The Adventure Experiment
Documented experiences of a bonafide adventure mama.Migrating to New Site
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Adventures in Dog Ownership
My dog, Shaka, died last week. He was 12 years old, so that’s about 84 years in people-age. However that math equation works. Is it because his heartbeat was faster? I never understood that concept.
I became the proud owner of that king of Doberman goofiness in 1998 when I was a single girl, living the dotcom la vida loca. His father, Sebastian, was a horse of a dog and weighed about 140 pounds. I’d never seen a Dobie that big and wondered if Shaka would grow into such a beautiful creature.
My childhood is filled with this misunderstood breed. There was Bree, a flighty, deerish red Dobie whose favorite meal was spaghetti. I would place my bowl of Cheerios beside her dog bowl and share meals together. Then there was Shadow, who was part of our family from the 4th grade until my sophomore year of college. His floppy ears gave his face a cartoonish style, and kept me and my high school friends from sneaking out of my bedroom window. (They’d watched one too many episodes of “Magnum P.I.”)
Those childhood bonds made me long for my own Doberman. After bringing the pup home, I started brainstorming his name. I settled on Shaka, although his name was often confused for an 80s pop singer, it actually meant ‘hang loose’ Hawaiian style, with a nod to Shaka Zulu.
I bought a vintage orange couch which Shaka quickly adopted. He sat alongside me on that couch, person-like. He slept in my bed. He ate popcorn. He swam at the lake and could outrun a train. I wish I had timed him, because I swear he was a rocket. Little dogs with the Napoleon complex would constantly yip at us on walks, trying to start a fight. But Shaka never gave them a growl–he knew they would be mere appetizers.
My constant companion grew to 130 pounds. I flipped his ears inside out for the Princess Leah look and he let me. 
I dressed him in a silver cape on Halloween and called him DOBER-MAN. We ran down the sidewalk singing, “Run, run, run ad fast as you can, you can’t catch me I’m Doberman!”
Then I met the man who became my husband. Shaka was not happy with the introduction and placed his vote by chewing up Chris’s underwear. He wasn’t sure about sharing me, but he grew to love his new daddy. Eventually. (Chris is a cat lover, so that meant the inevitable introduction of the felines.)
We took Shaka and three other dogs to the beach where upon opening the doors the wild pack disappeared into the black night. That made our first two hours eventful. They finally (amazingly) returned and our trip continued. Shaka bit at the waves and drank an oceanful of salt water. Lesson learned.
We fed Shaka and the brood pork ribs. Let’s just say a carpet cleaner was rented and smells burned into our skulls. Another lesson to check off of the proverbial list. My mom’s class built him a doghouse christened The Shaka Shack. It was a blue monstrosity, fit for a miniature human.
We moved a million times, had two babies and with each move Shaka adapted. He wasn’t crazy for the Illinois snow, but enjoyed the cool summers. But when arrived in Florida, he got the memo. It was time to retire. His hips were failing, and walking became a challenge. This once strong, running machine could now barely walk. He spent his days inside, lounging. He loved the boys, and never once showed a pointed incisor when they yanked his ears. They climbed on his back, and he loved it. Because that was his job: to love us.
Upon our last move back to Texas Shaka’s bones were tired. He could no longer enjoy his backyard or nightly walks. The thrill was gone. Letting him go was one of the hardest decisions I’ve made. I realize many people don’t understand the connection between man and dog. They don’t comprehend the unconditional love that we ‘dog people’ profess. I finally realized that keeping him here in body, while his spirit was gone was no way for such a magnificent being to live. As he lay in my lap I saw his deep brown eyes and funny eyebrows looking at me. He was ready.
Goodbye, sweet friend. You gave me 12 memory-filled years. The boys wonder where you are, and now say that you’re a dog angel. Well, you always were, weren’t you? I know that you’re up there in that great dog park in the sky, racing Bree and Shadow, as the ever-loyal DOBER-MAN.
xoxo.
Milwaukee is More than Mead
It’s interesting how we subconsciously allow the media to shape our views of places we’ve never visited. If you’ve never travelled to NYC, do visions of dirty streets, muggers and pollution fill your head? Or for you Florida newbies, do you think it’s all white shoes and walking canes? While the stereotypes definitely hold true at times (The “Seinfeld” writers were spot-on regarding New York and Florida on more than one occasion.)
I was stuck in the the late 70s, thinking Milwaukee was a real-life version of Laverne and Shirley. On a day trip to the Brew City, I learned (shockingly) that real life usually doesn’t mimic TV land. Wow. A revelation.
Now on to more important things, like singing: “Sclemeel, schlemazel, hasenfeffer incorporated!”
Find Your Trigger Point
If you’re battling an ancient snowboarding injury or your shoulders are permanently locked in the upright position, it could be time to consider a visit to the Murad Neuromuscular Therapy Clinic in Dallas. Dr. Murad, an advanced myoskeletal therapist and nationally certified medical massage practitioner, is a gentle soul with a magical gift for finding the source of pain and offering real solutions.
After meeting Dr. Murad and completing a brief questionnaire, he asked about my exercise regime, employment and overall lifestyle. My answers helped him understand the knotty state of my shoulders, a combination of late-night writing sessions and one snowboard crash too many. Murad skillfully worked the muscles, utilizing techniques that allowed the muscles to almost instantly release. By manipulating both bone and muscle, he carefully adjusted areas that had been tight for months. Throughout the session, Dr. Murad explained what would happen next.
The retired professor of clinical microbiology and author of seven books began his second career later in life. “When I retired from teaching at UT Southern Medical Center in Dallas I saw a need for alternative medical services that bridged the gap between traditional medicine and touch therapy,” he said. “Neuromuscular therapy operates under the principal that trigger points are found in all muscles, and are the place where discomfort occurs. A trained therapist can detect and treat these points to restore normal function, and re-educate the muscle to begin functioning properly again.”
Massage continues to be a popular pain management choice. “The general population is far more educated than 50 years ago,” he said. “Doctors used to rest on pedestals. Today people ask questions. When a patient complains of muscle aches, the pat answer is to take a muscle relaxer and call again if the pain continues. Truthfully, doctors are not trained to palpate the body for ailments like those trained in medical massage schools.”
Many people enjoy a Swedish massage, complete with twinkling waterfall sounds and burning incense. While his space is peaceful, the environment focuses less on the ambience and more on healing the client’s immediate issues. In addition to a relaxing massage, Dr. Murad provides myoskeletal alignment. “When muscles are out of balance, the bones to which they are attached become misaligned,” he said.
In addition to traditional massage techniques, Dr. Murad also focuses on stress headaches, hip alignment, body stretching, postural assessments, acupressure, fibromyalgia, sciatica, range of motion limits, lymphatic drainage and orthopedic tests.
Stress management is another important topic that Dr. Murad addresses. “I use the Georgi Lozanov music method, which includes playing baroque largos into the listener’s ear, lowering blood pressure and heart rate, reducing the respiration rate and putting the patient in an alpha wave brain state of being,” said Dr. Murad. “The patient is fully awake, but relaxed and in a euphoric state. I’ve used this technique for over 40 years.”
At the session’s end, my stress level lowered and old injuries lessened. I’d call myself a believer in Dr. Murad’s neuromuscular therapy. His litany of massage benefits ring true. “Massage has so many benefits, including relaxation, stress reduction, an enhanced immune system, improved skin health, restored balance, better blood flow and toxin removal,” said Dr. Murad.
“The language is the same for all of us, yet most people assume pain will simply go away. Relax and observe what is not normal for you, and try to understand what your body is saying and attend to it.”
Murad Neuromuscular Therapy Clinic
11909 Preston Road, Preston Forest Square Shopping Center, STE 263
Dallas, TX 75230
972.788.5051
Meet the Fear Transcender
It seems that my life’s goal is to propel myself upward. I feel my best flying, flipping, soaring, gliding, floating in an ethereal state. That’s why I’m drawn to activities that give me that rush. Maybe I missed my calling as a circus acrobat. Who knows. These thoughts take that “What Color is Your Parachute” career book to another level.
Learn about the art of the trapeze here, and meet Tony Steele, a pioneer of the sport, who claims that his mom wrapped his lunch in a road map when he ran away to join the circus. Trapeze
30 Happiness Tips: Program Your Life for Optimum Enjoyment
Yeah, I know. Tips on getting happy. Americans with way to much time. Yaawwwn. But maybe there’s something to these little lists. Just maybe. I happen to like #17.
Checking Off the List
1. Purchase a sky blue T-Bird convertible.
2. Take the boys to a drive-in movie.
3. Grow a family garden.
4. Buy a new house that reflects our personalities.
5. See a burlesque show.
6. Plan an annual girlfriends’ getaway.
7. Visit the Pacific Northwest, Maine, Florida Keys, Alaska, Belize, Vietnam, Africa and the Mediterranean.
8. Be a guest at the Ice Hotel.
9.Spend a month in an Italian chateau.
10. Take a cooking class.
11. Drink sangria in Spain.
12. Buy a motorcycle.
13. See more live music concerts.
14. Experiment with new wardrobe styles.
15. Write a song.
16. Find my writing niche.
17. Host a pie-throwing party.
18. Buy a cruising bicycle.
19. Attend art classes.
20. Take a hot air balloon ride.
21. Refurbish our inherited 1950s wooden boat.
A Ballyhoo for Sandy Lake Amusement Park
It’s not a secret that I’m into retro. I’m not embarrassed to admit that I dig old-school hip hop, and know the words to “The Boys in the Hood” and “911 is a Joke.” I’m gleeful about a dated T-shirt or our not-so-recently reupholstered 1950s couch. I accept my weirdness.
So when I chose Sandy Lake Amusement Park for Aidan’s 5th birthday party, I knew a carnival-like atmosphere would be center stage. As long as the typical creepy clowns didn’t make an appearance, I was good.
Turns out, the place is a little kid party paradise. For a minimal fee, we scored a covered pavilion with about seven free picnic tables. 
We were allowed to bring foods from home, (nothing commercial) which meant our cupcakes and juice boxes didn’t cost three times what they should. We decorated modestly, consumed said sugar, wrangled seven wild kids, opened presents, then headed for the time machine of all amusement parks. (Proprietors Vickie and Frank Rush and Suzy and Tom Self are the third generation of ‘hands-on’ managers who purchased Sandy Lake in 1971. Their children and grandchildren represent the fourth and fifth generation that are involved in the family business.)
The park’s best feature is the large selection of rides for the wee ones. Boats, UFOS, race cars, merry-go-rounds, miniature golf course, trains, paddle boats, 
horse rides and in the summer, a full swimming pool. It’s well-contained, and not overwhelming, like many amusement parks.
There’s a refreshment stand with the standard carnival fare: hot dogs, nachos, BBQ sandwiches, snow cones, etc. When one party member requested onions for his nachos, the refreshment stand lady responded, “Well, we’re out of onions. But don’t you have a hot date tonight? You probably didn’t need those anyway.”
Quick-witted service is always a plus, as is the well-maintained grounds and lack of freaky carnival people. (I enjoy a weird character along with the best of them, but there’s something about the gleam in their eye when you’re flailing around helplessly on the Tilt-a-Whirl that is bothersome.)
Speaking of twirling, Aidan and I took a spin on a set of crazy swings, similar to those at Six Flags. *Note to self* Just because you’re tall enough for a ride does not mean that you should ride it. Aidan was gripping the bar, screaming for the ride to stop. (Or maybe that way me?) I later convinced my dad to ride the Octopus, (sometimes referred to as the Spider) What began with joking references to ‘hurling’ ‘retching’ and ‘barfing’ quickly devolved into a concern that I would soon be covered in his lunch. Disaster avoided, I learned that it’s not wise to spin right after consuming greasy snack bar cuisine. (Just like that swimming myth.) Maybe there is something to those old sayings after all.
(Insert that clanky circus music here.) It was a magical (humid) day, celebrating my oldest son’s fifth birthday with friends, family and the carnival people. (Forgive the upcoming pun) You too should give it a (wait for it)…whirl.
**For those of you interested in carnival lingo, click here.**
No Beauty School Dropout Here
As Frenchie wearing her pink coiffure, mourning her state in life as a “Beauty School Dropout” recently ran through my head, I bravely awaited my consultation with an Ogle School student. I haven’t been impressed with the $200 ‘beauty operators’ (shout out to both grandmothers, Helen and Wanda) whose work has been rushed and careless. What’s the worst that could happen? (I know, famous last words, right?) Let’s see, green locks, bald spots, a faux hawk….With age, I’ve become less attached to my tresses and aware that it does actually grow back.
Megan began the consultation, asking me questions I had never contemplated about my mop. “What do you want your hair to say about you when you enter the room?” “What does it currently say?” It was entertaining until she mentioned that one of her clients had started crying when asked these ‘deep’ questions. What? People! We even delved into the possibility of coloring my hair auburn. I am adventurous, but that’s taking it to a whole new level. Hmmm…
The process took a loooong time. This girl definitely needs to speed it up. but what she lacked in speed she made up for in conversation, creativity and detail. Since I had lots of time to spare, the diverse types of students practicing hairstyles on mannequin heads and chatting about upcoming exams kept me entertained. Of course, there were the two or three overtly flaming ones who added drama to the mix. It wouldn’t be a hair salon otherwise!
That Megan’s got a future in hair. She’s planning to work in NYC in editorial styling, and will graduate in December, so if you are in the area, give her a try.
The Fountain of Youth = A Mash-Up of Bon Jovi, the Pixies and Creedence Clearwater Revival
We spent most of my last full day appreciating a slower vibe in Brooklyn and the night learning how to feel Young @ Heart.
Our first stop was the Tenement Museum, a landmark building located at 108 Orchard Street, offering various guided tours of the apartments to teach visitors about the life of an immigrant during the 19th and 20th century. 
We took The Moores: Irish Family in America tour. (The Moores lived on the fourth floor of the tenement.) Our guide focused on the life of an Irish-Catholic immigrant family, and the struggles they endured while living in the tenement in the late 1860s.. The museum has recreated everyday life in this space, showing people the furniture used, traditions practiced and way of life. The tour explained health issues for that time period, and one of the family’s infant daughters died after drinking tainted milk. There was a room dedicated to an 1869 authentic Irish wake that was heartbreaking to visit. Although it was tragic, I appreciated standing in room, knowing generations of families had stood in the same exact place, facing many issues that we face today, such as health care, racism and economic survival. (Of course, their lives were much more physically challenging.) I was amazed that the museum has connected with the Moore’s descendants and able to track family lines to today. One of the children, Ruth, had scribbled her name on a weathered, wallpapered wall and it remains today.
A little more somber, we taxied to the Brooklyn Bridge (which is one of the oldest suspension bridges) then walked across it. The hurried mood swept us from NYC into Brooklyn, with commuters running, biking and fast walking along. 
We located DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Underpass) and lounged at the park. Kids played, dogs barked, you know the typical day at the park antics occurred.
We staked out the St. Ann’s Warehouse and met my friend, Leigh, at a horrible nearby restaurant called 66 Water Street Bar and Lounge that serves equally horrible ‘margaritas.’ If you’re in the neighborhood, do not bother. Spotty service happens, and that was the only mark on an otherwise perfect night. 
We watched the Young @ Heart Chorus perform “End of the Road” to a thrilled audience. The cast consists of men and women, aged 70 and older, sing modern songs with a twist. Some of their repertoire included Bob Dylan, The Pixies, the Buzzcocks, Bon Jovi and the Flaming Lips. I love how they transcend age and culture stereotypes by letting their own spirits shine. The Associated Press (AP) said it best, “It may sound like a gimmick, but Young@Heart is no karaoke act. They’re a cover band for the ages.” Their versions of the songs made you hear the lyrics in a new way, and see that music can truly change depending on situations and experience. Here’s a review of the performance.
Photo by Tom White of The New York Times
The night was a hit, spent with good friends and an uplifting message. Overall, the trip left me refreshed and inspired to return to my much different, yet equally happy life in Texas. Until next time, NYC.
