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
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.
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.
So traumatized Chuck still works the mines.
A poet's soul with hardened arteries.
The company doesn't pay Chuck for his turn of phrase and artist's heart.
It's a tough task to write the perfect stanza when crafted in the arc of a headlamp.
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.
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.
Who's story am I allowed to tell? Can I hand over free rein to my imagination so it can wander unchecked as it dictates the rules of an existence lived outside of my skin? The safe play is to write what I know; access to opportunities and the freedom to consider more than one path in life. Does my background translate into an echo chamber, or an offensive display of privilege? Either way, not much of a page turner and closer to a head-scratcher.
What’s it like to be human? I think I can speak to that experience with some level of expertise, but what’ll it take for me to offer a more inclusive narrative of who we are as a species? Here today and destined to become a memory, if we’re lucky. Stardust, at the very least.
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.
Thoughts are ordered in No Particular Order. It's .. they are like reading a book by landing on random pages "and just going with it." Timeline? A logical sequence of events? THEME! All are about as useless as peanut butter without bits of said legume embedded within. Or like ... please explain to me the narrative thru-line of your life, why don't you? No easy feat, that. Our brains flit from factoid to face to that tingling in one's feet to what's her name to ... what was the subject again? We slosh about in our thought soup daily and still we're able to hold down jobs and pack the kidlets off to school and pray to whichever Belief System we are the most comfortable believing in that one of these days we (the entire world's population, I'm thinking) don't just wake up one morning to the news that this novel-bugger-this-or-the-other carries with it a 40.3% case fatality rate.
Tucked into the grey splintered planks of my spine is an invitation. A call to action for your generation. Remember, it is I who whispers in your ear "complete the work."
on one knee
break free
urgency
responsibility
If you stand upon that threshold a minute more, you'll become the bloody door. I've left you to hang once before. I would be remiss if I did not comment on your emergence from the chrysalis. Check your trepidation at the gate before you book passage on this plane.
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