Semi-Daily Scribbles

Options for Treating Aggression

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dog Stars

Hey you! Our Ever-And-Forever-#1-Pup!! I check in pretty much all the time, but I save these puppy tales for hot August days. And this year, summer is hellish. Crazy temperatures the world over; oceans have warmed, ancient places reduced to ash. You never had much tolerance for the heat being a Pacific Northwest girl, but I hear the seasons on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge are 100% Just Right.

And so it goes.

I mark your passing with a few sentences every year although you've not strayed far from my side. Your silly, sassy energy is still felt, especially in our closet, where occasionally I hear rustling amongst the hangers and find the odd shoe out of place. And now you've got your little buddy by your side in poochie paradise. We couldn't make it past one week last Christmas with nary a schnauzer in the house, so Pa visited Madisonville and brought home M & M - two jet-colored minis in full-on manic pupette mode. They play with your toys and sleep in your green, fleece-lined basket next to my desk. One of them right now is hanging off the end of the daybed trying to jump onto the keyboard as I type these words.

Your Pa and I are the same homebodies you knew us to be from way back. Quiet pursuits like reading and TV watching are our vibe, along with daydreams of our car trips to the ocean and walks to Lincoln Park. You were the very best companion for all the adventures we shared near and far. Not a day goes by that I don't think about your feisty old self. Like scratching on the laundry room door (where we still keep the kibble) at all hours of the day in the hopes your bowl would get On Demand Refills. But I also cherish the times when you were tucked in snugly beside me in a comfy chair and I'd listen to you snore as I read.

You be good up there / everywhere and continue to show your little sister the ropes...and tasty treats, and blue bones and purple porcupines.

#RainbowBridge #PuppyLife

Too Pure

In Junior High (ages me right there using that term) we got to do work rotations in the school office. What a lucky day that was when you got assigned mimeograph duty. The cranking of the machine! Silky, glistening paper rolling out thanks to your labor!! The smell!!! Bottle that shit, man. Oh, the soothing, boozy, candy coated aroma of the ink coming off the cylinder is exactly the balm the world needs right now.

Plane Relief

The pain that has drained Vicki since she was a little girl is her mama's inability to see a situation from more than one (mama's own singularly unique!) viewpoint. In fact, just between us, Vicki's boarding a plane without her ever-present appendage and will be touching down among swaying palms in time for pupus.

I went there and back without you. This postcard is a memento of the expanse we can't seem to cross.

Endless Probabilities

Our Bodies in Reverse

Selective memory has atrophied the ability to see situations clearly.
But do we not do the things one ought to do?
Like?
Like paying bills.
Playing it safe.
The What-If Game takes up more and more of our time as we find ourselves stuck in a groove from decades ago just like the old timers we once despised.
The mirror is not going to become kinder as we try to pass by without stopping to stare, so best to call that reflection what it really is.
The version of you that was never supposed to come true.
Is she still in there? The girl who'd eat the world for breakfast and serve it up as something transcendent for tea.

A Story Unfolds

We stared at a map on the wall
During a break from paying our dues
Just you and me and the man in the tree
Lens focused on capturing what cannot be seen
A howl from the other room warned of a time to come
That would define us all too soon

Like brilliant silver light from a dying moon
Like a tangled romance getting bad reviews
Life doesn't always fit the narrative you choose
And love isn’t a commodity to be consumed

We eventually stopped staring at that map
Found a road that’d take us where news traveled slow
Like a pattern on the loom we began to emerge
To live our lives without the urge to edit and reframe
We are like a vine that can’t be trained
Disparate threads wind their way to disarray

Like brilliant silver light from a dying moon
Like a tangled romance getting bad reviews
Life doesn't always fit the narrative you choose
And love isn’t something to be misused

Fold back the corners to align the pattern
This highway is long and the journey rough
The signs marking the coastline invite you to stay
But only if you don’t mind perpetual sunshine
And if you can find the throughline along the way

We never found our destination but ended up in heaven all the same
The sea still roars, waves crash even when no one’s around
The two of us left behind the blinding light of recognition
Forever to wander the sacred enclaves of truth and intuition
The stars burn for you and me in our perfect patch of desolation
No song sweeter than the murmurs that call us home

Like brilliant silver light from a dying moon
Like a tangled romance getting bad reviews
Life doesn't always fit the narrative you choose
And love isn’t something to be refused

insightful flight

there’s a hollow place that fills the space in which you once presided
woodland images
sisters gathered at a picnic table
beers all around and one glass of wine

strange inflection on second syllables
hands that were the object of a stranger’s admiration
a son whose name is the same as my own

your journey now is one of real insight
an exploration of a heart defined by the third beat in a measure
music to propel you beyond earthbound concerns

Year of the Rabbit

Curiosity is no crime. Language barrier? No such thing. But from time to time we wander into uncertain terrain. Let us hope we've crossed paths with an opportunity to learn and make a new friend. The alternative evokes images of a cookfire with a pot of something simmering in need of a good tater or two.

Watch Your Language

Bitti is broken. Art is her tether to this tenuous moment, and he packed up and left town last week. Where does our mind wander when dreams die? Do we become the catalyst of our own demise? Bitti loves what she loves and accepts the risks. She got what she asked for, so she has no right to curse the universe when it dropped her wish off at the door. We get what we ask for, so pick up a dictionary when you beseech The Unknown for a favor.