Semi-Daily Scribbles

The Sweetness of Life

The revolving door of reality will open out upon a memory where you and I are sitting side by side, beneath a quilt, breathing in each other's scent. This is how you will forever be.

Evergreen Memories

I stayed up all night with you, getting a bit of shut eye here and there, but mostly watched you sleep and listened to your labored breathing. Your diagnosis of large cell lymphoma had been confirmed a few weeks ago and the vet prescribed prednisone, but your Pa and I could feel lumps all over you weeks before that. Hard not to get all tangled up in woulda/shoulda/coulda, but after 14 years of being the best teacup schnauzer that has ever padded through these parts, we are grateful for all the days spent as a family. Your sister would agree, too, even though I'm sure she prefers to maintain that cranky demeanor that we could all see right through. I've envisioned the two of you engaged in a lively chase, then a round of wrestling, as soon as she recognized you trotting across that Rainbow Bridge. A sunny place where the two of you can play and play and eat endless treats and never again be in pain.

I've blown through a box of tissue typing these sentences. It was just a few hours ago that we drove over to the vet for your final visit. You were light as a feather in my arms, covered as you were in your long, silky salt and pepper hair (which is still on the calendar to be cut this weekend, so I need to make a phone call once I've finished this post.) There are no more doggies living in our house that need regular hair appointments and yearly doctor exams. Those are the milestones that will keep me feeling out of balance now that our home is a canine-free zone. It has been years since we've lived without four-legged children. The holidays have lost a bit of sparkle and shine, but I'll endeavor not to become maudlin as I stare at the schnauzer ornaments hanging from the tree. You and your sister have enriched my life in so many ways, and I shall recount and contemplate all those memories you've helped to make over sugar cookies and eggnog in the remaining days of 2022. (And speaking of days, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention how sad Nana is that your shared birth month and day will now be celebrated by only one of you down here on planet Earth.)

We love you and miss you so very much, Lily Luna.

Nowhere Near Finished

Tomorrow is not a promise, but it is a reason to turn the page. As scattered as one's attention may be, there is a path to be found through the misdirection. Strategy is more than projection. Every idea is an invitation to define one's purpose.

Restlessness is what propels the impulse to create. Creation isn't always the result of a well-made plan. Pursue the vision that won't easily yield to revision. A first thought is energy caught between devotion and detachment.

Spirit is behind each stage of this manifestation implementation. Ideas are free and action is needed to make obstacles submit to one's will. Stop chasing that dream. Tell it to be still.

Instant ratification of thought loops and aggravation keep one comfortably stuck in reverse. We'll circle back around to examine what we've found on the road to relevance.

What is just is, and control is elusive if not aligned with what the Universe has in mind. Wheels turn while lessons are unlearned and fortunes are built on impermanence.

Night lights, be they Friday or Sunday, send signals to the brain that there are treasures buried in your marrow. Relax and catch the movement that goes unseen all around you.

A Unifiable Theme

To make something beautiful is a lifelong pursuit.
Keep edges rough.
Lines are suggestions on where they should be crossed.
This is a love letter to your unfettered spirit.

It is the rough edge of one's work that establishes merit.
Beginning. Middle. End.
The order in which the dream is conveyed is inconsequential.

Mastery is misleading. Know when to write the final sentence and then walk away.
One's engagement with your creation is not the reason why you got into this game.
You've dictated the rules. Now go help someone else find her through line.

Challenge everything that makes you feel in control.
To understand one's desire is a trial of the soul.

Summer Lovin'

August is here and I'm thinking of you as always. Summer 2022 has a very 1970's vibe as I've returned to the activities that brought me joy as a kid: writing scary stories, banging away on my guitar and all things Star Wars. Yup, nostalgia is in right now. How go things where you are? Down here, so far, there have been over 40 100-degree days. Yeow! Definitely weather a thick-and-curly-haired girl from Lynden is just not used to. Sister Lily is full of mischief at 14 and taken to crunching up every discarded cicada exoskeleton she can find in the backyard. I remember you used to chew on the newly emerged ones that were trying to figure out how to fly. Oh, and a bunny rabbit ate my Jack Pine seedling that I'd set out on the patio to soak up some sun. My meager attempt at reforestation, but I will try again to grow a tree from seed. At least I took a couple snapshots of the baby pine and its bright green needles. However, we do have a peanut plant flourishing in one of the flower pots thanks to a forgetful rodent. Peanut blossoms look like yellow sweet peas. We'll see how bountiful Farmer Squirrel's crop turns out to be. Nature is, more than ever, my refuge since the news amps up my anxiety (i.e.: the planet's on fire, state legislators want to be my OB/GYN and polio is back.) But you, my beloved rambunctious pup, are a constant companion as I move through my days. Happy crazy runnin' along that endless stretch of sea and sand, little buddy.

Time & Tails

Hey my Evergreen Girl! Wow. Time is a strange beast. Why, you’re still asleep at my feet as I pound away at one of my many incomplete manuscripts! I think all my years of crappy story craft serve as a pretty sturdy tether to forever keep you somewhere close to my writing desk (which is even older than you!) I’m typing up my annual updates, even though I’ve always felt you never really left us. I think Lily would agree. 2021, so far, has been like a whirlwind and the trickle of water off an icicle. Or, in other words… is today Monday? All I know is the world can feel like a chaotic heap of bathos and rage, but quiet time spent in memories of you is like a balm. By the way, I thought you’d be pleased to know your Pa, Grandma and I got our two shots of the COVID-19 vaccine. We still wear masks wherever we go because it’s the right thing to do in these days of Delta & The Variants. And, oh! The Man & The Missus came to TX for a visit, and brought four excited Grandgirls who laughed and swam and hid in closets and got toes and/or fingers all painted and sparkly and made s’mores ‘round the fire and tried to play with Lily and left a lot of surfaces pink and sticky. We all had a wonderful summer get-together.

I like to share these highlights with you that rush on by from day to week to month to here we are at another Say Hello to the Rainbow Bridge anniversary. I hope you frolic a-plenty and eat all the treats that cross your path. I miss your goofy feistiness, and even the times when you were just downright naughty. I will never forget our walks through Seaview down to the shores of the bay where there were so many intriguing spots to stop-n-sniff. Or you riding shotgun as we visited job sites all over the state. What a fine companion you were! Happy times and precious memories, for sure. I miss your rambunctious, curly old self. Always underfoot and never closer to my heart were you in those everyday, taken for granted moments.

Too Much and Not Enough

I should hope one would think he or she is interesting. If a person doesn't have that sort of opinion of oneself, all sorts of unfortunate occurrences can happen, like hearing a nonstop self-censure loop booming inside an already thought-heavy head. Oh, and if a person does find him/herself pleasant company to be around, that happily self-actualized individual should not foist any such presumption of that dearly held belief upon family and friends.
---You just groove inside your Private Opinion Bubble, buddy!---
Any such foisting of one's actually REAL self only muddies the sensitive depths of YOU and makes a gal or guy look like an imbecilic navel-gazer.
... and who wants to be perceived in that way?

Our Timeless Story

What year is it? Time has sped up, slowed down and taken on a new meaning. I mean ... It could be 2005. You were my curly fur buddy way back then, when a book about a girl, a really old dude and the Olympic Peninsula was the most popular story circulating among tweens / teens / menopausal women. A quick semi-related rain forest note: one of my favorite work memories is splitting a stale tuna salad sandwich with you in the parking lot of the Forks Thriftway. A full day that was stomping through the woods to get a closer look at a cell tower. Yep - there has been more than enough free time lately to relive happy past meanderings. Again with the time thing ... not a day goes by that I don't look back fondly on our adventures/misadventures throughout the 15 years you were a member of the pack. You are still our #1 girl on Team Schnauzer, getting underfoot and whining for a piece of pizza crust. I turn my head slightly to the right and I can see you sleeping in your big green, fleece-lined basket. Snoring and twitching and more than likely dreaming about that stale tuna salad sandwich.

We've got a full house these days. Your Gran has come to live with us. You were never quite sure what to make of her when she and your Auntie came to visit, but I know they gave you a treat or two when they had to doggie-sit you, so I'm sure during those moments you thought very highly, indeed, of Gran & Auntie.

Your little sister is now a senior citizen (she's napping in your big green, fleece-lined basket.) Lil's still a feisty pooch who barks at passersby (ah, life on a corner!) and warns us of approaching dangers such as squirrels and the neighbor's equally elderly calico cat (the very same one that looked upon you with disdain from its perch atop our fence.) Oft-overlooked animal antics have become tiny pieces of What Is Real during a season of uncertainty. The mundane marks time in ways a 24-hour news cycle cannot. We could all use a dose of ordinary right now, and a little puppy love is good medicine.

Forever will you tug at our hearts. That kind of sweetly-sad happiness goes a long way these days.

Love is Rough

I informed Elinore that I trusted my gut more than some expert's opinion on how best to sell myself to the Cogs of Industry. She didn't believe me. All is right in the world if we choose to listen to the mysteries in the wind that sigh and cry. Soughing and cooing from on high to get us to heed the knowing in our hearts. I persist because progression is in my bones. Maybe I'm a throwback, but I keep comin' back. I only know how to dog paddle, but the inelegant splashing gets me from one end of The Universe to the other. Success is spotting a mess and then coming up with an exit plan. I do not want to be The Petrified Man to stand sentinel over complacency for all eternity. Struggle is what gets you a first class ticket to the stars. You need to look up to see where you've been.

Ah, Elinore. You peaked at 19, but you're still my queen. There was always a smack of schmaltz about you. And that's why I love you. Love is lovely and it made you lose your edge. Standing out on that ledge, what thoughts have now replaced the darkness? The dream is now rinse and repeat. It's difficult to call the attainment of respectability a defeat. But where is the hunger? The longing. The yearning. Has it all been replaced by a sizable yearly earning? You will always be a bit of rough sport to me, bon ami.

Five Curly Fries

Oh lord, my #1 schnauzer girl! I found your sister at the back gate the other day, which had swung open upon the Wide & Wondrous World, as she stood at the very edge of the AC pad staring down a rabbit not more than 10 feet away. Were it you crouched at the threshold to freedom, you'd have bolted for the bunny and kept on running. Never to be seen again. But you always were the escape artist. Lil Sis doesn't quite have your level of naughtiness, although she has become feisty in her golden years. And only recently has she gotten the hang of begging for french fries, a trick you learned as a pup. She could care less, however, about the sound of a hard-boiled egg being peeled. Man oh man - as soon as I'd crack that egg against the butcher block, you'd be at my feet, your big brown eyes opened even wider and your pink tongue lolling from the side of your mouth. Such a chips and egg girl, you were!

Oh, and since we're gabbing about food, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the pears ... as in The Great Pear Caper of Summer 2019. As you recall, we had a rather bountiful pear tree in the backyard of Ye Olde Place. You absolutely loved rooting amongst the fallen fruit. To bring us up-to-speed, a recent theft of many, many pears occurred in the neighborhood. A wet and somewhat coolish season has done wonders for the local flora, and trees seem to be bearing bumper crops. Anyway, not a thing worth picking was to be found on the neighbor's tree since some person(s) invited him/her/themselves into their backyard and carted off every single pear. Weird, random and frightening. You'd have driven the thieves off for sure with your throaty, woebegone bark, but I'm grateful you never had to meet up with such desperate souls. That's a lot of pear tarts the scoundrels will be baking ... or not. Remember the jam I canned, and the cider your Pa made with our West Seattle Bartletts? Fond memories, those.

In other news, took Lil Sis to Ooh La La for a summer clean and clip. Sheena always comments on what a sweet girl you were. Even when you weren't feeling terribly social the last few times you got your hair done, Sheena still remembers how you'd nestle against her chest and let her do her magic on your salt-n-pepper coat. See? You weren't always a big meanie, sweetie! And you know what else? Mourning doves nested this spring in the hanging driftwood basket. Two, and I think even three chicks were hatched and flew the coop during a very stormy run-up to summer. Those baby birds were so gangly and so cute before they plumped up and then eventually looked like proper doves. As of yesterday, another expectant couple has moved in.

Well, my wee chickadee, I can't believe it's been five years since last your little family loved on you. That was a tough drive your Pa made to the vet as I held your towel-wrapped curly self. So light you felt in my arms, Ma's big-boned bruiser. You were resting, but as soon as the car started to move, your eyes opened to take in the neighborhood one last time. You loved your rides, especially our vacation drives where your head hanged out the window and you sniffed and snorted and laughed the way only dogs can laugh. Wind Riding! Now there's a precious image to end on.

You are still very much in our hearts and we miss you every day. Life is good and yet a bit misshapen by the space only you could fill.