Until recently, I considered myself a fairly positive person, but I’ve learned I have some blurts to convert.

For the past several weeks, I’ve been part of a group that meets on Wednesday evenings to work through Julia Cameron’s book, The Artist’s Way. The book, an international bestseller, is basically a 12-week program for those who want to “recover their creativity from a variety of blocks.”

I have a cynical side, and there are some parts of this book that cause me to cringe-advice that seems too New Age-y or so obvious that it feels condescending, that occasionally calls to mind a skip through daisies in a white, gauzy dress rather than the analytical, frill-free manual I might’ve preferred.

So it was with some sarcasm that I began the exercise where we each were to come up with a positive affirmation about ourselves. I channeled my inner Jack Handy and announced, “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and gosh darn it, I like myself!”

But then, as I attempted to write my actual affirmation ten times, as instructed, I was surprised by what happened. With each scrawled statement I wrote came words that were somehow stronger than mine. A former in-law saying (about my writing), “I suppose there are some people who actually like that kind of thing.” Another person telling me, “You really shouldn’t try to write beyond those cute little puppy dog stories of yours.” Myself saying, “Find a dream to chase that you might actually catch.”

I was surprised that words spoken ages ago could still wield such power, that they were strong enough to drown out compliments from others whose opinions I value much more. Yet I heard them clearly, just like the book predicted I would.

Cameron calls these our ‘blurts’-objections that flag our personal negative core beliefs. She says these blurts will “hold us in bondage until they’re dissolved.”

Although I find her choice of phrasing a wee bit dramatic, I tend to agree. Negativity holds me back, makes me fearful. I began paying attention to just how frequently my blurts surfaced, and how most of the time, they weren’t long-stored criticisms from others, but personal indictments.

You’re wasting your time. You don’t stand a chance.

You’re going to embarrass yourself.

You can’t possibly believe that’s any good.

According to the book, we need to convert our blurts and get away from negative thinking. Often, during one of our meetings, someone will say something self-critical, and one of us will quickly call out, “Blurt!”  

It reminded me of an exercise from a church camp I attended as a teenager. Whenever one of us heard someone say something negative, we were supposed to yell, “BIND!” Although I forget the reason behind that particular word, I haven’t forgotten the impact the exercise had.

My friend, Valerie, had also attended that camp, so when we came home, “BIND!” came with us. She was quick to call me on every negativity I voiced, and so competitive was I that I managed to train myself to stop saying negative things.

After awhile, I stopped thinking them, too.

For the longest time, I managed to keep negativity at bay, but gradually-without me even recognizing it was happening-the blurts began to creep in again, and some have grown mighty deep roots.

In my copy of the book, I highlighted a quote by Susan Jeffers that says, “We have been taught to believe that negative equals realistic and positive equals unrealistic.”

It seems sad, but true. Instead of admiring those with positive outlooks, they’re looked upon as vain or criticized for wearing rose-colored glasses. Expecting the worst doesn’t really prepare us for the worst any more than buying a saw prepares us for building a house.

I remember reading once about how a ship can sail around the world over and over, but if enough water gets in, it will sink. It’s the same way with people. If you let enough negative thoughts in, the person will sink like a ship.

I have some bailing to do, but I’m taking it on. One blurt at a time.

I’ve always heard that a writer should never make apologies for their writing, but the column I’m about to put here . . . well, it stinks. And for that, I’m sorry. I don’t always like my columns, but this one I especially dislike. I wasn’t even going to post it, but a couple readers emailed asking me to (for some reason) post it. So here goes.

SPOILER ALERT - Notice is hereby given to readers that the material that will eventually follow this pronouncement could potentially spoil much-cherished childhood beliefs.

The Easter Bunny is a fraud.

I wonder how many of you read that first sentence and immediately skimmed way down the page, expecting to spot the spoiler and were all disappointed when it wasn’t where you thought it would be?

You see, I thought it would be clever to start my first foray into serious investigative journalism by attempting a double duping, a concrete conning, a . . . um. Heh. This is embarrassing. I’ve just got those two. 

Anyway, I figured it would be appropriate to preface my big news about the fraudulent rabbit with a demonstration of deliberate deception. And if anyone’s still with me on this, it should be obvious to said reader (Hi, Mom!) that said writer is badly in need of some sleep (and perhaps a few weeks of rest in a room with soft walls and those cute back-lacing jackets).

Ok, so here’s the deal on the rabbit, or “bunny” as he so goo-ily refers to himself. (His celebrity has totally gone to his head. Seriously. Have you seen the size of his noggin these days? He’s a total freak of nature. The Jimmy Neutron of the rabbit world. [Hey, look! An aside inside an aside!] I hear Macy’s is considering hosting an Easter Day Parade, and might float the big-headed bunny down the street like a giant balloon.)

I first became suspicious about the authenticity of the holiday hare when I spotted him at the mall, nibbling on a healthy carrot while posing for photos and promising one stiffly dressed child after another that he’d soon be bringing baskets filled with chocolate and candy and eggs. But when one tyke tried to share a sticky fistful of jellybeans, E.B. recoiled. When another kid offered a carefully peeled hard-boiled egg–”I never touch the stuff!” he said with disgust.

Hmmm, I thought. Why would an attention-sucking rabbit decide to pass out goodies he clearly despises?

And I was thus compelled to begin my painstaking research.

“Hey, honey,” I said to my husband. “Why do you think the Easter Bunny is willing to work such crazy hours passing out candy and eggs when he hates that kind of thing?”

“Dad told me the truth ages ago. Said he couldn’t stomach lying to his own children,” said Geoff. “The bunny is really just the front man for the Easter Pig.”

“Front man?” I asked.

“You see, pigs aren’t exactly . . . well, they’re not a holiday marketer’s dream creature. They aren’t cute, fuzzy, or cuddly,” said Geoff. “And from a practical standpoint, pigs don’t have laps. They’re physically incapable of sitting in a chair at the mall and balancing a child on their knee. Apparently, a lap is apparently a non-negotiable requirement for the position.”

“Sounds like typical business,” I said. “The lowly pig does all the grunt work. The fancy rabbit gets all the perks.”

“I suppose you could say the Easter Bunny is the holiday version of lip synching,” said Geoff. “People believe he’s the talent, but he’s really just the cute face, mouthing the words.”

“How on earth have they managed to keep this a secret so long?”

“The Easter Pig isn’t a ham,” said Geoff. “He doesn’t want to hog the attention, so he hasn’t squealed.”

Instead of being disgruntled, he’s a truly fine swine.

I’m really enjoying the feedback from this one. It’s nice to know so many people are upset over this. I figured at least some people would admire Spitzer’s wife for being so devoted and determined to make her marriage work, but apparently not.  By the way, if you want to comment without emailing me, just click on COMMENTS. But if you want to email, send it to karinfuller@cnpapers.com.

 I can’t even begin to think that the Spitzers thought he would stay in a governor and that her standing there was politically motivated, so I don’t know why she did it.  Now Hilary really didn’t have a choice politically. Here was the President of the US standing there saying that the only mistake was that he didn’t keep the dress and make Monica wear something else out. Broke moral laws, but no real laws with it… and he was going to stay President. This case was different–he was Governor and got caught doing something illegal and his Governor days were numbered (although I suppose some men are probably arguing that he was just contributing to the economy by purchasing services from an entrepreneur and that the trickle down effect could only help in these hard times….)  

I thought I’d share some of the emails I’ve received from the “Marital Martyrs” column. I don’t know why this is sticking in my craw the way it is. What concern is it of mine? But every time I see that picture (the one I posted below), it gets me angry all over again. It wasn’t her shame to bear, so why is she there?  I just don’t get it.

I fully expected I’d catch hell from readers who believe fervently in Forgive And Forget or in staying together for the sake of the children, but so far, not a single one. (Personally, I’m big on forgiving and forgetting. Just not being stupid about it.)

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RIGHT ON, SISTER!!  I agree with you wholeheartedly AND your column was required reading for my 15-year old daughter yesterday.  Thanks!

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I also read what Matos McGreevey said, both about her own and Silda Spitzer’s situations.  It’s more than a little sickening.  What isn’t said, however, is worse to my way of thinking, and that is the fact that the real reason for them “standing by their man” is financial.  (Or, in Hillary’s case, it was likely her thirst for power of her own.)  To her credit, Ms. McgGreevey did eventually leave her husband, because, I suppose, he apparently wanted to stand by HIS man. Sure, there will likely be some hefty alimony and child support settlements, but it seems to me that greed has taken over and that may not be “enough” for those wronged wives, so they stand by their man, although life in private is surely Hell for everyone involved, especially the children.  Talk about confusion—how great the pressure must be on them, to be torn between their parents in the all-seeing eye of the media and the inquiring minds of those who “want to know”. How can that kind of life be any life at all?  I don’t understand how anyone could live that way. In either case, doesn’t their standing by their man constitute another form of prostitution?  Selling out, whether it be body, mind, or soul, is selling out, is it not?====

Thanks for putting into words what I’ve been thinking all week, as well as through all the marital shenanigans of politicians in the past.  As Hoppy Kerchival said on one of his shows, watching the drawn, pained expression of Silda Spitzer as she stood next to that moron of a husband, I thought it would be great if she’d just cracked a vase over his head, and walked out of the room.  Of course, I would never advocate domestic violence, just for a bit of reality. 

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After reading your column in this morning’s paper, all I can say is Amen.  I get so tired of hearing about Slida Spitzer being a Harvard educated lawyer.  Guess an Ivy League education isn’t that great after all.

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For any who came here expecting to read the story of the Easter Pig, I apologize. It’s been postponed for a week, delayed by my preoccupation with news about a different sort of pig–New York Governor Eliot Spitzer. Connoisseur of high dollar prostitutes.

 Honestly, I don’t care what Governor Spitzer chose to do with his money or morals. I don’t care that this hypocrite extraordinaire sucked up camera time over the past few years lambasting others who were caught committing the same offenses he now faces himself. Ooh. Big surprise. Another dirty politician has been caught with his hand in the candy jar (or, in this case, in Candy herself).

 That’s not what has me so bent out of shape.

 It’s his wife.

 Yet another steel-spined political wife, standing by her man. 

 Hilary Clinton stood by Bill throughout the Lewinsky affair. Senator Larry Craig’s wife, Suzanne, appeared grafted to his side after his bizarre bathroom debacle. And Matos McGreevey, wife of former New Jersey Gov. Jim McGreevey, performed her loyal dog act after her husband’s affair with a male aide was made public.

 My question isn’t why, but where? Where are these politicians finding these women they marry? Isn’t Stepford a fictional place? 

What also puzzles me is the reasoning some women–including the wronged wives-are giving for supporting these wives who are supporting their husbands (who are supporting high-dollar call girls, male aides, and those of toe-tapping talents).

 “I wanted to embrace her and say, ‘Be strong, you’ll survive this,’” Matos McGreevey told the Associated Press when asked about Gov. Spitzer’s wife, Silda.  

Asked why she believes political wives choose to stand with their husbands as they face the press, McGreevey said, “I did it because he was my husband . . . I had a daughter . . . I wanted her to know I was there for her father.” 

In an AP interview, a young New York woman was quoted as saying, “You don’t turn your back on a loved one. You support them. You don’t want your kids to see you abandoning their father in his time of need.” 

Another woman also empathized with Spitzer’s wife, saying she suspected Silda was standing by her man “for the sake of their three daughters.” 

Oh, jeez. It’s the pod people. They’re here.   

Perhaps I missed that particular parenting class, but what exactly do these women believe they’re teaching their children here? Can’t they see that they’re teaching them that they should accept unacceptable behavior? They need ask themselves what they would want their own daughter to do if she found herself in such a position. Would they honestly want their child to do as they’ve done?

 I understand the politics behind the loyal spouse pose, just as I understand that these women live in a far different world than I do. But that world isn’t so different to make what they’re trading acceptable. No parent should be willing to sacrifice their child’s values for the other parent’s political (and sexual) aspirations.

 I have no respect for these marital martyrs. If they’re willing to accept the public humiliation bestowed upon them by way of their spouse, that’s their choice. But if I hear another political mom claim she’s staying for the sake of the children, I believe I’m going to scream. Because while some children will actually do as you say, pretty much all of them will more likely do as you do.

 What about forgiveness, you might ask? Oh, I’m all about forgiving, but forgiving and accepting are two different animals. How many times should a person turn the other cheek before realizing they can avoid being struck altogether simply by moving away? You can forgive a person and maintain a civil-even cordial-relationship with them, while at the same time removing your self (and your children) from the person who chose to pursue behavior that simply should not be accepted.

 One of the most fundamental lessons we parents are charged with teaching our children is the difference between right and wrong. If you misbehave, there’s a price you might pay.  

And you just might pay it alone.

After letting out a loud, frustrated sigh, I clicked off the TV and tossed down the remote. “That kind of stuff drives me nuts.”

 “What does?” asked Geoff, looking up from his book.

 “When the networks run enticing teasers to get you to keep watching, then when you finally see the bit they’ve been teasing about, it’s a total let down. Something obnoxiously obvious or a five-second clip or nothing even remotely close to what they were pretending it was.”

 He shoved his glassed back up his nose. “For instance?” he asked. 

“For the last hour, they’ve been teasing about this couple that’s been married longer than anyone else. They kept showing them and asking, “What’s the secret to making a marriage last 85 years?” 

“Don’t get divorced?” Geoff offered. 

“Besides that,” I said, shooting him a look.  

“They’re just doing their job,” he said. “Trying to keep people from changing the channel. On the radio today, right before a commercial break, they asked, “What causes hot water to freeze faster than cold water?” 

“And I bet they didn’t answer that until the very end of the show.” 

It bothers me that I’m exactly the kind of person that makes teasers so effective. I absolutely have to know.  

If something causes me to miss the end of a show, I’ll spend much of the next day harassing coworkers (and the occasional stranger) trying to find out what happened. Once I start a book or a movie-no matter how bad it might be-I have to see how it ends. If a network teases a show by saying one of the main characters is going to get killed, my curiosity forces me to tune in.  

But that doesn’t mean I don’t get upset when what they’ve been teasing falls short of the bait. 

“Coming up: Your car seat could be putting your child at death’s door!” 

The show’s big revelation-you have to buckle the seat in. 

(more…)

I’ve long wished for a job working with animals. Never expected it could come true while still employed at the paper. 

I suppose manning the new gazettemailpets.com website doesn’t technically put me with animals, but at least I’m surrounded by animal lovers, which is one of the only crowds where I’ve always belonged. 

Visitors to the site began emailing pictures of their pets for our online gallery, often with notes attached. 

“We had a dog named Angel,” wrote Franco of his family’s white Eskimo Spitz. “She had the kindest spirit you’d ever find in a pet. We had the pleasure of her company for 14 years, until she succumbed to lung cancer and we had to put her to sleep. That was the toughest day of our lives.” 

The pain from losing Angel was so great that it took them two years before they could get another dog, rescuing a pup that was about to be taken to the shelter. 

“She has the same kind spirit and personality as our previous dog. Her curly tail never stops wagging, and she’s become just as much a member of the family as Angel. She’s 14 years old now and still going strong.” 

The pain from losing a pet can be overwhelming, causing many to swear they’ll never put themselves through it again. While I suppose you can avoid the eventual pain, you’re also avoiding years of love and happiness–not just for you and your family, but also for the animal. 

Cleveland Amory once wrote, “There are too many animals in need of homes to take the self-indulgent road of saying the heartbreak of the loss of an animal was too much to go through it again. To me, such an admission brings up the far more powerful admission that all the wonderful times you had with your animal were not worth the unhappiness at the end.” 

Another emailer, Renee, said that while she mourns the loss of a pet, she usually waits no more than a few days before adopting another, knowing that the antics of the newcomer will help her not dwell on her grief. 

“Providing an unwanted cat or dog with a loving home is the best therapy any human could ask for. I feel like the short, joyful time that our animals are with us makes up for the heartbreak of their death,” wrote Renee. “And unlike humans, none of my animal friends ever broke my heart while they were living.” 

I remember too well how it felt to lose Jade, a long-haired German shepherd I got when I was 19. Although I’ve been crazy in love with dogs before her and since, it was different with her, and I can’t really say why. All I know is she got into a place in my heart that no dog has gone since. 

I knew the end was getting close for Jade for over a year, and it made me darn near insane worrying about what was to come and wondering how I would know when it was time. When that time came, there was no question. She was in pain, suffering terribly. I can’t say it was easy to have her put down, but I knew it was right. 

Sadly, though, some pet owners choose to avoid the responsibility of dealing with their animals when they grow old by dropping off their gray-muzzled dogs and rheumy-eyed cats at the shelter. But even worse are those who dump the animal by the side of the road, expecting some kind person to come to its rescue. 

Such was the case in Elkview recently when an old gray and white dog, still wearing her red collar (and no tags), was dumped on Sheba Lane, discarded like trash. Concerned neighbors left food out for the stiff-legged dog, and when the temperatures dropped low, they went searching with flashlights for her, but without any luck. 

Five days passed before a neighbor spotted dogs chasing and attacking something. When he intervened, he found the old dog, traumatized and bleeding. After running off the other dogs, he rushed her to the humane association for treatment.

I wish I could say there’s a happy ending to this story, but there’s not. While being treated for frostbite and puncture wounds to her neck, throat, and back, the old girl went into shock and died on February 23.  

It never should’ve happened that way, but it does. All the time. 

One of the reasons I always wanted to work with animals is because I’m so charmed by their innocence and so in awe of their ability to love those who, in my eyes, don’t deserve such devotion. 

I never knew this old dog, but I’d bet my last dollar that had the person who dumped her arrived as she lay there, bloody and scared, she’d have used her last ounce of strength to wag her tail.