My Clock Chiming

"We got a dog,"I told Penny.

"Oh, I saw him on your blog," she said.

"He's brought a lot of happiness to our family."

"I know, living things do that," she said, "but now, for me, a living thing can be my clock chiming on the mantle."

Greeted By The Morning Moon

This morning, I rolled out of bed, slipped my feet into Michael's big boots, pulled on his gray ski cap. The taking Chewy out in the morning look is pretty much whatever I can grab and go. Needless to say, the dog wouldn't care if I was bare-assed naked; I can't speak for my neighbors. 


We were making our way through the crunchy snow when I saw it; a big, golden coin of moon, hanging over the tall pines.  


Where was my mind right before I looked up? Untangling some worry? Not today. I think I was laughing out loud watching Chewy trying to run on the slippery snow, his legs splaying out like Bambi.


[And I'm happy to report that I've been making some progress with that worry thing.] 


Anyway, that fat yellow moon stopped me in my tracks. Chewy skidded to a halt on the icy snow, banging into my leg. 


I thought, 


Here you go, sister. It's an invitation.


To pause.
Breathe.
To look up
And be greeted by the morning moon. 

What's Happened To You, Mom?

This morning the thermometer read eleven degrees. Give or take. The little black lines were blurry; it was too damn cold to put my glasses on. 


Add wind and it was colder than a witch's tit.


What the hell does that mean anyway? I've heard it for years, especially when I lived in Vermont. How about colder than a wizard's fat ass? 


I'm so sorry. Seems something broke loose inside me after the Christmas tree *episode on Saturday. I feel reborn, washed clean. I'm chanting a new mantra: Say what's on your mind and don't feel bad about it. Om shanti, om shanti...


It's a fucking miracle.


Hey, guess what, people! Chewy is the FAMILY DOG. Someone else can go out and play ball with him and get whipped around by a wind chill of three at seven in the morning!


Honey, are you going to jog the dog around the neighborhood as part of the work-out program you've been saying you were going to do for the past two years? Sorry, ten years. Here. I got you new running shoes. Put the newspaper down, slowly. Now. Run!


Excuse me, Dad? You want to move back to the mountain house, again? In the dead of winter, without a car? You don't care if you get snowed in? Okay. Don't let the door hit your skinny ass on the way out.


Oh swell! Another school holiday celebration. Sure, Claire, Mommy will bring a craft for the kids. How about going out to pick up litter? We'll wear Santa hats. That's festive.


I know. Dreadful, right? 


Not according to my family...


This morning, as my newly-birthed, Bad Mom/Bad Wife/ Bad Daughter self was holding court in the kitchen, Michael and Claire were busting a gut. The badder I got, the more they laughed. At one point, Claire was doubled over, tears streaming down her face. 


"What's happened to you, Mom?" Claire said, "You're happy."


read: Turn It Into Firewood/ Dec. 12, 2010

Turn It Into Firewood

You never can tell which way a tree will fall; one way or the other, right? Like yesterday, when what was supposed to be a bucolic family outing to get a Christmas tree turned briefly, into an odd clash of wills between me and my husband. 


This flash of a clash circled around to let the dog off the leash or not to let the dog off the leash. Important stuff, right? As you can see, the dog was let off the leash. But only after Michael and I had a voices-raised moment about it, while Claire hovered behind a stand of trees with Chewy on the leash. This blast came out of the blue, like a gust of wind. It was not our shiniest moment. 


I've dubbed it, Horrible Parenting 101.


I can count on one hand the times Michael and I have raised our voices to each other over the years. Our MO is to retreat to our corners until the storm clouds of disagreement pass. We're not yellers. But yesterday we were kinda yelling in the middle of a stand of trees, while other families, a few rows over, searched for their special tree. 


It felt (as much of my life does) like a movie, or a play. There was Michael's face in front of me and Claire behind a tree (stage left) holding the dog's leash. I knew it was not the right place or time to be going over the merits of leashing one's dog. But, here's the odd thing; I didn't care. I didn't care that other people could hear us, or that the picture-perfect family outing was being smudged. 


Wait! Of course, I cared. But being one who often shuts down in an attempt to avoid conflict, this shouting was a bit of a breakthrough. I needed to voice my opinion and apparently, so did Michael. 


I think I heard violins in the background. 


It was over as quick as it started. The dark moment had passed. Claire came out from behind the tree. Chewy raced ahead of us with another dog, Abby. We found our tree. Michael cut it down. We sang the first verse of Oh Christmas Tree. We went home.


I'm pretty sure Claire survived this moment of discord between her parents. If not, I chalk it up to good material for her one-woman show or an expensive heart-to-heart with a future therapist.


Maybe you grew up in a house where people burst forth with shouts, then sat down to eat and be merry together. I could use a little of that. When I was a girl, I took a raised voice to mean the end of the world, or worse, divorce. Now I see that it sometimes comes with expressing yourself, maybe sometimes louder than you normally would. Even, GASP, not in the privacy of your own home. I can hear my mother clicking her tongue as I type this. 


(Sorry, Mom.)


Gusts will arise, trees will fall...


turn it into firewood.

A Really Good Thing

Elizabeth was a spotted dog for Halloween. Maybe that tipped us towards getting *Chewy. Hard to say. But I was up and out throwing tennis balls at 7:15 this morning in the sprinkling rain and cool fresh air. When the dog was running back to me, green ball in his mouth, tail wagging, I thought, this is a good thing.

Dogs get you up and moving. Babies do too. And other things like writing and walking. And work. Everyone has something that gets them up and moving. So, what gets you? A hot shower, a class full of kids, a saxophone, a cat, a calling? 

I've been reflecting lately on the timing of things, how they show up; a dog, a baby, a Dad, right when I seem to be on the verge of independence, whatever that means...a studio apartment with plant cuttings in jelly jars lined up on the window sill? My own bed? Traveling the world (without flying)?


Things to love keep showing up. This is a good thing. 


Before the bus stop, Claire and I walked Chewy for the third time. Walking and talking with my kid in the cool air is a good thing. 

The This Being Alive tribe definitely gets me up and moving. 


You're a really good thing too.


*Read Chewy 11/9/10

That Kind Of Day/Part Two

Yesterday was that kind of day. 


1.
Took Claire to the bus stop. Paula, college friend, comes for a visit. Chewy (rescue dog) and Paula meet. It turns out hunky-dory, in spite of my new dog nervousness.


2.
Paula and I meet Michael at his office to walk at the river. First time they've met. We walk. Blue sky, bare trees, leaves crunching underfoot, happy running puppy. Michael climbs on fallen tree jutting out from riverbank. Hear branch snap, turn to see him plunge six feet into cold, shallow water. One of those slow-mo moments. Michael pops up spewing water, face dripping blood, I'm okay, honey, I swear, I'm okay. I take undershirt off to give Michael something for his gushing eye. Paula says, she never could keep her clothes on. Run to get car, Michael strips down to his underwear, he and Paula get acquainted. Chewy sleeps on wet pile of clothes. Michael takes quick shower at home. Drop him off at emergency room.


3.
Paula hits the road. Pick up Claire at bus stop. Bad day at school. She lost special beads that belonged to her Aunt Pamela. Add interaction with not so friendly girls on bus. Quietly mention that Daddy is in the ER. Suggest we get him a helmet for Christmas. 


4.
Went to Claire's school to teach yoga to teachers. Had a hunch I might find her lost beads if I look in the classroom. Ask Steve, the janitor, for help. Find lost beads under teacher's desk. Feel like things are turning around. Hug Steve. Teach yoga class. Lots of deep breathing teachers on yoga mats as sun goes down.


5. 
Meanwhile, Teri picks Michael up at hospital. 
"What did she say when she saw you?" I ask him later.
" Oh my God!" he says.


6.
Home to stitched up husband who has veggies and shrimp prepped for his signature shrimp dish. 


Note to self: love a man who cooks. 


7.
6:00 pm. Let Chewy (new dog) meet Owen (old cat) at back door for a sniff. Part of our cat meets dog program. Chewy gets a little excited and chases Owen up a pine tree. Claire and I are crying.


8.
Claire has birthday party @ 6:30. Haven't bought gift yet. Michael climbs ladder to help cat. Cat climbs higher. Holding breath. Insist that Michael get down from there. Exhale when his feet touch the ground. Contemplate calling fire department. Decide against it.


9.
Take Claire to party. Chant, All is well and all is well and all manner of things shall be well, under my breath all the way home from party drop-off.  


10.
Owen is down from tree when I pull in driveway. Weep on front porch while he laps up bowl of contraband milk. Michael cooks. We eat in front of crackling fire. 


11.
In bed by 9:00. Chewy is sleeping. Owen slips in to bedroom and hops on my chest. I am forgiven for the butt-sniffing incident.


12.
Review the day. Mom would've said, just a rough patch.


All is well, and all is well and all manner of things shall be well.


(ps. Michael's new nickname: Rocky Balboa)

Dream in Two Parts

1.
I am holding my old dog, Che; my arms wrapped around his large, furry dog-self. I am crying, so happy, amazed to be hugging him again, so happy to feel his physical body and to smell his fur.


2.
The fish pond has flooded. Water is everywhere, all over the driveway, flowing out into the street. The water is very clear and I am tracking the fish, our fish. They are swimming away, but come back, like dogs, when I call to them.

Missing Che

It's been three years since Che (short for Noche, rhymes with Ray), had to be put to sleep. I laid down with him, just like we are in this photo, and held him until he slipped away.

I have lots of Che stories. Dogs and kids, right? I'm thinking right now of when Claire was a baby. She must've been at least six months old; she could sit up by herself. We plopped her down on the tile floor, put peanut butter on her forehead, and let Che lick it off. It was her baptism, right there in our cozy kitchen. Maybe you're thinking, jeez, that's just a little gross. But every time I think of it, I grin. It was the perfect combination of things: dog as spiritual leader, brown-eyed baby girl, & a dollop of peanut butter placed strategically on her forehead.

In the summer, Che and I would go to the Delaware river and swim across to the New Jersey side. If I got tuckered out, I would grab a hold of his tail and he'd pull me along with ease to the sandy beach. He was my dog for almost fifteen years. Actually, he was more than a dog. Che had my back, as people like to say these days.

Now if I could just bury my face in his big, old, furry head.