Semi-Daily Scribbles

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.

From Camels to Humans

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.

Judgment Call

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.

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.

The Wait is Over

Hi Richard,

I can't remember the last time we spoke. I think it was before the move to Alpha Rd. We didn't have a lot of interaction as teammates since we had different schedules, and then later on you worked remotely, but I'm happy our respective reality bubbles collided, if only for a short time. I'm sorry I didn't congratulate you and your fiancée on your recent nuptials. I hope your Big Day was fun-filled and included all the people you loved. Other than missing the chance to pass along warm wedding wishes, I didn't really have a whole lot to say to you in recent months other than nudges via group chats that I was sending an incident ticket your way. Ack. But I did cry when Steve told me you had died.

I'm not sure everyone on our team knew you. Your passing wasn't commented on by very many of us. That bothered me, so I shared with a few people the first time we met. I think you thought I was someone else. No introductions, you just launched into a story that, quite frankly, I had a hard time following. Something about an ex-wife, perhaps? I nodded and smiled and thought: "Now here's an interesting fellow..."

Your journey this time around was short, as you endured pain and waiting and rounds of treatment that offered brief relief until the cycle began all over again. You also had a droll sense of humor and a flair for the random. Like picking up where you left off in the telling of a story. It didn't matter if I caught the second act of an ongoing saga. Some lucky person heard the first few chapters, while the conclusion of your tale is forever held in the hearts of your inner circle. I'm glad I got the opportunity to meet you, as well as having worked with our colleague, Ivan. I will keep you both in my memories as I move through this adventure, ever learning and always looking out for fellow travellers.

No worries. The fight is over. You are at peace.

Potion Control

Gwendolyne & Delphine Thickepenny are sisters with whom one ought not to trifle. The ability to wake up on the right side of dirt depends on the respect one gives to a Thickepenny's patience. Before this voyage may be undertaken, a lesson best learned is that well-crafted spells are worth more than a king's ransom on any near and faraway shore.

Three drops of blood are required to chase away The Sleep that plagues the ever vigilant seeker.
Collect the letters, then say the word (a concept most foul to a warrior).

G & D T. know dedication to the secret ways will bring rewards in the unexpected moment you've been waiting for.

This Ridiculous Riff

So many seeds have been cast near and far. The time has come for verdant dreams to bring a deep sense of the tangible. Spirit guides have been along for the ride, but now they must rest their weary dogs and let Tansy transcribe this mystical roadmap. Monuments to mindlessness populate the barren terrain; dust has a place on her palette. Tansy plays a plaintive chord of would-be's / ought-nots / evermore to navigate by an unreachable shore. Cutting corners only leaves holes in Tansy's story that cannot be filled with truth or lies. A gaping wound at the center of the Universe, oblivion is comfortable if one sets down ground rules and checks all measurements. As with blood, Tansy tends to stick to her own type.

I can't vouch for anyone but myself. Survival is Reinvention. Reinvention is Survival. I no longer need to pretend this experience means more than simply showing me the door.