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Thursday, January 25, 2007

y'know, the interesting thing about the intermittent nature of blogging is that you only get slices of a life.

i had sort of forgotten that i'd left all y'all with such a heavy post, because i've been up to my ass in alligators of various shapes and sizes. so, for me, there's been a whole lot more going on in the emotional landscape lately than the last post would let you know. or, maybe, not more, just varying shades of shite.

so. :) scattershot crumbles.

first - while the last post may have sounded incredibly sad, that's not all by a long shot that i remember or respect about having those beings, among others, in my life. i've spent a fair amount of time loving my current group of critters, and remembering snuggling up on the couch with stanzi (which meant me snuggling up, and her perching over my shoulder, because she was never a lap cat).

things for which i am grateful: listening to Great Big Sea on the speakers as i type this, having a computer and a connection with which to blog, being reasonably warm and comfortable, having a roof over my head, observing the 34th anniversary of Roe v. Wade and appreciating the fact that the right to decide how to care for my own life and body was there when i needed it without having to resort to subterfuge. for my friends, for my family, both by blood and by choice, for Chica Bean - who will listen to the most incoherent calls and messages - and *get* me. for the fact that i live in a state that has a hip, Democratic governor who is willing to blog and podcast his job.

guys that i find hot (after, of course, my hubby who rocks my world - the others are only eye candy): Sam Waterson. Andre Braugher. Jon Stewart. Sam on Top Chef 2. Alton Brown. (yes, i'm a foodie, and a geek!) Eddie Izzard. Johnny Depp. Alan Doyle (from Great Big Sea - you know them, right?). Michael Franti. Denzel Washington. and Clive Owen, i'm lookin' at you... and wondering if you might make the list.

life these days seems blastingly overwhelming... and i've started chipping away, one task at a time. inventorying where i'm spending time, looking at what serves me and what i serve, and thinking. also, just doing one chore at a time.

thinking about: why i take WonderBoy to church with me, and what i hope he'll get out of it. why it's important to me that he gets that, at all. what i get from going. how i perceive and define my community, and how that shifts and mutates every damn day. what i think of coming up on my fortieth birthday, and how i think i'll eschew all the hoopla in favor of a small, introspective observance with my best friend (who is only a week or two behind me).

wishing that i had an electric blanket, or better still, a heated mattress pad.

grateful that my creaky little kitty, all 17 1/2 years of him, will let me carry him up the stairs to sleep with us in the night, because he needs the extra heat.

grateful for the amazing words and thoughts of annie lammot, and once again (still? always?) picking inspiration from what she says and shares. among them, the poem she used as the forward for her book Travelling Mercies - i'll point you to maggidawn's entry on the same poem for the full text. poem, poet, thought and word all meld together. i'd suggest reading it aloud for fuller effect. and then read it out loud again. read it, savor it, digest the words. and tell me what you think. what do you hear, in that poem of thanksgiving or letting go?

loving that WonderBoy still wants and appreciates me reading to him at bedtime - not something we've done in a dog's age, and which we restarted tonight, with one of my fave books from when i was his age - Johnny Tremain. i adored that book, and the images i conjured up from the words, and even more, going in to Boston and finding where Johnny would have lived. perhaps there's a field trip in our future. :)

:: scribbled at 10:28 PM ... ... o

Sunday, January 21, 2007

i've been travelling back in time, and thru grief, tonight.

it's a healthy thing, i think, to acknowledge and name our grief, and to give it a place in our lives. perhaps we let go, eventually, altho for me that would mean letting go of the source of grief. and i'm not ready to let go of those people and animals, those beings, not now, and probably never.

that doesn't mean walking around, marked with ashes and grieving always. for me, at least, it means having a space and a time in which to remember, grieve and commemorate.

tonight, the invitation to remember came from reading kate's post about grandma. reading all her raw love and emotion, the hurdles she jumped and the place she's made for the kitty who was part of her life for so long (and still is)... i was right back on my kitchen floor four years ago, stroking and loving stanzi, waiting for the vet to come and put her to sleep. i spent weeks trying to nurse her thru her illness, and when it got to be too much for her, when she wasn't herself, wasn't there, i had the great good fortune to say goodbye to her while holding her in my arms. i struggle, often, with the idea that i should have let her go sooner, should have made it easier for her. to this day, i have no idea if i picked the right time for her. i pray that i did. and i hope that she heard all those stories i told her, all the love that i tried to pass along thru touch and sound, that she knew, as she was leaving, that she was and is loved.

and i'm right back in the front seat of my car, last fall, sitting there holding pigwidgeon, screaming and crying, because my sweet dear little dwarf hammie, that i had nursed thru 3 months of diabetes, who was so incredibly charming and trusting... i didn't do enough. i had come home that night, and found him crunched up in the corner of his cage. he had been fine the night before, and now he was barely hanging on. i called the vet, and rushed him down there, cradling him to my chest in one hand, shifting and steering with the other. and it wasn't enough. or, maybe, it was. i didn't get him there in time to ease his death. as i've found, tho, a natural death is easier for dwarf hammies. and so i took him back, folded him in clean tissues, and drove home slowly, sobbing and apologizing.

we had a funeral for him, Wonderboy and i. we buried him in the garden, with a marker that Wonderboy wrote out. 'we loved you.'

and we did. and i am still grateful for the experience of loving these beings as part of my life. i am richer for having known pig and stanzi, and relish my memories of them, now and always.

:: scribbled at 1:50 AM ... ... o