The Most Valuable Job I've Ever Had

Perhaps, I'm a bit pre-mature in writing this.  I am, after-all, still in my twenties and haven't had all that many "real" jobs; but last week, something happened that made me think about all my past jobs and it also made me realize the most valuable job I've ever had.

What I mean by "the most valuable job" is probably not what you are thinking.  Because I don't mean the job where I made the most money, or the job that I enjoyed the most, or even the job I stayed at the longest.  I mean, it's the one job that what I learned while working there will be of great value to me for the rest of my life.

But don't get me wrong, this job is not the only job I have had that I have found value in. 

For example, my very first job was working at a print shop as a Customer Service Representative.  I learned so much about paper that I can't go to a restaurant anymore without thinking: "Is this a linen or a cardstock?"  I can't pick up a book or magazine or any publication for that matter without inspecting the binding.

And now that I'm thinking about it, I really don't know what exactly is useful about knowing the difference in paper poundage or how to perfect bind dissertations, but hey, at least I know what I'm doing once a publisher picks up that non-existent book I was talking about last time.

I also worked for four years on and off as a Personal Assistant to a very well-established real estate agent.  And while working for her, I learned something valuable about life.  In all actuality, I learned many things from her, but this particular little morsel of information is something that has indeed, helped me.  You see, this woman had been happily married for around 60 years (her husband still called her babe and it was just awesome) and when I found Jeff and figured out that he was "the one" I asked her what the secret to marriage is.  And she replied: "Well, I've learned that you simply have to support your spouse in everything they do." 

Fair enough.  Jeff and I both have lived by this since we tied the knot and I truly believe it sees us through some pretty tough times.

 Ah.  I just figured out what is valuable about working at a print shop.  I took what I learned from there to assemble the real estate agent's postcards at lightning speed.  (Hey, at least it's something)

I worked for a cell-phone company as a sales representative... learned a lot about phones. 

Worked for a horse trainer... learned what it really means to ride (which is not just sitting there, smiling, and going out to win a Western Pleasure class). 

I even, up until recently, sold advertising in a tough economy.  I learned that I do have a backbone and sales just really isn't my thing.

But out of all these jobs, there is one job that stands out among the rest.  It is, like I said, the one job that what I learned while working there will be of great value to me for the rest of my life.

And that job is... working at a vet hospital for a year.

Why, you ask?

Well, the answer is really quite simple.  I have a zillion animals.  Always have, always will.  And even though I was a superior pet owner before working at the hospital, I consider myself to be an exceptional one now. 



Snickers and me circa 1999

 You see, when Snickers died and I was inundated with vet bills, I had to stop my free-lancing gig and get a "real" job.  For some reason, a local vet hospital was hiring (it just seemed like fate to me) and so I applied and got the job as a receptionist. 

But let me tell you, being a receptionist at a multi-doctor vet hospital is no small task.  Especially when the hospital is equipped to deal with trauma, surgery, isolations, etc.  I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I feel so blessed that I did get myself into that industry, even if it only was for a year.

There are countless stories I could tell, ones that will make you cringe at the inhumanity of people, the suffering of animals, the death, the sadness.

But I also have countless stories of hope, of love, of compassion, and of healing. 

The only problem is, more often than not, these two types of stories are intertwined.

Like this one dog Batman who came in with his trachea completely exposed and countless wounds everywhere.  He was on death's door.  But one of our doctors saved him.  I got really attached to that dog.  I was happy when he got to go home... only to come back again after being in another dog fight.  It always amazed me how incredibly negligent people are of their animals.  It's something I don't think you ever get used to (at least, I never got used to it) but it's something that you eventually have to accept and concentrate on the differences you can make.  That's one thing I learned, concentrate on the positive and try to let the negative go.

I learned a great deal about dealing with people while at the hospital.  I was a receptionist, after all, and it was the other receptionists and me who had to console the families before and after losing their beloved pet. 

It was the other receptionists and me who had to turn away those who had no funds and pray they either stopped doing drugs long enough to take care of their ailing pet or that God would have mercy on that animal somehow. 

It was the other receptionists and me who had to answer the hard questions, more often than we cared to. 

And, it was me and the other receptionists who had to deal with pet owners that were crazier than me about their animals.

I say that because, even after being there a year, I still did not deal as well as my fellow co-workers did with the sadness.  And I had come to the conclusion after Snickers died, that if I could survive that, I could deal with anything involving animals.  That's why I applied at the hospital. 

But, I was wrong. 

There were times when I had to go in the bathroom and shed more than a tear for some chain of events I found to be particularly tragic or just downright sad.  I got better with it as time went on, but like I said before, it never went away. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is, that even though I had the experience of seeing the other side of pet care, the side that most owners don't get to see, I will still always be that "crazy client."  I will always be that person that finds even the smallest amount of animal suffering to be almost unbearably sad.  And I will always try to "save the world, one animal at a time." 

However, even though I can still be a nut case, learning the logisitics of basic and intermediate animal care has allowed me to calm down, take a deep breath, and deal with the situation at hand.

Which brings me back to why I decided that this particular job has and forever will be my most valuable. 

I've been thinking about it for quite some time actually, like, say, since I started working there...

Literally three weeks after I started at the hospital, I took our Rottweiler, Kaya, in to be spayed.  She was two years old at the time and had gone through two heats.  I didn't think anything of it other than: "Sweet, I get half-off vet care, let's get this baby fixed, finally." 

Well, when I went to pick her up there was an eerie silence among the doctors and my co-workers.  I thought: "Uh oh. What the hell happened?"

Kaya in her T-shirt... and yes, it was
over the Christmas holiday

Well, note to self, big dogs, when they go into heat produce fat on their ovaries and other girly parts that are removed during a routine spay.  Since Kaya had gone through two heats, the fat was overwhelming and she was like trying to sew up wet tissue paper.  What resulted was a gaping hole in her gut that you could practically stick your fist in-- and for the next two months she had to wear a T-shirt because it leaked everywhere and we had to cleanse it with Betadine and such EVERY DAY. 

I think everyone thought I would be super upset because they had already figured out "how I am" about my animals, but I was fine with it.  I think I sensed even way back then that this was an invaluable experience for me.  The doctor that did her surgery was so amazing that even with that big ol' hole, there hardly is a scar.  His guidance for how to take care of her during recovery made me realize that even when things look heinous, it doesn't mean it's life threatening.

I also had a kidney scare with one of my cats while working at the hospital.  Thanks to all the kidney patients we treated I knew what to look for with my own felines.  Luckily, she is doing just fine now.

Tosh and me before we
found out he was sick.

And we took home a Labradane puppy that was brought in by some tweekers with a busted foot.  Tragically, we had to put Tosh down exactly 30 days later (and the day before my last day at the hospital) because he had contracted distemper from another puppy in the hospital. (Note: distemper is very rare, as long as dogs are properly vaccinated)  I learned from that experience how invaluable vaccines are and how sad and unfair this world can sometimes be.  And even though we were heartbroken, I knew that Tosh was a case of "we did the best we could."  We gave him a chance at life... it just wasn't meant to be.

After I quit though, it wasn't long before I started reverting back to my panicky, erratic ways. 

For example, on more than one occasion, Alice has seen the vet because she starts limping or crying and carrying on.  Not one time have I taken her in and she hasn't been 100% fine by the next day. 

Kaya saw the vet three times after we brought Marley home for kennel cough, and while that was a legit illness, I know the staff well enough that I probably could have gotten a different antibiotic simply over the phone.  But, I wanted them to see her. 

Why, I don't know. 

And I know that kennel cough is extremely contagious and I remember how I would hate it when I worked there and people would bring in their contagious pets and sit them in the lobby like they were the only ones there (I left Kaya in the truck, but still, I was becoming that person, again). 

But last week, I had a break through. 

Marley: the Goober.

I was at the barn all morning with the horses and when I came home, Marley's hind end and right side was covered in hives.  I panicked briefly, thought about throwing him in the truck and taking him to the vet, when all of a sudden I took a chill pill.

"Come here, Marley," I cooed as I rip open my giant bottle of Benedryl meant specifically for the dogs.  I shove one down his throat and call my pal Rustie at the vet.  After telling her what's going on, I use some common sense and simply ask if I can give him another Benedryl without killing him.  She laughs and tells me of course, he's a big dog and can handle it.  While still on the phone, I shove another Benedryl down his throat and wait.  Less than an hour later, all the hives were gone.

God only knows what that damn dog got into, it's not like we live on a farm or anything like that, and I searched our back yard for some sort of sign of ants.  See, I also learned a lot about bites at the hospital and I knew that it couldn't be a spider bite because that would be one giant welt, and it wasn't a snake because Marley more than likely would have been bit in the face and we would have a bigger issue on our hands. 

In closing, I feel like so much more of a confident pet owner after my time at the vet hospital.  I can give vaccinations, know how to cleanse and care for absesses and open wounds, know about different kinds of medications, poisons, and side effects, I can recognize the sumptoms of fatal diseases like parvo and distemper, and I now know how to clip nails and clean ears properly.

But more importantly, I have learned the value of staying calm in the face of possible tragedy.  I have learned the value of paying attention to our four-legged friends and what they are trying to express to us through body language.  And I know that I am lucky enough to carry this knowledge with me in order to give my pets a better life.

Until next time...

Bucket Lists

Everyone has one.  A bucket list, that is.  It doesn't matter how young or old you are, everyone has at least one thing they want to do before they kick the proverbial "bucket."

I, on the other hand, have several items on this list.  Too many to include in this post.  But this morning at breakfast, I started to ponder why, exactly, do we have this list?  Especially when we include things that are probably never going to happen. 

Well, I'll tell you why.  We all have a bucket list because it give us a sense of hope inside.  It gives us dreams to hold on to.  It can allow us to detach from our day to day activities and go and do something else, even if it's imaginary.  I sort of look at a bucket list like this: a bucket list is comprised of several "go-to" daydreams, dreams that, even if it's just for a second, allow you to experience that wonderous feeling of whimsy that makes you get a gooberish smile on your face and let out a meaningful little sigh. 

I assume that a lot of people have certain things on their bucket lists that are not on mine. 

For example: skydiving. 

I think in my entire lifetime, I have only talked to a handful of people that did not want to go skydiving.  I am one of these people.  I think the idea of jumping out of a perfectly good airplane sounds altogether ridiculous. 

Mind you, I am deathly afraid of heights so the thought of being on the top rung of a ladder or on our roof to watch fireworks on the 4th of July, is simply terrifying to me. 

I'll give you another example of this fear.  When my husband took me to The Beaumont Cherry Festival this year, I got a wild hair and decided I would be utterly daring, daring in the sense that I would ride the Ferris Wheel with my beloved husband.  Uh huh.  Big mistake.  Let me tell you, that was the most terrifying, like, ten minutes of my young adult life.  (Meanwhile, my husband was laughing hysterically, of course.)

Why do people get a thrill for those things? 

They just don't seem safe at all. 

So clearly, a daredevil I am not, therefore extreme sports or just dangerous activities in general are not what you will find on this girl's bucket list. 

Some of the things you will find on my bucket list...

1.  Travel to Chenay Bay, St. Croix, U.S. Virgin Islands

There are actually probably at least half a dozen places on my bucket list that I would like to see before I die, but if you read my last blog, you know that this place is literally my namesake.  That being said, I have never been there except in utero.  So, I think it is only natural that St. Croix would be, by far, the most meaningful place for me to travel.

Mom and the Captain of the Katamaran that
took her and my Dad to Buck Island from St. Croix to snorkel
for the day.

One thing I failed to mention in my last post.  Every time my mother went snorkeling in Chenay Bay, she would free dive for little shells on the ocean floor.  She put them all in a very simple glass jar that used to sit in my bathroom growing up, and when I moved out of the house she gave me the jar where it found a new home on my bar. 

Unfortunately, earlier this year there was, let's just say, a little accident, and the jar ended up broken with shells scattered everywhere on my kitchen floor admist three (obviously, also broken) bottles of red wine.  My husband and I managed to save all of them, even the coral that mom had brought to the surface all those years ago, but now I am trying to find the perfect jar for them to once again have a forever home. 

I think, perhaps, this small, unfortunate event has made my desire to travel to St. Croix and the Bay that bears my name (or maybe that should be vice versa) even deeper. 

2. Ride in A Hot Air Balloon

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking: "Wait a second.  Didn't you just say you have an irrational fear of heights?"  Yes, I did say that.  And yes, I realize that this item on my bucket list seems quite counter-intuitive.  But let me explain a little further.

When I was really little, I'm talking like maybe three or four, my parents took me to a hot air balloon show.  I don't remember where it was or anything like that, but I do remember being fascinated by the balloons.  I specifically remember a pair of balloons: one was a cartoonish woman, and the other was her male mate.  I thought that was super cool for some reason.  Ever since then, my father, mother, and myself all have this particular item on our respective bucket lists. 

There is only one small problem with this.  I am, as we all know, incredibly terrified of heights.  Therefore, I don't want what I consider to be an amazing experience to be marred by my inability to relax and enjoy the ride.  I don't want to be "that girl" screaming to the pilot to "TAKE ME DOWN!" while grasping onto the basket with a death grip.  And yes, I have gone through this scenario in my brain over and over again. 

So, this may be one of those items on my list that never actually happens.  But there is a part of me that thinks it would be super cool if it did. 

3. Become a Mom



My Grandma, Mom, and me when I was born

 There is some small part of me that honestly thought this item would be crossed off my list by now.  But before you go all crazy on me and start thinking: "Such a shame.  She can't get pregnant," please be fully aware that my husband and I have NEVER tried to get pregnant.  In fact, we have taken steps to prevent it from happening.

The fact remains, that I honestly believe with every fiber of my being, that in order to be a good parent, you have to want to be one.  That is, you have to be ready.  And don't go giving me this whole thing about: "You'll never be ready," because I really think that is a crock of poo poo.  I realize that you can never be fully prepared for how that little bundle of joy will change your life on every single level (emotionally, financially, socially, and for women, physically) but I do think that you can make a conscious decision of: "We're as ready as we're ever going to be."

And frankly folks, Jeff and I simply aren't there yet.  We have talked at extensive length about it and we want to become parents, we really do.  But we are still a little too selfish, working on our careers and becoming homeowners, so we don't feel like right now is the right time to bring our child into the world.  But we see how much joy our family members and friends get from their lil' tykes (by the way, congratulations to our dear friends, Ryan and Kim, on the arrival of Rory Ellen, who was born this morning at 3:30 a.m.) and we do look forward to the day when that will be us. 

At least I know, God willing, that one day, I actually can cross this one off my list.

4.  Win a World Championship

Unless you ride (or have ridden) horses competively at the national level, this one may be hard for a lot of you to understand. 

But to me, this item on my bucket list is a BIG deal. 

Growing up, while all my friends played soccer or softball, I was busy taking riding lessons and training to compete in a variety of different events.  I started out when I was six, riding Hunter/Jumper ponies, but by the time I was nine, I had discovered the American Paint Horse, and truly found my passion.

I have had the privledge of owning and riding a number of great horses, and my gelding Snickers will always be the love of my life (he died August 17, 2009 after spending all sixteen of his fabulous years with me).  But one thing has always eluded me.  An APHA (American Paint Horse Association) World Championship.

Now, don't get me wrong, I did experience some great success as a Youth rider. 

Snickers and me

Aboard Snickers, I landed on the 1998 AJPHA Top Twenty in 11th place after only attending 8 shows and showing to exactly 20 judges (most teams that end up on this list show at FAR MORE shows and under MANY MORE judges than that) and in 1999 we were 9th in 14-18 Hunt Seat Equitation at World Show. 



Bambi and me


On another horse, Bambi, I came home from the 1998 World Show with Five Top Tens and came very close to buckling in the Western Riding.  Not bad for a team that was only together for 30 days before attending the biggest show of the year. 

But alas, when I was forced to stop showing in 2000, I did so without having buckled at World Show (a.ka. winning a World Championship).

Now, I'm married, don't have a show horse, and don't have the financial capability to see this happen in the near future. (Showing horses the way I did literally requires $25,000+ a year.)  But before I'm an old woman, I want to get back out there as an Amateur.  I want that buckle.  I want that title.

5. Write a Best-Selling Novel

Oh, the ever obvious one.  Hell, I even mention this in the "About Me" section of my blog's profile. 

But, I'm dead serious. (no pun intended)

I can't tell you how many times I have sat down and started a manuscript, only for ten pages into it I decide it is a big hunk of crap and delete the entire file.  (Writers are highly self critical.)

And as of right now, I have no such manuscript to even speak of.  I do, however, have about three ideas for a novel that I am really interested in tackling, but time and the ever-present need of a more consistent paycheck and household chores have really prevented me from sitting down to try and start my book.

But let's say I did have the book written and sent it to a publishing house that picked it up. 

Here is what my "dream" would look like:  I would get a call from the publishing house from some super excited editor telling me that I was simply genius and they were going to start with a small print of 10,000 copies.  Those 10,000 would sell in literally 24 hours and people would be clamoring all over the publishing house to print more.  So, they print another 10,000.  Then 25,000.  Then 50,000.  Bottom line-- in a very small period of time my novel has amassed over 1 million copies sold.  I'm doing book signings.  I'm on the Today Show.  And Ellen.  And if Oprah still had a book club, hell, my book would be the next book she picked.

I will have proverbially: MADE IT.

***



In closing, my hope is that you will think a little harder about your own bucket list. 

As I said before, I have many more items on mine, but this (I hope) gives a little insight into what I personally believe a bucket list to be.  It's not all about going places or doing crazy things.  It's about living life to the fullest and wanting to fulfill ALL your dreams.

Until next time...

A Rose Is A Rose Is A Rose Is A Rose

I still know the names of all my favorite childhood toys...

Mandy— the name of my most prized Barbie.  Marguerite Elena—the name of my favorite baby doll given to me by my Papa.  Little foot— the name of my absolute favorite stuffed animal that slept with me every night and who traveled with me until I was nearly a teenager.  Yes, no doubt names have always held a great amount of significance for me.

 I think that somehow, early on in life; I realized that a name is how we identify someone or something.  And with that name comes some sort of significance.

I blame this obsession with names on my parents.  You see, ever since I can remember, my mother and father have always reminded me of my name’s significance.


Long ago, in a land far, far away called St. Croix, U.S. Virgin Islands, my parents conceived their precious little angel.  That precious little angel is, of course, me.  Everyday, in the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean my parents snorkeled at a place called… wait for it…

Chenay Bay.  (You can go ahead and let out the “awwww…” now)




Chenay Bay, St. Croix, U.S. Virgin Islands


Mesmerized by the name (which is French and supposedly means “quiet in the forest”) when I appeared into this world, and they saw that I was a girl, Chenay Marie Jordan, is who I became.

So you can see why I have such an obsession with names carrying with them some sort of significance. 
 
In fact, all of our "kids" have names that are significant in some way.  Well, actually that's a lie... the only significance that our kids’ names have is that they are both somewhat funny and derived from someone or something famous. 





(Clockwise from top left): Morris, Marley, Hally, Kaya, and Alice

 Our boys are Marley and Morris; named after the renowned Bob Marley and the Nine Lives mascot cat, respectively. 

And our girls are Kaya, Hally, and Alice— named after the Bob Marley song; Halle Berry, the actress; and Alice Cullen from the Twilight series, respectively.  (And if you haven't figured it out yet, our "kids" are four-legged.)



Annie



However, our other "kid," Annie, came to us with her name (you could say she’s adopted) and so Jeff and I did not get to revel in the joy that comes with naming your "child."  I have struggled to make her name fit in with the rest of our bunch and all I really can come up with is to pretend she is named after Annie Oakley.

And yes, I realize all of this sounds absolutely INSANE, but hey, if you think that little musing is crazy— how about this one?  Because, shockingly, there's something else about names that I have always speculated about.

As a child and even now, I find myself pondering about why we call even the most mundane things by a certain name.  Like why do we call a car a car?  Or... why do we call pizza pizza? 

Who decides this stuff???

It's a matter that has always baffled me. I mean, how does one get that honor-- to name something completely and utterly colloquial?  And, I'm not just talking about inventions.  Like, who decided that we should call a steak, well, a steak? 

Are you following me, here?  Think about all sorts of random things for about five minutes and tell me if you know how all those things got their names.  Betcha you can't without starting to go slightly crazy.  It’s always fun just to sit there and ask yourself questions you can’t answer.   

But, in all seriousness, (and returning to my original point) names do carry with them some sort of significance.  And, in all honesty, what really got me thinking about names recently was that I decided to start this blog.

A few weeks ago, I decided to take a flying leap and dedicate all my time to writing.  That is to say, I resigned from my Marketing position at the magazine I work for (I use the present tense as I will still be writing for them) and am back to the rigor of being a freelance writer.  That being said, I figured that since I am supposed to be a "writer," I should probably actually write and publish regularly by way of a blog. 

And that of course meant that I would have to name my blog.  More importantly, I would have to give my blog some name that carried with it some sort of significance. (See?  Totally obsessed.)


I immediately thought that La Dolce Vida had a nice ring to it and pretty much summed up what I wanted my blog to convey.  That is to say, my goal for this blog is to simply muse about life in general and to make my readers smile and giggle here and there.  You know: the sweet life?  Yes.  Perfect!

Not so much because someone apparently thought that exact thing and as we all know, one can't have the same blog name/URL as someone else.  How quickly sweetness can turn sour.

I had to think a little harder to come up with the next idea, but soon This and That came to mind, yet, once again someone else also thought that blog name to be quite clever.


Throwing my arms up in the air, I decided to get creative.  Knowing that, apparently, the world was filled with a lot of other geniuses, I assumed that I think, therefore, I am would also be claimed so I went with the Latin for the phrase (Cogito ergo sum). 

Nope.  Are you kidding me?  Some jerk really named their blog “Cogito Ergo Sum?”  Actually, no… because I was so infuriated I looked it up.  It turns out, however, that the jerk is a she-jerk and her blog’s name is “My Thoughts” and she hasn’t even posted since 2001!

Totally frustrated by this point, I was coming to grips with the inevitable that somehow my own name "Chenay" would have to become a part of my blog's name. 

Something I was trying so hard to fight.  (Hey, give me some credit here.  I was trying NOT to be a name snob)

Sighing, I started brainstorming and came up with all sorts of alliterative names (most of them completely fatuous), and so it came down to two.


1. Chenay's Clichés
2. Chenay's Confessional

If you read the title of my blog, you can see that I decided against Chenay's Clichés.  But perhaps you are wondering why.  Well, after much thought, I figured that as a writer, I did not want to include my worst enemy into my blog's name. 

(For those of you who are unfamiliar, there is nothing worse for a writer than being cliché, and I really didn't want people to get the impression that every post they read on my blog would be just that.  Cliché.  Boring.  Unoriginal.  The thought is somewhat terrifying...)

So, (again, obviously) I went with Chenay's Confessional.  “But Chenay,” you ask, “what the heck does that mean?  You aren't Catholic.”

No, friends, I am not.  But I am a writer.  And one of a writer's favorite things to do is play with words.  I came up with the name because of my deep love affair with reality TV. 

You know, The Real World, Jersey Shore, The Girls Next Door, etc.? 

And if you are familiar with the reality show platform, you are aware that all reality shows have the infamous “Confessional.”  It’s the room that the cast mates go into and producers ask them questions about their day and their thoughts and feelings about various topics.  Alternatively, cast mates go into the Confessional to talk smack about other cast mates or be silly with their friends. 


It's actually a really ingenious concept.  I wish I had one in my house. 

Thus, “Chenay’s Confessional” was born.

In closing, on my quest for coming up with the "perfect" blog name, I stalked some of my friend’s blogs and ironically, my friend, Caroline, (whose blog is one of my absolute favorites) has also been pondering the importance of names of late, but for VERY different reasons.  You can read her blog here, and I highly encourage you to do so because her story is quite inspiring, and her words are incredibly thoughtful and eloquent.

Thanks for stopping by.  Until next time...