Leo, a German Shepherd, helps Brittany through some of the toughest times of her life, staying by her side through it all.
Under the Yellowscape
Thamali shares photos of the stunning Cat’s Claw Creeper during blooming season at the University of Peradeniya, Sri Lanka.
Tribute to the Faithful Companions
Photographer Julie Chaudet captures the vibrance and devotion of the canine race.
A Friend to the End and Beyond
Pauline shares fond memories of two friends who helped light up her life.
Beyond the Magazine
Learn more about the people highlighted in this issue and see where you can view more of their work.
31 Submissions
Madeline C. Lanshe
www.ethnospheremagazine.com
Editor
Madeline C. Lanshe editor@ethnospheremagazine.com
Editorial Staff
Mitchell Dunbar, Maureen Gregory, Madeline C. Lanshe, Marcia Neundorfer, Mike Neundorfer
Designer
Madeline C. Lanshe
Photographers
Julie Chaudet, Nick Hoeller, Thamali Kithsiri, Madeline C. Lanshe
Writers
Brittany Arnold, Paula Carmosino, Julie Chaudet, Thamali Kithsiri
We created Ethnosphere as a place to connect people who are alike and unalike, express pieces of the human experience, and inspire others, and ourselves, through stories and art.
Madeline C. Lanshe
Twin Soul
by Brittany Arnold
Ialways wondered what it would be like to have a twin. From a young age, my existence had an emptiness that couldn’t be filled. I figured a twin was what had to be missing - this had to be the solution to never feeling alone. Other little girls were playing dress up and planning their weddings while I was looking for connection and companionship in nature and animals. I didn’t have imaginary friends, but my form of play would consist of seeing myself as this super version of me. I would be intelligent, confident, brave, strong, talented, and the leader who saves the day. I looked up to characters who possessed these qualities in film and tv. I felt this strongly missing from my life and saw it as something hard to achieve in reality.
A lot of these feelings I’ve learned came from my parents’ divorce when I was 18 months old and we were separated across the country. My mom moved to Ohio and my father stayed in California. My sister and I would see my dad for 1 week once a year and for 6 weeks every summer. As a young child, 6 weeks away from my mother wasn’t healthy, and distance from seeing my dad the majority of the year was brutal. My entire life as I’ve known it has been spent missing someone I love, a primary caregiver, with a terrible, intense ache in my heart.
When we had to say goodbye to one of my parents at the airport, my sister and I would scream and cry for hours, saying that all we want is our mother or father, and to not be ripped away from them. My mother noticed it would take us several weeks to get back to a normal routine physically and emotionally after a 6 week trip.
The closest thing I’ve experienced to this pain has been when a loved one passes away. It is the feeling of loss without control. I see that my childhood form of play was a way to work out my feelings and wanting to conquer my battle with feeling worthy. I felt no control over
the pain of saying goodbye to a loved one and not knowing when I’d see them again, over and over again.
My circumstances were the perfect breeding grounds to develop Borderline Personality Disorder, which consists of unstable moods, intense emotions, impulsivity, distorted self-image, a fear of abandonment, and an emptiness unable to be filled. I struggled to fill the empty feeling with many things, mainly a sense of accomplishment and belonging. Sometimes, I’d try filling the void with risky behavior: a new love interest, drugs or alcohol, rock and roll, and an eating disorder for 5 years. In high school, I was diagnosed with ADHD and developed a syncope disorder that caused me to uncontrollably pass out at times. This was the circumstance which enabled me to get me an Emotional Support Animal (ESA) & Service Dog.
Enter into my life, Leo. When I was 20, I sought out a companion dog. I came across a German shepherd rescue in Mira Loma, CA. I sat in the middle of a litter of 9 puppies and held each one individually. All of the puppies cried and chewed on me, as puppies do, except one little guy they called Wiggles. He was named Wiggles from constantly wagging his tail. Every time I picked him up, he licked my face non-stop and wagged his tail. I chose him and named him Leo.
I had Leo for 13 years and his personality never changed. Boy did we have an adventurous life together. Leo started off as a companion dog, I trained him and took him everywhere. During the first year of his life, my syncope disorder kicked into full gear. I was passing out from low blood pressure & my anxiety was at a high. Leo became my service dog and emotional support animal. I could now take him everywhere. We walked and ran daily, hiked and visited parks frequently, he went to grocery stores, family & friends’
houses, the zoo, beaches, and joined me on over 50 plane rides. Leo lived in different homes with me, stayed by my side through different relationships, and saw me through every mood and emotion I’ve experienced. Leo had no judgment of me, nor I of him. We formed a deep bond and developed a language without words. We were in sync and moved through life like a dance. We were a team.
Sunset became our time of day to run. Western sunsets in California can’t be beat, and we saw the joy of them every day we could. We swam together, visited national parks, and met other animals including rabbits, cows, pigs, llamas, goats, horses, dogs, and birds. He would sit and wait outside of the shower for me, and sometimes he’d go in the shower on his own, turn on the faucet, and play “bite the water.” He was my guard dog that loved playing fetch with rose petals and leaves. We ate together and his bed was next to mine. He loved riding in the car, digging in the sand at the beach and in the snow.
Somewhere along the way, I realized I’d finally gotten my twin, and I was lucky to experience that feeling for 13 years. That bond I had been searching for as long as I could remember, I had with Leo. I’ve never been connected to another person or part of nature like that before or since. Leo was happy as long as he was by my side. We could be anywhere: a car, a plane, a field, the road, a building. Any place I was, he wanted to be. When Leo turned 12, he was diagnosed with Degenerative Myelopathy, which is ALS/ Lou Gehrig’s Disease. I remember his last hike where he seemed to struggle going up a rocky mountain side, I only took him on flat ground hikes from there on out. I remember his last long walk on flat ground: a 2 hour summer walk where at the end of it, he laid down and didn’t want to finish, which was not like him. His spinal cord was deteriorating. I got him a
wheelchair that was first used for longer walks and then eventually anytime he needed to stand. His disease was incurable and painless until the final stage, which he never reached. He got to stage 3/4 where he couldn’t move his back legs and lost movement in his tail. I don’t recall the last tail wag I saw.
I knew the time had come to say goodbye. Leo went peacefully in my arms at home surrounded by love and a compassionate vet. I had lost my best friend, my twin, the companion that kept me from going through life alone. After I received his ashes, I decided to spread them far and wide. I set out on a trip to spread them at all the places we went together, and I continue taking them to new places I go where he wasn’t able to join me.
His memory is still with me, and each time his ashes are spread, a healing release is sent out into the universe. I can visit places he is now a part of, remember the kind soul he was, and be grateful for the best companion I ever had. Without realizing it, during the 13 years I had Leo, so much healing and growth happened. After going to therapy and working through my trauma, my therapist said I wouldn’t be diagnosed with a disorder if I started therapy today. My physical health also improved. I’ve only experienced 2 syncope episodes in the last 10 years.
I’m thankful Leo was by my side when I needed him. I’m also grateful I don’t need aid today. I won’t have another companion like Leo, partly because my life and needs have changed for the better, and partly because he was one of a kind.
Through my experiences and healing, I discovered that I am enough. I am that intelligent, confident, brave, strong, talented leader I would play as a child. I feel the loss of my dog, but I don’t feel the empty void I needed to fill most of my life. This entire time I was a whole person, I just couldn’t see it. I didn’t
know how to face my pain or process what was happening in my life, so I thought I needed someone else to do it for me. My dog taught me how to love myself. He never judged me for how I danced, what I wore, how I looked, or how funny or talented I was. My dog saw the real me, and all that mattered was how good of a person I could be.
Once he was gone, I realized it’s now my job to provide this understanding in myself. I’m grateful for what I have today, the friendship Leo provided, and the growth and lessons along the way.
Walking under the Yellowscape:
Blooming Season at the University of Peradeniya, Sri Lanka
By Thamali Kithsiri
With the solar equinox on the 21st of March, everyone at Peradeniya University expects the blooming of Cat’s Claw (Dolichandra ungis-cati). Though Cat’s Claw Creeper is not a native plant to Sri Lanka, the blooming of yellow flowers does not make it invasive. The vertical and horizontal layers of the Cat’s Claw trumpet turn Peradeniya University into a yellow landscape lasting four to six days. During this period, not only students and the University of Peradeniya staff, but also outsiders enjoy the yellowscape. For many, it becomes a space for photography, while some celebrate the enchanting beauty of the yellowscape by walking under these creepers. These walks are therapeutic: walking individually or in groups helps in many ways. They are a form of walkand-talk therapy; while walking, people talk about memories, research, issues, and chat, too. More importantly, Cat’s Claw is the uniqueness of the University of Peradeniya. It is, no doubt, one of the most photographed landscapes in Sri Lanka.
Capture le vivant, capturer l’instant. Ce sont les moments suspendus qui m’interpellent - ces moments où l’invisible et les âmes s’expriment. Photographier des chiens, c’est être témoin du lien infaillible qui nous unit à eux. C’est plonger au coeur d’un amour sans faille et s’extirper des noires pensées qui nous assaillent. En les immortaliser avec mon appareil photo, je souhaite rendre hommage aux compagnons fidèles qu’ils sont.
Julie Chaudet
Capture the living, capture the moment. It’s the suspended moments that challenge me - these moments when the invisible and the souls express themselves. Photographing dogs is to witness the infallible bond that unites us to them. It is diving into the heart of unfailing love and extricating ourselves from the dark thoughts that assail us. By immortalizing them with my camera, I wish to pay tribute to the faithful companions that they are.
A Friend to the End and Beyond
by Paula Carmosino
Sometime in the mid 1990s, we met Alison.
My partner, Sharon, was teaching 6th grade gifted students in Fremont, CA and hired an art history teacher through the city for her class. Deb was not only knowledgeable in art history, but a talented artist in her own right. There didn’t seem to be a medium she hadn’t mastered. Watercolor, pottery, decoupage, quilting, repurposing, reupholstering, and repainting furniture, cake decorating, you name it, she’d done it, or could figure out how to do it. In fact, the first time I met her, she had invited us over for her husband’s birthday. My eyes opened wide with amazement when she cut into what I thought was a basket of flowers, but was
actually a cake! It was through Deb that we met Alison, as they both offered their artistic talents throughout the city.
The three couples became fast friends. Whether gathering in each other’s homes, or going out for a meal together, it was a special time. When Deb and her husband and child relocated to the East Coast, we were devastated. However, the friendship with Alison and her husband Bruce continued. We went to our favorite restaurants together, explored wind caves, sailed on Lake Tahoe; it was a grand time.
In May of 2012, Bruce wanted us all to go to Disneyland together for his 59th birthday. So, the four of us climbed into our
SUV, and drove from Northern California to Anaheim. We had a great time on that almost 400 mile trek, laughing, talking, and planning our next few days together. We stayed at a Disneyland hotel called, at that time, Paradise Pier. Our adjoining rooms came in handy when we needed a break from the park. We’d throw the doors open and have a midday snack with wine, cheese, crackers, fruit, etc., then go back out to the park. Bruce was like a kid with his Disneyland “it’s my birthday” pin. He just loved interacting with the other park guests when they wished him a happy birthday.
Once we got back home from the trip, something wasn’t right. Bruce didn’t feel well. After numerous doctor visits, it was determined he had stage 4 stomach cancer. Alison called us just before he passed to give us the opportunity to say goodbye.
I’ll never forget seeing him lying in the hospital bed in his home, so ravaged by cancer that he was just a shadow of the vibrant, funny guy we had come to know. I sat down in a chair next to him and he took my hand. He reminisced about the good times we all had together and talked about the celebration of life plans he and Alison had made for him. Then he recited the Lord’s Prayer. Shortly after he turned 60, he was gone.
Eventually, Alison sold the house they’d shared and moved a few towns away. We maintained our friendship with her and, in a way, with Bruce. From that time on, whenever we would meet up, Alison would bring a framed photo of Bruce with her. She would set it on the table at our favorite restaurant and engage the staff in conversation about how the four of us used to always dine there together. It was a great way to keep Bruce in our thoughts.
Our friendship with Alison grew. We went to plays and dinners together, she introduced us to Filoli Historic House and Gardens, and never missed a beat when it came
to birthdays, as she always remembered them. If you needed Alison, she was there.
When we moved out of California, she helped us disperse our numerous potted plants and gardening equipment as we were moving to a much different climate. After the move, Alison kept in touch and we saw each other either in our new home, or we would meet up somewhere. She still remembered birthdays and holidays.
Last October, we planned to meet in Apple Hill, a place we’d never been, but one Alison wanted to share with us. She ended up canceling for health reasons. Then, we planned to meet a few weeks later for my birthday. Another health issue. Never wanting to burden anyone with her problems, we didn’t know the depth of her condition.
On Jan 21st, I shared an article with Alison about a car insurance commercial that featured a clip of a cat “driving” a car. Not only was Alison (and Bruce) a cat lover, but the cat’s name was Bruce! Alison referred to that as a “Brucie” moment, which was when she felt a connection with Bruce, like when she heard “their song” playing at a particularly important moment or place that was significant to them.
On Tuesday, January 23rd, we were at a friend’s house watching movies. My cell phone rang. It was our old friend Deb. I let it go to voicemail, as the movie was just about over. Once I got around to listening to her voicemail, I frantically called her back. Although Deb was 3,000 miles away, a mutual friend of Alison’s told Deb that Alison was in the ICU. I immediately contacted Alison’s daughter, Kimi. Apparently, over the weekend, Alison felt ill. It almost sounded like food poisoning. Sometime on Tuesday, Alison ended up in the hospital. The doctor told her daughter it was sepsis, and Alison had gone into septic shock. He had little hope that she would survive. Kimi asked if we wanted to FaceTime
Alison. I was shocked at the image of our friend lying in that hospital bed, intubated, struggling to talk to us. I didn’t know what to say. My mind was just trying to absorb the situation. I hope we told her that we loved her.
We returned home that evening in shock, not knowing what was going to happen. All through the night, I kept checking my phone. Early the next morning, a text from Kimi arrived. Alison was gone. She passed just hours after we talked to her.
Sharon and I could do nothing but cry that entire day. We had just been planning to go to Alison’s 70th birthday party at the end of February. I had just been texting with her. How could she be gone?
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I was just lying in bed crying hysterically. All of the sudden, the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. There was a heaviness in the air. Through my sobbing, I heard Alison’s voice telling me that it was alright and not to cry. Then the presence was gone.
A few days ago, while rummaging through some files, I found some handmade birthday cards from Alison. I’m still in shock. I still shake my head in disbelief. I still feel like I could send her a text and she would reply. I still hear her voice in my memories of her. Some say she is with Bruce again.
I can’t help but think it was somehow arranged that the person who introduced us to Alison all those years ago was the very same person who alerted us to her impending departure. We are surrounded by memories of Alison, of her gifts of generosity.
Maybe someday, I won’t get teary-eyed when I use a cat themed glass she gave us, or the cat themed towel holder she sent me for my birthday. Maybe. But part of me still expects to receive a handmade card from her on my next birthday.
Beyond the Magazinee
Brittany Arnold is a zoologist currently living in Cleveland. She spends her time rock climbing and enjoying live music with friends. She loves spending time with her family and surrounds herself in nature as much as possible. Brittany is planning her second trip to Africa to intern with orphaned rhinos, study elephants, learn tracking, and work in animal rehabilitation. She fosters animals in need and pet sits for friends, but due to travel plans, she won’t have another pet of her own for a long time.
Passionate about life, Julie Chaudet has always loved capturing the authenticity and emotion of a moment. Photography for her is the opportunity to freeze a moment, to transcribe an atmosphere, to stop time, and of course, to create memories that will cross the meanders of time. She particularly enjoys nature and portrait photography. Often, she accompanies her photos with a few poetic words. She likes to be forgotten and to be a spectator of her environment: nothing is planned, everything is lived.
Instagram: @JulieChaudetPhotographie
Paula Carmosino is a retired data analyst and self-avowed crazy cat lady. Originally from New England, she moved out West after graduating from college and never looked back. Over the years, her hobbies have included writing, B&W darkroom photography, interior decorating, playing guitar, writing and performing her own songs and, of course, traveling to places significant to Patsy Cline. She believes life can lead you on some surprising journeys, if you let it.
Thamali Kithsiri (PhD) is a Senior Lecturer at the Department of Geography, University of Peradeniya in Sri Lanka. She teaches Human Geography, Political Geography, and Culture & Space at the university. Upon returning to Sri Lanka after completing her PhD at the University of Zurich, Switzerland, she developed a passion for photographs. Now, she has integrated visuals and images into her research and teaching. Thus, she attempts to understand different societies and cultures through visual interpretations and analysis. Thamali is also a traveler who loves to explore new places.
Instagram: @thamali_n_kithsiri
Madeline Lanshe is a writer from Green, Ohio, with a passion for traveling, rock climbing, photography, and getting lost in the night sky. She taught English for two years in Le Mans, France, which now feels like her second home. She works at Advanced RV as editor-in-chief of Ethnosphere, as well as in media production. Besides dreams of becoming a published fiction author, Madeline is a volleyball addict. She believes life is about collecting moments of magic wherever you go and immersing yourself in the things that light your heart on fire.
Instagram: @mudpuddlephotogrpahy51
Submissions
Who can submit? Anyone! If you have access to our magazine, we’d love to hear from you.
What should I submit? Anything creative and relevant that can be shared in digital form! Photography, illustrations, poetry, short stories, personal stories, art, etc.
Why do you accept submissions? This magazine is a space for people to share their stories and passions in hopes it will connect us with others in a positive, uplifting way. “The ethnosphere is humanity’s great legacy. It is the product of our dreams, the embodiment of our hopes, the symbol of all that we are and all that we have created as a wildly inquisitive and astonishingly adaptive species.” - Wade Davis
When can I submit? In each issue, we will reveal the theme for the coming issue. If you’d like your proposal to be considered for the coming issue, submit as soon as you can to give us time to review it with our team, communicate with you, edit, and fit it into the greater picture of the magazine. Otherwise, submit anything at any time. It may fit in a future issue or even inspire the theme for one!
How do I submit? Go to the submissions page of ethnospheremagazine.com and fill out the form. If possible, attach any images, PDFs or other files to be reviewed, and the editor will be in touch with you. If you have a story that you think would make for a great article, but you don’t have the narrative prowess to write it, don’t worry! There is an opportunity for a conversation with the editor so that she, or someone on the editorial staff, could write the story with you.
If your submission is not accepted, don’t get discouraged. There is always a chance in the future. In the meantime, we hope you enjoy all that the magazine has to offer. Even if you are not featured within it, your experiences, dreams, and creations are equally part of the Ethnosphere.
Submit your work for our September issue. We do not yet have a theme, so we are open to any submissions.
