Mystery

 I look at the mess outside my back door the birds have made of the sunflower seed shells.  I'm responsible for some of that mess. I've been feeding them. But the possum has contributed too, trying to get to the bird seed, tipping over pots and stools and other garden paraphernalia. Not to mention his...  poop. Possum's poop a lot, and not just in one place but everywhere they go!

I'm sad. This mess is sad. It's a sorry excuse for a memorial ceremony location. I should clean it up.

Last year at this time, I was beside myself in shock. I had all the symptoms, rapid pulse, cold skin, perspiration, tightness in the chest, and an overwhelming sense of horror.

Who knew that loving someone so much for twenty years could bring upon such intensity?

I couldn't comprehend the possibility that I would remain sane. I sure didn't feel sane. That first six months was the most difficult. I went to bed at night and all I could think about was her. Not the good times we had. No. All I could think about was her death, and the things that led up to it.  I awoke in the same thought pattern day after day, night after night. I couldn't stop myself.

As clear as the moment it happened, I see her now, slipping out the door as I reach for the mail. She's plodding across the yard where her favorite plant grows... has been growing for years. Due to my recent surgery, I'm hobbling behind her. I liked to watch as she pads around her cat mint, and sniffs selectively until she finds that one perfectly formed leaf for her enjoyment. She nibbles. She lingers, waiting for my approach.

If only she hadn't.

I wasn't fast enough. The neighbor had let her dog out. He headed toward my house. I saw it coming. I tried, but couldn't run. There was no way I could have stopped it. It was instantaneous.

I heard a blood curdling scream as the dog's body slammed my little eight pound girl. It was me who screamed, but it sounded like it came from outside myself, as if the whole neighborhood had screamed. I saw her hurled away across the sidewalk.

It happened so fast.

I kept obsessively going over that in my mind, trying to re-capture that moment. It seemed she simply disappeared. Certainly she was suddenly not there.

My scream had startled the dog and his owner so much that everything shifted. For a moment the dog stood stock still and did not give her chase, but ran away. The neighbor and I had harsh words.

Since the door was still open, Keli made her way back inside before I got there. I examined her. No blood. She seemed herself. She seemed okay sitting there on her rocking chair, as usual.

It took two weeks as her life began to fade. I took her to the Vet, not relating the episode with the dog to her demise, because she was so old. It was the Vet who wrote in her chart about a mass in her adomen, the lack of bowel sounds. He asked if she'd been injured. Then, it all clicked.

It was too late to save her, he said. I could pay a thousand dollars and they would do everything they could, but he didn't feel there would be much hope at her advanced age, the fact she was dehydrated, etc. etc. I needed to let her go.

NEVER, NEVER, NEVER take your very sick pet to the vet without having a friend go with you!!! Driving home is extremely dangerous, for other drivers, as well as yourself. Several times, I had to pull over just to breathe. I was convinced I would pass out, but not within my senses enough to just stop driving entirely. Very dangerous.

Every night before I slept I re-lived the vet office visit, her looking into my eyes with such clarity that last moment. Every morning the same thing. I thought I would die from the grief.

So here I am a year later, and her resting place beside the back door is a mess with seed hulls and possum poop. Naturally, I got busy and started cleaning. I decided to go out to her favorite plant, her cat mint, dig it up and transplant it. Put it beside her. It gets such beautiful blue flowers on it.

Much to my surprise, I can't even call it surprise.

Just imagine ..... I find the location of Keli's cat mint and discover instead, a four foot circle of dead plant. All the living flowers and grasses surround that circle. But, nothing invades the space that once was the living plant my cat loved.

A Letter to My Muse

Dear Muse

They say you are fickle

and when you call upon me

I must be prepared.

I don't wish

to appear ungrateful.

But, dear Muse

why do you have to inspire me

on the freeway when traffic

is thick and I can't pull over?


I don't mind

if you come to me

while I'm on hold.

But, I might not

get through to them again.

And is it really fair

to give me two subjects at once?

How can I write about

that dark tragic day

at the same time you want me

to write about the fun

when Gertrude changed

her name to Anastasia?


Do you really have

to nudge me the moment

when the doctor

walks in the room

after I've waited an hour?


It's perfectly acceptable

if you wake me

in the middle of the night.

I 'll have pen and paper at hand.

I can reach the light.

But you know

I'll have to pee.

E Pluribus Unim

a tree has many branches

a river has many bends

a sleeper tosses and turns

a wheel has many spokes

most refuse to believe

we all have more than one path

Queen of Horse

This picture has been altered in the spirit of fun in photoshop. I hope the Queen won't mind.

NaNoWriMo Excitement!

I saw the odd word posted in my friend's facebook update last year. NaNoWriMo. Immediately I googled it.... National Novel Writer's Month. I was impressed. My friend, (and his mother) had signed up to participate. All they had to do was write their 50,000 word novel in one month! Knowing them both to be intelligent, creative people, I wished them well.

I knew, of course, that I could never complete a novel. But, I felt inspired by the emails sent out by the authors who had succeeded. If nothing else, I would develop a stronger commitment to my writing. I would gain knowledge in how to organize my life around my writing instead of allowing myself moments of luxury for writing.

I added up the days in November. I divided them into 50,000 just to have an idea of how many words those other writers would be completed, on average, per day. That comes out to 1667 words a day. Wow, I was impressed!

But, wait a minute. Wasn't I already writing that much every day? Emails to friends far away, journal entries of my daily life, blog postings to my too many blogs, messages to the patients in my Chondrosarcoma Support Group. I was online a lot! So, I began to re-think the possibilities. I calculated further. If one were to write at 50 words a minute, my average, one could complete 3,000 words in an hour. Of course, I realized that the words might not flow into my mind that quickly, so I figured if I were to average 30 words a minute I could manage 1800 words a day, providing the creative juices were flowing and my muse was on my side. I realized wouldn't have to sit for a straight hour to do this. I could break it down to four sessions of 15 minutes each. That would give me time to think about my story line, in the time in between work sessions. So, I signed up!

I suspended all the automatic emails I recieve from various sites. I announced to my facebook friends I would be lost to them for the month. I posted a lot of November's blog ahead of time, so they would be automatic. I even stopped myself from dropping into my support group ten times a day.

On the third week, I went into a slump. I avoided the computer. Upon questioning, I printed out what I had created and asked a friend to read it. She was so enthusiatic that I went back to my writing. Lo and behold, by the end of the month, I had written a little over the "required" 50,000 words.

It was in no way, "a novel". Of course, it would need revision. I took a break in December and let my New Year's resolution be to work on it further. As time went by, I began to slide. I got involved in a poetry writing group, then a few months later, a memoirs writing group. The revisions to my novel? Forgotten.

So, here we are again. A new idea has inspired me. This time, I've worked on an outline, made notes of ideas, and worked out some scenes and timelines before I started.

It's NaNoWriMo time!

Gift of Cremation

Something that cremation provides that burial does not, is the opportunity for the bereaved to have a part of the person they loved to be with them. Though the "remains" must be buried or the ashes spread over water, or some other method of dispersal, the bereaved can have a part of the ashes in a small urn, or in my mother's case, she was able to have a small necklace with a sealed container of Dad's ashes. She could have a sense that he was with her. She died a little over a year later. This time, as a family, we were able to respect the original wish of cremation without "all the fuss". But something unexpected and quite miraculous, in my opinion occurred with her death.

All her life my mother wanted to leave her body to science. She had a rare medical condition. She hoped it would help to provide an opportunity for research, perhaps make a new inroad of knowledge about her condition that might help future generations who might be affected by the same condition.

Since we had spent so much money on Dad's funeral, we were strapped to afford Mom's cremation, even though the cost was less. We learned through Hospice of an organization which will provide the cremation free, if the body is donated for scientific research.

Though Mom died and we were grieved, it was incredibly comforting to know Mom's lifelong wish had come true. It actually gave us much happiness, and now that she was gone too, final closure. We still had grief, and still miss her and Dad, the circumstances provided us with comfort. In our case, we had lavished flowers throughout life. And so, we did not need them. The beauty was in our love for each other as a family.

Black Cat Daring

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Bereaved Comforts

I once had a dear friend who died many years ago. Her family lavished flowers everywhere you looked. Her husband went into debt for her coffin, made of fine wood and brass handles. Perhaps for him, this was his subconscious way to substitute for how he would have lavished his love upon her if she had continued to live. That is the only reason I could come up with at the time. I guess I don't really understand this part of our American death rituals very much.

Do we put the deceased in a strong, sealed coffin because of the idea of the creatures that might eventually desecrate the body? What is it about the coffin? Is it a way to preserve the body, a way to feel like the person is still intact, safe, in a location we know we can go to and be with them, even though underground? What in the world is the purpose?

I keep wondering about the flowers, the ones I, in the past, vehemently stated I wanted no one to give me after my death. How foolish of me to think they would be for me! How oblivious to not realize Linda's flowers were not for her. I've realized the flowers are for the living.

We want to clean up death. We want to find ways to make it prettier, more acceptable, and flowers can do that. The natural beauty of flowers have a powerful effect on the psyche. Why not place flowers around the coffin, on the coffin, for the viewing? Why not have them at the grave site? Without them, the dismal effect of the whole situation would be more painful. We, the bereaved need comfort too. Flowers can bring upliftment of the spirit and that's a great comfort in our time of mourning.

I think now I understand a little bit more about this whole process that I once thought was barbaric.

Lover's Dream

This gentle tune is called Lover's Dream.

It was written and recorded by Mark Salona.

Copyright 2008.

I hope you enjoy the music!!

http://www.youtube.com/user/nutsocket

Saying Good-Bye

If we are traditional, there are fixed ideas we have about death where I live, except perhaps with cremation. We have the body made up so that the deceased looks healthy and happy, as much as possible. We have a viewing where friends and family come and share time with the deceased to say goodbye. We give eulogies, share stories of his or her life, how our lives were affected by this person.

Recently, I've realized that all the ritual we have regarding death of our loved ones is very much to honor them. It also helps us with our grief since it gives us comfort in our bereavement. The idea in our society that death is negative derives from the fact that we will miss that person who died, that there is an empty space in our heart that needs to be filled with something else to replace the fact that he or she will not return.

If one is not present when the death occurs, there is a sense of not having had the opportunity to say goodbye, therefore the ritual of viewing the body. Dressing our loved one in favorite clothing, and physical features made to look healthy and happy can provide a sense of completion. We may tell ourselves, the loved one is no longer inhabiting the body, but still, we want to revere the receptacle which housed the soul we will miss so much.

In our grief, thinking rationally may not be a high priority, and spending money on a satin lined coffin, for example, has everything to do with how much we wish to provide comfort.

Though we might understand that the body, nor the being that once inhabited it, will physically benefit from lying on a cushioned bed surrounded with lovely pleated fabric, we have the need for ourselves to symbolically swaddle the one we loved as we may have in life.

Have you ever offered a friend your coat when they were cold? Shared a blanket? Done something, anything, to help the loved one be more comfortable? Seems to me this is our one last attempt to do the same thing when we say goodbye.

Soul Watcher

In that moment of disconnecting from the body, the clarity returned. We could be with each other, equally sharing the Knowing. Memorizing it to carry forward.

We designed the fulfillment of the our goal through many lifetimes to gain enlightenment, not just for ourselves but also others whether they remembered or not. And soon it would be time for us to join again, permanently, if we could just get you to come through this next time in connection with your remembering.

Then all to soon it was time for you to sleep.

So quickly the knowing gets murky. But, of course that is the way it is. We take our chances when the will is stronger than the seeker within. The will blocks direct communication. It has to make the choice to open to the seeker. I could only let you sleep and return to my Light studies until you were ready.

I remember when first we met this time around. You in the mist, curled like a little seedling, dreaming of this world, then letting it lift you until it fell away. Yes, even then a part of you was ready to leave. You began floating along in the warmth of the darkness.

I wanted to tell you then, how things would be, but I knew you would have to find out for yourself.

It was my job to protect you and guide you. And you were in no state to be approached with the Knowledge. I wished I could tell you. But you had to re-discover it for yourself.

Most every one has an idea that includes the sense of the protector, the messenger, the guardian angel. So many times you saw masculinity as divine. It was natural that was what you expect me to fulfill.

I was just your soul watcher as you had been mine. I took the form you needed... we needed... to join as one in the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: Digital art by Elizabeth Munroz

What Choice?

I wish
I could have told you
certain things.
Too many factors
blocked
our connection.


There are no regrets.
Simply...
it is how
it unfolded.

We are challenged
from all directions.
Each having
it's own cause
and effect;
it becomes
a matter of choice
which way we'll go,
where we are lead,
who we follow...
or not.

We take our path
with intention
fiercely burning
or not.

We stand aside
we watch
observing molecules
dewdrops on tulips
letting life happen
or not

I wish
I could have told you
what you needed to know
that you would survive
and become
someone else

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Digital art by Elizabeth Munroz

Amy Obenski: Words on a Page

Voice poetry, I call it. Only better. Amy's got a new video out. I'm enjoying the nuances.

End of the World?

"Just When the caterpillar thought her world had ended she turned into a butterfly."
~ Proverb

Vase Gazing

It was like having a well-trained dog whining at the door with a leash in his mouth insisting you take him out for relief. I felt so unsettled. I must do something! Anything... to finish unpacking from my move. So, I grabbed the box sitting nearby. It was full of fine glass vases in different colors.

Collecting beautiful glass vases just so that I can set them in a windowsill sans flowers has been a hobby of mine for many years. My mother collected them passed some on to me to start my own collection. I like to gaze at the colors when light shines through them. I find vase gazing soothing to my soul.

I didn't realize it at the time, but this collection created a significant bond between my ex-roommate and I. When I first moved into Helen’s home, I asked if I could line up my vases in her huge living room window. She didn’t mind, but was surprised that I had such a collection. She had never heard of such a thing, and thought it a little odd that I only liked to look at the bright colors and not put flowers in my vases.

As time passed, I added more to the collection until the sill was crammed tightly with them. Shortly before I was to move to my new apartment, we had a yard sale and I culled many from my collection to sell. 

I sat up the night before, pricing them, as I packed away the keepers, leaving the window bereft. It made quite an impact on both of us the next morning as we noticed how drab that corner of the room had become without the emanating rainbow of color. During the yard sale Helen gathered up my culled vases and insisted on buying them from me, then put them up in her window. "Where they belong." She said.