Rain

Happy Birthday to the love of my life. When I was young I was standing in the driveway of my childhood home and saw the rain begin falling -- way down on the other end of the street. Like an ocean wave, it made its way across the sky to where I was. I felt like life was happening ever so slowly and that I should run for cover, but I was rooted to my bicycle seat completely mesmerized by what was happening. I don't recall ever seeing that happen again, even growing up in Portland's infamous weather...until today.

So I know that today is very special. Thank you for being so aware of the life that unfolds around you. You have taught me to be more present and take in the tiniest details - so that I might find more joy in all experiences. You have shown me a way of owning the thoughts and feelings that come from my deepest places. After all, it's the same place my love comes from.

4-leggers

I'm eating a sour punch straw I found in my backpack. I'm not sure how old it is but desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel here trying to eek out some creativity from this day. So I will write about what's close to home.

There is a 105lb Akita occupying my living room. She is 20 times the size of our Maltese puppy and the cats are registering concern. She is harmless though. Nicki is 12 years old with an ailing hip, dimming black eyes, and selective hearing. She is also recovering from some sort of virus affecting her balance so her head is permanently cocked to one side. She's looking at me right now like I'm crazy or something. We're watching her for a few days while her person is away on a business trip. I feel honored to be with this dog during one of her last numbered days. She takes me back to my own first love.

For anyone who knows me you will know how much I love dogs. For those of you who don't know me I was that Jane Doe blubbering uncontrollably on the plane from Chicago to Denver reading "Marley and Me." I guess you could say it was a dog who saved our family. My parents were the immigrants and we children were caught in the cultural gap of the first generation. Few words were exchanged during family meals. We never expressed any emotion except anger. Our stoicism was silently driving a wedge between us. It was around that time during the widest gap that my parents purchased a black female lab puppy, who we named Augustine (Auggie for short).

We took turns coddling her and whispering "I love you" into her soft black ears. We told her these words before we could say them to each other. Later, when she topped out at almost 100 lbs you could wrap your arms around her large burly neck and she would let you hug her indefinitely. She was our own furry ball of intentionality allowing us to say and feel what was already there but guarded in our vulnerable spaces. At 9 years old she accepted her disease and dying with grace. She knew it while the rest of us mourned how short her life was. She let us put up the good fight but she knew it was time - patiently waiting on us to let her go. A dying dog is one of the few occasions you can see a grown man cry. And so it was with my dad and brother on that last day she she went to sleep in my lap.

I don't know why I'm writing about this except that Nicki is here. And I remember how much we loved our damn dog. She showed us a way to love that which we are so afraid to lose. And the passing was not nearly as frightening as it was an aching and tender experience.

Jumping Off Lines

I took a creative writing class where the instructor gave us what she called "jumping off lines." She reads an opening a sentence at random and you finish it along with the rest of whatever it inspires. You write for a set period of time with no cross-outs. At the end of the class she gave us a whole bunch to take home. I keep them next to my bed and when I don't feel like journalling I will pull one out of a drawer and write un-interrupted for a few minutes. Here is one I worked on recently.

Jumping Off Line: The last time we talked...

The last time we talked I didn't really listen to your words. All I could feel was colors - bright vivid oranges and yellows, reds, blues, purples, crashing together on a vast canvas. I felt warmth. You might have told me something important but lately I can't hold onto my brain. My thyroid has been acting up and it makes me hungry and anxious. Sometimes I find a nice spot in the sun and I dream in my sleep but I usually wake up startled and don't remember a thing. This must be aging. THIS must be what mothers feel when their children grow up and love their boyfriends or girlfriends more than their mothers. I'm a passenger in the back seat now and I have to sit in the middle. I don't even get a good seatbelt, just that flimsy one across my lap. So I lick carelessly around my butt and let the dingles pile up. This is how I get attention lately but I'll take any morsel because I love you. And I know you love me too -- you're afraid to love me since I'm dying. I'm good at seeing the warmth and colors -- I tell you with a wide array of beeps and buzzes. Fucking little dog. And that heathen feral cat. I lick you.

note: written from the perspective of our 15 year old cat who is having a hard time adjusting to her health, the new puppy, and the new cat.

Yosemite

Yosemite - valley or up high
I put my anchor in you
And navigate my life by your sky.
The air I breathe here--
Crisp, smoky, or mist,
pulses of great mountains
as far away as Tibet.
Every visit I am a changing season
My knees...a bit more sore
My sags...a bit more sag
And Yosemite your currents still flow
your falls still fall,
Half Dome glows lavender and gold
And your shadows will stretch across this place
long after mine have faded away.

Starting and Driving

Starting something -- it seems the most difficult place for any action. So I'm doing this without any self evaluation. Let's see where it goes. I can't stand California drivers. If there is a ying to the yang of California's moderate climate, mountains, and beaches it would be the general sub-human attitude of the state's millions of motorists. Even the most delicate of blue hairs will flip you the bird. Forget any gestures of Thank You if you let someone into the lane. I used to take this personally but my sensitive self has hardened up. I'm street-wise now and while I'm still generous with my right of way, I've come to expect nothing from my fellow drivers.

It is quite lonely on the road...

Which was why I was so surprised on a recent trip to Portland, OR. I was driving behind a man in a tricked out Japanese racing vehicle, wearing a bandana and over-sized cap on his head, riding low with his seat back. He signaled into my lane and attempted to squeeze in. I backed off and gestured him in (all the while silently fearing for my life). He then proceeded to lower his window and stick his arm out, waving his hand rather gleefully in a motion of appreciation. THEN, he waved at me in his rear view mirror. I waved back overly excited about this experience. He wasn't who I thought he was. We connected and, in that moment, gratitude was exchanged. Silly as it sounds, it made my day.