and fed up with the swarm. It’s hard watching her do her very best by them. She’s torn between wanting to be with them and wanting to be alone. I wish I could do more for her.
  4. It’s hard giving all thirteen puppies the attention and socialization they need and deserve. I only have so many hands. My life is spent almost completely with them. If I’m not changing sheets, doing laundry, feeding them, or trying to get a little work done to pay for the vet bills, I’m with them outside, inside, wherever. I do everything I can to make sure they’re all loved on equally, but it’s hard.  
  5. A few puppies needed extra special loving because they were sick, small, or not getting enough food. As newborns, the puppies ate about every two hours on a rotating schedule because: not enough nipples. Tess couldn’t produce enough, and the little ones weren’t able to fight their way in. I had to supplement several puppies by pulling them out and letting them nurse without the competition. But that wasn’t enough, so I ended up bottle feeding them every two hours for four and a half weeks. It’s not conducive to sleep, but I’ll get to that. 
  6. My sleep cycle has been devastated. It wasn’t normal to begin with, but it was regular and perfect for me. I usually went to bed around 4:00 am… Now, I get up at 5:00 am. NOW, before I was getting maybe three hours of non-consecutive sleep a night. It was horrible. I’m getting around four and a half hours of sleep at once. It’s hard. I’ve always functioned tired because I’ve had to. I’m used to the feeling of complete exhaustion. The kind where there is a pit in your stomach that feels like hunger, but it’s literally my body hungering for sleep. I’ll get it in a few more weeks. 
  7. All this work, lack of sleep, and poor hydration is taking quite the toll on my skin. I’m looking a bit haggard. I’m a bit vain. I’m actively trying to prevent wrinkles and signs of aging because I’m a woman and society dictates it so because my worth becomes non-existent the moment I look three minutes older than 25… Kidding, kind of, probably not really. Anyways, I’m doing my best to treat my skin well, but all this not fabulous schedule and difficultness is really starting to show on my face. I HAVE FINE LINES. I need a facial. Stat!
  8. Having to choose sucks. I mean, it is horrible. Talk about a Sophie’s Choice – this is complete hyperbole; they are all going to absolutely the very best homes I could find. It was hard. We knew we wanted to keep three puppies. Actually, we weren’t going to keep any. Then it was one puppy. Then it was two puppies; Dylan’s pick and my pick. But Knight was really sick and small and deformed, and I put a LOT of time and money and energy into just keeping him alive, and no one deserves his goodness but me! So we decided to keep three puppies. Dylan pretty much immediately bonded with Bear, so that was his pick. I have spent just about every waking moment with them for the last ten weeks. I love each and every one of them with all my heart. I know them better than anyone else. I want to keep them all forever. How could I possibly choose? I couldn’t. I did, but I chose based on what the best fit for our family was. Bear is a scrappy cuddler; Tess is laid back; Knight wants nothing more than to cuddle. Beau needed someone who could run, run, run with her. I chose Makeda because they can run around for hours together. There were others who would’ve been better fits for me, but I wanted to make Beau happy. 
  9. The stress of everything has been tough. I can handle stress, but this is a lot. There have been things outside of the puppies causing stress like COVID and everything else life throws at us. The puppies are stressful, though. Trying to make sure they’re healthy, happy, socialized, and everything else is stressful. I have been on the verge of tears pretty much constantly for eight weeks. My teeth are loosening up a bit because of all the stress. I don’t remember the last time I showered because my brain has shut off. Speaking of my brain not working, words are hard. My speech has definitely struggled. 
  10. I’m not a particularly in shape or fit person. I do my best to avoid working out every way I can. That being said, I’m not that out of shape. Puppies grow quickly. At birth, they all easily fit in a cat bed. Now, one fits in that cat bed. All thirteen fit in a single laundry basket for their two week check up. At six weeks, only four fit in a laundry basket at a time. I used to be able to carry four in my arms. Now, I can manage two – as long as it’s not Bear. Carrying them all up and down the stairs, wrangling them, feeding them, trying not to step on them, and more has had quite the toll on my body. My back aches. My neck aches. My leg muscles are so tight. I’ve gained weight… Damnit stress. My arms and legs are covered in scratches and bruises; it looks like I didn’t survive the razor blade windmill in a horror movie. I have a hard time wearing shoes because the tops of my feet are so scratched. My fingers are covered in band-aids. I have to wear wrist support because they have reached their max. I hurt. I need a massage and a vacation. Probably some sleep.
  11. I can bear all of these things. It’s been hard and exhausting and lonely and expensive, and it’s completely worth it. The hardest thing has been knowing from the moment we decided to keep Tess is the knowing I would have to say goodbye to these perfect little beings I raised and loved with my whole heart. I have thoroughly vetted everyone getting a puppy. Furever families must sign contracts to guarantee they will be taken care of. Most are going to friends or family members, which means I’ll get to visit them and watch them grow up. Knowing they are going to wonderful homes that will love them for the rest of their lives makes it easier, but it’s heartbreaking. I’ve said goodbye to one already, but I have eight more goodbyes to come. It’s devastating but the best thing for them. 

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

Shop the Post
[show_shopthepost_widget id=”4031101″]