Jaimie

This last week a young woman died unexpectedly.  She was a very good friend of Michaela's in High School.  She was a young mother.  She was also a very troubled young woman.  I'm not sure I ever saw Jaimie completely happy, but I also never saw her not smiling.  She was loud and witty.  She could be abrasive and she put on a tough girl front for the whole world, but inside was a little girl crying out for acceptance.  Like everyone else, she just wanted to be liked by many and loved by a few. 

She had a lot of friends.  But I'm not sure how many were true to the core friends.  I know that she was fun to be around and that attracts people to you, but it doesn't always make them love you.  It doesn't always mean that the friendship goes beneath the surface.  It doesn't always mean that the aching hole of lonlieness gets filled.  It doesn't mean that when you are down there is someone there for you.

Jaimie, like Michaela, walked into a room bringing a huge force of energy and positive feelings.  They expressed it in very different ways though.  Jaimie was the tough girl, playing at being a gangster she wasn't.  Michaela was the social butterfly; playing at being the confident young woman that she wasn't.  I suppose we all play at being something we are not, especially when we are young.  It takes a lot of strength and maturity to even learn who we are, let alone to let other people see that real person.

Jaimie liked to walk in and try to tackle my husband.  I think it was fun for her to tackle someone she couldn't actually take down.  I think it made her feel feminine even while she played at being gangster. 

Michaela would get very upset with Jaimie, as I said, Jaimie was troubled.  Michaela didn't always approve of what Jaimie was doing with her life, but she just didn't abandon her.  She still loved her.  In fact, she couldn't stay away from her for many years--she would get upset and say she couldn't hang out with her any more and the next thing I knew Jaimie would be back at the house.  Michaela said she was just too much fun.  That she was too funny and always could make her laugh no matter what.  I heard that sentiment repeated over and over during the visitation. 

I  can't pretend I knew Jaimie well.  She spent a lot of time at my house over the years, but mostly doing girl things with Michaela or just popping in and out on the way to the movies or the bowling alley.  Once she got ready for a dance at our house and her mother came to help and take pictures.  I knew her relationship with her mother was difficult, but I watched her mother brush her hair and there was so much love, I was a little jealous; I couldn't remember the last time I brushed Michaela's hair.

I saw her much less in the last few years, after Michaela left for college.  The last time I saw her she came by to visit and tell me she was pregnant.  We spoke several times about her bringing the baby by to meet me, but sadly it never happened.  The first time I held Kylie was at Jaimie's visitation.  She is a beautiful baby.  She was so tired, you could see it on her face, but she gave me a big smile and a huge full armed, head on the shoulder hug and I knew that hug came from Jaimie.  She is her mommy's girl.

Jaimie wasn't perfect.  None of us are.  But the world will have just a little less sunshine without her in it....and I suspect Heaven just got a whole lot louder.

More Customer Service

I know I just ranted about customer service a week ago, but I'm afraid I have to do it again.  Saturday night we stayed at a motel.  Admittedly it wasn't the nicest motel in the world, but it was the only hotel in the world that met our single requirement.  It was walking distance from the area that we were going to be drinking at a costume party.  Being responsible drinkers, we planned ahead and got a room.  Interestingly (and seemingly impossibly) somehow, when we left the room to go to the party, the security latch inside the room became engaged.  I'm not even sure how that could happen.

So, when we came back to the room at 1055, we were unable to get into the room.  This is where it gets fun.  Apparently this hotel has NOBODY on duty after 11pm at night.  There isn't even a 'call in case of emergency' number!  When I went to the office, fortunately, there was a woman there.  Just barely.  Because she was packing up to go home.  She wouldn't call anyone or do anything about the situation at all except give us a different room for the night.  Even though all of our stuff was in the original room.  Also fortunately, in this case, it didn't matter all that much.  But what if we had a plane to catch in the morning?  I had nothing but my driver's license on me.  Or what if we had arrived 5 minutes later?  We would have been left standing there outside our room with no place to stay, no way to get our stuff (our car keys were in the room, even if we would have been in any legal state to drive), no options but to call the police or break down the door.  What if someone lost their key or locked them in the room?  How is it even legal to run a hotel and have nobody on staff from 11pm to 9am???

Just another in a series of bad customer service experiences I have had lately.  It seems to be an inevitable decline that shows no sign of improving. 

Speaking of customer service, as I just was, one last topic.  What is the deal with TIPS?  I know it is an American tradition to tip waiters and certain other service providers, but why?  Isn't it supposed to be to reward good service?  Then why is it so often added to my bill without my permission?  I've even heard of places refusing to take it off the bill when the service was bad.  So isn't it really just a part of the cost of the entire purchase?  So why not just pay the servers a reasonable amount and ditch the entire guessing game of how much will dinner cost tonight for the customer and how much will I make tonight for the server?  Sure it makes the prices on the menu look higher, but if everyone did it, the ratio would still be the same. 

And even worse, what is up with the TIP jars sitting by almost every cash register these days?  I go into a deli.  I walk up to the counter.  I place an order.  I stand and wait for it.  I pay the person standing behind the counter.  I carry my food to my table.  I throw away the containers afterwards.  Why on earth would I need to leave a TIP at the cash register?  Didn't I just pay for my food?  Doesn't the cashier get paid to ring up food?  In the deli in my building, the cashier is the business owner and he has a tip jar!!!

AND...is there anyone on this planet who can tell me how much an airline ticket costs?  For real?  I can't even comparison shop because I never know what the fees for baggage and food and a seat will be until I've already done the research.  Then I find out my bargain basement ticket was just as much as first class on another airline.  I just can't stand it any more!!!!!

PS...I'm still being held hostage by my bank...a week after we were supposed to close, it hasn't been resolved.

Customer Service

This is not my traditional blog by a long shot, but it is what's on my mind. 

Do you ever feel trapped by companies?  I am opposed to government intervention in business in general.  I believe open competition is the only way to truly regulate and control costs and quality.  But of course, that only works if the companies actually compete with each other; not collaborate. 

I am very upset right now by my bank.  We applied for a mortgage over a month ago and it went through a variety of steps from preapproval to approving the appraisal...then all communication stopped.  Nobody would answer our calls.  This is a bank I have used and been very, very happy with for 15 years.  Turns out our processor left on 'medical' leave and someone forgot to pass our file to a new processor.  In the meantime, our closing day has come and gone and they are still asking for paperwork that we sent them a month ago.  Did our processor take it with him?  Where did it go?  But for all realistic purposes, we are stuck.  If we started over with another bank, it would delay things even longer.  And what will we be compensated for our inconvenience?  For rental costs of the moving truck?  For the time we took off work? 

But they aren't the only company that I am not happy with, yet feel compelled to use.  I can't stand DirectTV.  But they exclusively hold the rights to the NFL Sunday ticket.  The absolute one thing that my husband wants to recieve on TV.  But their customer service is terrible.  They throw on extra costs for everything.  Yet I am held hostage by their monopoly. 

Who else?  Car dealers; All of them.  Facebook; Another one of a kind service with no real competition.  Cell phone companies;  all of the services are terrible.  Airlines; one fee after another and fewer and fewer niceties or even niceness.  Colleges; someone needs to explain to me why a 'well rounded' education is important for every single degree.  Does a meteorologist really need fine arts?  Walmart; it is hard to justify not going there when they are so convenient and economical, but how much I wish I had enough money to turn up my nose and go to nice clean stores with friendly employees...employees who are treated right.   I'm sure you can think of a million more. 

On the brightside there are some local businesses that I go to just because I can choose a place with good service:  Hollywood Nails in Cocoa Beach does great nails and are very fast and friendly.  Jiffy Lube in Melbourne takes care of my cars without trying to pressure me into crap I don't need and even holds the door open for me when I leave.  Tires Plus Melbourne is always friendly and once when they misaligned my vehicle replaced the tires 6 month later no question.  Sonny's BBQ Cocoa Beach is friendly, good prices, food and service. 

New Dog

Caution:  At the very bottom of this blog is a graphic picture of Resi when animal control picked her up from the man who abused her.

After Bear died, we agreed that we wouldn't get another dog for awhile.  After all we have a lot going on this summer already.  And Bear was Bear.  You can't just replace one dog with another.  It doesn't work that way.  But in the same way that you can have as many children as you want and love each and every one of them for their own unique personality, you can love another dog without it replacing the one you lost. 

So just a month after Bear died, I was feeling down and a bit lonely and unneeded.  Really for many years now the only ones who both needed me and loved me were Michaela and Bear (Bill, too, but that is a different thing entirely).  With them both gone, I was feeling a little useless.  So I started dropping hints (which weren't well received) to Bill about getting another dog.  We had already decided that we wanted a young adult dog who had already had some training and needed a new home, so I started looking at adoptable dogs in the local area and sending him pictures.

I came across Resi and put her at the top of my list for several reasons...she had been trained by certified trainers, she was housebroke and crate trained, she didn't chew things up, she was in a foster home with cats, she was the right size, but what really caught my eye was that she liked to run with a bicycle.  One of the reasons I wanted a new dog was to have a good reason to get off the couch when I just didn't feel like it.  An active dog that could run beside a bike sounded like just the thing.

Police Report:  Click to enlarge

Then I saw the video.  This poor dog had been cruelly abused.  In fact, the abuser was charged with felony animal abuse.  Yet she had healed and was still a loving pet.  The video made me cry to think that someone would do that to an animal.  But it also gave me pause about adopting her; Resi is part (probably mostly) Pit Bull Terrier.  I don't have anything against the breed.  In fact the ones that I have known have been exceptionally smart, well behaved animals.  But if this man had beaten this dog so badly, would the dog (any dog) turn out mean?  Because a Pit Bull Terrier is a strong animal, one that can cause considerable damage if it is mean. 

We decided to go see her though and it was love at first sight for us.  She showed off her tricks and walked on the leash for us.  She climbed up on my lap and licked my face and nibbled my ear.  She was just an absolute love.  Other than the scars on her face and ears, you would never know she had been abused.  Her foster family had done amazing things with her in the year she had been with them healing both emotionally and physically.  I knew before we left the house that we wanted her to live with us and after a weekend visit we decided to go ahead with the adoption.



Apparently she has a problem
with Snoopy too.



But apparently there is some residual emotional damage.  Resi has some issues with feet.  We have seen her get upset about someone's feet and it is a bit scary.  She will lick the person and be happy to see them, but nip at their feet.  We still don't know how prevalent the problem is going to be, because right now she is in a stage of learning to live with us without a lot of strangers coming to the house.  We do take her out in public and in every environment outside of the house, she has been fine.  She has been ok with everyone she has met and every dog that we have encountered. 



  Soon we will be introducing her to more people in our home and we are very hopeful that this behavior is rare and can be untaught.  She learned it somehow; she wasn't born that way, so we believe we just need to have the patience and perseverance to figure out the best way to help her get over it.  We hope our friends and family will be patient with us while she learns what she needs to know to be a great pet and part of our family. None of us are perfect and most of us never had to endure what she has gone through in her short life.

Moving

We are getting ready to move.  Or maybe I should say, I am procrastinating getting ready to move.  We are moving in about three weeks.  The house we are moving to is only a few miles away.  It is a much nicer home in a much nicer neighborhood.  It isn't the moving to the new house that has me procrastinating.  When I think of unpacking and settling in, I get excited about it.  But when I think of packing up our things in this house and getting ready to move, it feels overwhelming. 



I have lived in this house 6 years.  It isn't my first house, it isn't the nicest house I've ever owned, but it is the first house I picked out and purchased all on my own.  The house wasn't much in the way of style when Michaela and I moved into it.  The yard was bare grass with the very minimum of builder installed landscaping.  The walls were white. 



you really must click this to enlarge to
see the signifcance of the flowers and
the entire day all in one shot

 18 months later I got married in the back yard.  The yard was still mostly grass and Michaela and I cut baby beauganvilla branches and taped them to the fence in strategic places to make it look a little nicer for pictures.  The next five years were a constant of change as we converted this house into a home, a small oasis to come home to at the end of a long day.  A place filled with love.

There are a million memories in this house.  Most good, some bad, some bad things that happened that at least turned into a great story (one of my favorite quotes:  If you are going to laugh about it some day, you might just as well go ahead and laugh now).  The disaster of building the back patio.  The 5 times Bill had to dig the 'pond' because of the torential rains that kept caving it in.  Painting walls and repainting walls and repainting walls.  Carpets ruined by kids and pets.  Floors tiled by a friend who just moved in until the job was done...him in one spare room, my mom in the other, the house in disarray (talk about a full house!)  Hundreds of empty bottles of wine that decorate our 'plant shelves'...each with its own story.   House plants that we stuck in the ground outside to see what would happen, that are 25 feet tall now (gotta love Florida!).  Kids shoveling and carrying decorative rock from the front to the back for days on end.  Tears, fights, doors slammed, kids sneaking in, kids sneaking out, dreams shared, plans made, hands held, cars wrecked, children becoming adults...all in this house. 

I have moved maybe 25 times in my life.  Military life does that to you.  I take a lot of pictures, those can go with me, the walls cannot.  But never before have I left anything irreplaceable behind.  Because in our new home, there will be new memories, there will be good times, there will be sad times.  There will be planning and replanning, changing of landscapes and paint and furniture.  There will be parties and friends and children and grandchildren.  It will be a wonderful place for us to build the rest of our lives. 

But Michaela will never make a memory there. She has made her last earthly memories for me.  The memory of her sitting at the counter asking me questions about college applications.  The memory of me hearing her crying and coming out of the bedroom to see her laying with her head on Bill's lap crying her eyes out over relationship problems.  The memory of her growing from a girl who wouldn't show her breasts to a male doctor for a school exam to a girl who would lay out naked in the back yard on top of the hot tub.  Taffy pulling party, craft days, crying over homework at the dining room table, sitting around the fire pit in the back yard, wrestling with her brother on the living room  floor, playing Wii boxing with Erin, her friends tossed all over the living room or sitting at the dinner table, Christmas', birthdays, late nights up talking in the living room, sitting on her bed with her when she was upset, her excitement over her adult bedroom set that was to be her legacy furniture, carving pumpkins, coloring easter eggs with me-just the two of us-because everyone else thought it was stupid, cookie nights, food fights, catching frogs and lizards and moths....just so many...so very many.   That I can look at any spot in this house and see her in it.  See her doing something perfect normal, something perfectly every day, something that she will never do again. 

Still, I know we will be happy there.  I know we are doing the right thing by moving.  She has made her feelings very clear on the subject.   She will be in that house with us--forever.  In that I am blessed.  Michaela doesn't need a physical presence on this earth to be with us.  She is willful and she is a manipulator.  She always has been.  She has been able to make signs strong enough to make all but the most cynical non-believer at least raise an eyebrow and I am even more blessed that I can talk about these things with my friends.  They are real, they happen, and my friends believe in every part of it...in fact many of them experience her too and aren't very shy about telling me about it.  I love when I hear that someone 'saw' her or 'heard' her or 'felt' her and that they understood why she was there.  Sometimes it is even people she didn't know on this earth.  It makes me so very happy to think about it all as a whole (there is more that she has influenced lately besides the house for us, but must save that surprise for later). 

But the big ones, the overwhelming feelings of her presence, stumbling across something she wrote that I haven't seen before, finding her Facebook words restored, the undeniable signs that she is right here-just around the corner-just out of sight, those come with a price.  They are precious and they are priceless, but afterwards is the eternal let down...that no matter how hard she tries, she can't come back.

I know you are happy where you are Michaela.  I know you now understand things that I do not.  I love you Michaela.

The Bunnies

I am a hasher.  A member of the Hash House Harriers.  The Hash House Harriers are a unique group of open minded, fun people who like to drink beer, exercise and sing dirty songs (in a nut shell).  We are not swingers, we do not have orgies, we are not a cult, or any of the other things that may be said by closed minded people who have only heard and never attended a hash event.  We are of every religion and social class.  We know no political correctness...we make fun of everyone.  We go by fake names to keep everyone absolutely equal.  The Hash House Harriers have been around almost 100 years, they were started by British ex patriots, they tend to group around military bases, and they hold organized social events world wide.  There are probably 300,000 hashers in the world and the number is growing.  But this blog isn't about hashing or hashers.  If you want to know about hashing, google it. 

This blog is about women.  Hashing used to be an all men's sport.  In some places it still is.  There are also all women's hashes now.  But anywhere you put men and women and alcohol all together there is almost sure to be drama.  There are about 10 (at least) hashes in Florida, and there is often drama.  Usually caused by the women (hey, I call it like I see it).  My hash group used to be the same way.  When you put women around men, they act differently than if there are no men around.  It is what it is. 

A few years ago, my friend Susan and I were sitting around chatting.  She wanted to make a women's hash group in this area.  I have to say, honestly, I wasn't terribly excited about the idea, but I thought I was worth a try.  And wow, just wow, was I wrong.  We started out as an all women's hash.  Some of the men were terribly threatened by this, although I don't really know why (it wasn't the husbands, but the single men who had a problem, they seemed to think we were going to talk about them...ha, the arrogance!).  We decided to call ourselves Bunnies, for lack of a better name, but it has nothing to do with the more famous playboy bunnies...just a play on the game of hashing which is lead by a Hare. 

After awhile, we decided that we didn't necessarily need to be a hash group, although we do hash occasionally (ps in case you didn't look it up, a hash is a 3-5 mile run with beer at the end).  We decided to just make time for our women friends at least once a month to do something...anything was ok.  No real criteria except it had to be accessible for all (cost, location, etc).  Happy Hours, bike rides, long walks, picnics, ladies nights, movie nights, dinners, shows, plays, ghost tours...we are always on the look out for the next bunny-type event.  Not everyone can make it every time.  Our group is growing and changing.  We have dealt with death, cancer, divorce, marriage, pets and parenting problems.  But so many good things have come from it. 

First, now our hash group has little drama.  Our women know each other and trust each other.  There is no feeling of threat when one of us is talking to an other's man.  Not only that, but the poor men can't even go out to another hash group because we are a force.  If some strange woman makes even a friendly gesture towards a bunny's man, a bunny will be right there making sure all it is ok (not sure this is good, but it has its perks).  Second, we know each other.  We know personal problems, we know health issues, we know who needs what, we know that Miss Standoffish is just shy and Miss Angry has been hurt and needs us and Miss Dry Humor is actually hilarious.  We know mom's and families...through stories if not in person.  We know each other well enough to assume that even if something looks off, we trust that our friend is acting in what she thinks is our best interest.  With love and consideration. 



the first bunny event Mish was at



These women were at my side 24/7 while my daughter was dying.  The did everything that needed doing from bringing food, picking people up at the airport, knowing who was arriving when and staying at what hotel, tracking down Michaela's best friend in Panama, counselling her friends when they were hurting, knowing who needed hugs and who couldn't stand one more hug, making phone calls, being prepared to speak and run errands at the funeral...the list is endless.  Even my friend Susan, who has since moved away, sent a beautiful poem.  When I couldn't think beyond yes or no, they knew how to give me choices instead of decisions.  They took care of my mom and my daughter.  They cried with me and laughed with me.  They kept records and told stories.  They were a force protecting my family from the world...from the volunteer who wanted to hassle us at the door to the ICU to the guard at the door of the hospital....I can't even imagine what all happened that I have no idea about and will never know.



Yep, the hash names are something...but don't assume you know anything

 We don't have to have a lot in common, although over time we find we do.  But we have indoor girls and outdoor girls, single women and married women, grandmothers and college girls.  We have teachers, nurses, military women, office workers, computer programmers, entrepreuers, and housewives.  We have sports fans, music fans, shoe fans, shoppers, cookers, drinkers, abstainers, vegitarians, meatitarians, dog people, cat people....it doesn't matter, all of that, really, now does it?  We don't always get together as a whole group...sometimes it is just two or three doing something in common.  Sometimes there is couples.  Sometimes there is just quiet time.  Maybe that is what makes it so good...everyone brings something to the mix.   But when we do get together, like we did today, it is momentous.  We weren't all there.  We missed those who couldn't be there.  And I can't even quantify what makes a day like today so very therapeutic.  We had a gathering point...but we all did all different things, disc golf, kayak, walks, bike rides, sitting in the sun....and then would come back together.  It was the perfect, no pressure, all love day.  Ok...I'm getting overly mushy.



Can't forget Bunny Pole dancing lessons!

 I never thought I had much use for women.  I had girlfriends in high school.  There was a lot of drama.  I joined the Air Force and realized with men I could be myself and speak my mind and didn't have to worry about hurting any one's feelings.  And I gave up on women pretty much across the board.  I would have a friend or two.  But I have never been as happy in my life as I have been since I found the Hash House Harriers and then, through that connection, my bunnies. 

a very busy Angel

Last week was a wild week.  Michaela has a very busy girl.  If you are one of those people who don't believe that our souls are connected or that our deceased loved ones can have any influence on our earthly existance; this would probably be a good place to stop reading. 

My life has been a veritable mountain range of ups and downs and crazy jagged edges the past 6 weeks or so.  No soothing plateaus from which to enjoy the view, no lush green valleys to rest in the sun.  Most of this had nothing to do with Michaela at all; except if you are unfortunate enough to have lost a child to death, you will understand that absolutely EVERYTHING is colored by that loss.  The joy of playing with my grandchildren is dimmed by thoughts of what will never be, the death of a friend's brother is highlighted by memories of similarities and differences, poor behavior in other young people underscores the unfairness of my loss, the excitement of a new experience is grayed by thoughts of how much she may have enjoyed it.  It makes everything a bit exhausting; even the good things.

March started out with Michaela's birthday.  As it turned out, I was unable to do anything this year to commemorate the day.  Not that I didn't want to, but there simply wasn't time.  My job was out of control busy.  The next three days I was home sick.  Some combination of cold virus and simple exhaustion that I couldn't seem to shake.  During those days we got some disappointing news; just another in a series of things that make life too hard.  And then on March 4th we had to put our dog, Bear, down.  I already blogged about that, so my readers know how important he was in my life. 

On the day we put Bear down, just as my husband was leaving for the vet's office, Fed Ex arrived with a package for me.  It was a gorgeous oil painting of Michaela done by a friend.  I knew she was painting it, but had no idea when or how it might arrive.  Interesting timing to recieve such a happy thing at such an unhappy moment...perhaps a little reminder that Bear would be with her now and everything would be ok.

By the weekend, life was looking up, but I was feeling a lack of communication with Michaela.  It isn't as though she speaks to me or anything that obvious, but usually, as I pass through my days, there are little reminders--things that make me think of her and smile.  On Monday, March 8th, I posted this on Michaela's wall:  I keep thinking I should hear from you...but I got the painting at just the right time, so maybe I am expecting too much or maybe I am looking too hard. I just miss you...you used to be so loud it is hard to listen for subtle.

From that point, the messages suddenly weren't very subtle at all.  Bill and I have been talking about moving into a better neighborhood for quite some time, but other than some random MLS searches when we had a few minutes, we hadn't done anything about it.  No house had caught our eye enough to make us want to schedule a viewing.  But the very next day, Bill ran across one we hadn't seen before.  It was brick and in a neighborhood with some space; in fact, a neighborhood that Michaela always loved.  Michaela hated cookie cutter neighborhoods where all of the houses are in one or two basic styles and sitting right on top of each other.  It had every single thing we were looking for, plus some things that we loved but hadn't been on our requirements list.  Things that just 'look like us'.  But the surprise came when we went to view the house.  In every room and scattered throughout the yard, mixed in with other knick knacks and decorations were hundreds of angels.  Every room and every hidden corner held an angel of some kind or another!!!!  It wasn't a very subtle message from our own angel telling us what we should do.  ...so we did.  We move in next month.  We found out while we were there that the man selling is 82 years old and lost his wife of 63 years last July, just one year after Michaela left us.  I wonder if they've met? 

Friday night I had a dream about Michaela.  I believe it was just a dream.  A few other 'dreams' have felt a different way, but dreams about her are rare and to be treasured.  In fact, I had been dreaming all night long apparently, Bill said I had been mumbling in my sleep a lot and I woke up very, very sad.  But I went back to sleep and I dreamed that we were going to Disney World.  Michaela was with us and so were Bill's mom and dad (both recently deceased).  There was a problem with our tickets though and we were trying to straighten everything out.  During this part of the dream Michaela was 21 and dressed in summer outfit I picture her in frequently.  But then the ticket issue got worked out and I turned to tell her and she was suddenly 10 years old.  I was so very happy then, and I hugged her and held her and begged her to just stay 10.  Knowing, even in the dream, that she would never drive a car if she just stayed 10.  Then I woke up; but happier than before. 

The final part of this story has to do with the band America.  Around Christmas a friend had given me a mixed CD that he had made to comfort me after Michaela had died, but I didn't actually get a chance to listen to it until late January or early February.  The first song on the CD was Sister Golden Hair by America.  Soon after that, my son posted a link to the same song on her FB page and just a day or two after that I saw that America was coming to play an outdoor concert in Cocoa Beach.  I feel like when the universe is trying to tell us something, repeated references to the same thing popping up like that are one of the ways it happens.  So I bought tickets to the concert.

Saturday afternoon was a beautiful day.  We took our lawn lounge chairs out to the place the concert was to be and set them up.  When we sat back in our chairs we found ourselves looking straight up at the largest rainbow colored kite I had ever seen.  In fact, I had just spoken to the man who made the kite in the food line, but didn't really give it any thought until I sat down, even though he had pointed it out to me.  It was anchored and stayed right there; directly over us until the sun went down and the concert started. 

As the band started playing the sun set and the temperature started dropping.  The music was very good (all of you who think people get 'too old' to perform are completely wrong).  As I sat there a slow feeling of calm and love surrounded me.  It felt like a hug and it was everywhere around me.  I couldn't stop smiling (not that I wanted to).  It slowly surged, getting stronger and stronger, until I knew.  She was there.  Right there with me.  All around me.  Holding me and bringing me peace.  Letting me know she was there, even though I couldn't see her.  I told Bill she was there.  He smiled for me and said hold on to it; remember what it feels like; don't forget. 

She stayed with me throughout the concert.  The last song of their regular set was Sister Golden Hair.  And then she was gone.  She didn't fade away slowly in the way that I had become aware of her; she was simply there and then she was gone.  I didn't feel sadness when she left, just a lingering happiness that she had been there.  And a solid knowledge that she will be back again.

Just an ordinary dog

I had a dog.  His name was Little Bear.  We had to put him down last week.  It broke my heart.  

Bear wasn't really anything special.  He was just an ordinary mutt.  Part Chow, part some kind of shepard, all love.  He wasn't very smart, as dogs go.  I think that may be the best kind of dog to have.  He wasn't worried about entertaining himself or finding a job (so he wasn't destructive); he knew his job.  His sole purpose in life seemed to be to figure out what it was his people wanted and do it the best he could. 

When he was a puppy he was a rolly polly little thing and could sit up naturally because his behind was the biggest part of him.  He learned really quickly that his people thought that was adorable and would give him food for it.  He learned basic obedience too, but no real tricks.  He figured his trick was to sit up and look cute and we fell for it every time. 

He didn't like getting yelled at much.  He house broke himself in 4 days.  In 12 years after that I could count his accidents on one hand and they were my fault, not his.  Once he had a doggy door, he even learned that if he needed to throw up, that was best done outside too.  He didn't get yelled at; he just could see that whoever was cleaning it up wasn't happy about it.  He never ate anything that wasn't his to eat...I left a bunch of food on a coffee table all day one time and he didn't touch it.  He didn't raid the garbage or chew things (not even his toys really, he coddled them).  He never needed much discipline, his desire to please was so great that strong discipline was counter productive. 

He had bad habits too.  He barked whenever anyone came in the house.  He had different barks...stranger barks were short and widely spaced and could be contained fairly quickly.  But friends and family had to be greated with great shouts of joy.  It wasn't his fault.  He couldn't help it.  He was simply too excited to understand why we didn't want to be greeted that way.  His joy at seeing us was undeniable.


He knew people too and he never forgot what was ok with who.  He knew who could be jumped on and who didn't like kissies on the face; he knew who would feed him and who would play with him and who might take him for a walk or a car ride on any given occasion.  And he knew the vet.  But he kept his affection to his family and friends; he was a trained therapy dog, but it really didn't work.  He behaved, but he didn't emote affection to the patients; he wasn't loving to them, so we stopped.

He gave hugs and affection, but it changed over time.  When he was young he would push his whole body against me as hard as he could when I asked for hugs.  As he got older and wiser, he would look me straight in the eye and then lower his head so I could put my forehead against his and talk to him when I was sad.  On the last day of his life he sat between my legs and pushed his whole body against me like he hadn't done in years.

Bear smiled.  A big full toothed, black tongued grin that couldn't be mistaken for anything else but a smile.  And his tail only wagged in one direction (to the right), but it wagged anytime someone talked to him.  He carried it up over his back like a chow. 

He loved his picture taken; I don't know why, probably because it seemed to make the photographer happy and got him more attention.  He would hold himself however he thought you wanted him; tall and proud. 

I took him with me to Korea and he had to stay in quarantine for a few weeks.  He never made a fuss about kennels until he got older and it was more upsetting for him.  But we never had a problem finding somebody he could stay with.  He was a good houseguest.

He liked the snow in Korea.  The Koreans didn't like him much.  He was too big and their culture doesn't keep big dogs as pets.  Once when we were coming home from our walk, the downstairs neighbor had left their door open and he charged into thier house on accident.  It really scared them and I felt bad, but they learned to 'like' him after awhile.

He never really got on the furniture without an invitation, even though he wasn't prohibited from it.  He never slept in the bed, but right beside it. 

Up until the last few months, he moved around the house, repositioning himself according to a doggy code of rightness.  He never really over ate and never got fat no matter how much food and how little exercise we gave him.  Sometimes he would eat too quickly and that would make him throw up.  As he got older, human food didn't really agree with him either.

His favorite time of day the last few years has been the time when Bill or Brandon would be working out and he could lay in the front driveway and watch everyone walking by.  He loved car rides, but he rode like a person.  He never put his head out the window and if the trip was long he laid down and went to sleep.  He rode wherever he was supposed to...back seat, cargo area, passenger seat and never tried to bother the driver.  He liked riding in my little convertible once he got used to it (and realized that he got a lot of attention that way).

The only thing worse than going boating, according to Bear, was being left home.  He would ride in any boat, but he didn't like it much.  Oddly though, he loved water.  He would find any water and spin around in it, lay in it, roll in it.  He loved the ocean too, once he got used to the sound.

He loved to play, but he played by his own rules. He didn't demolish his toys, but made them last for years.  He only ate rawhide bones if there was another dog that might take it from him.  His favorite game was to chase around a laser pointer or flashlight.  He didn't care about squirrels or frogs or lizards.  He would threaten a cat, but didn't care to take a real chase, I guess he had lived with too many of them. 

He was scared of Thunderstorms and car washes.  He was scared of sparks from fire too, but he was also brave.  He would try to put out the fire with his mouth to protect his people.  Once he grabbed a bottle rocket and scared us to death.  We got it away from him in time, but we never let him around fireworks again.

He was beautiful as a young dog, but allergies and age ruined his coat. 

He was still beautiful to me.