A little skin . . .

In an effort to get more viewers to my channel, I thought it was time to go ahead and unleash the smut. Here is an erotic movie from Victorian days, and when I tell you to get your smelling salts . . . The moment she takes off her corset and plops in the chair to show her ankles, whew. You might get a little dizzy. You've been warned.

Me making a fool of myself, as usual

I thought losing my sweet Henry would get better over time but to be honest it's only gotten worse. That little guy left a rift in my heart that can never be replaced. The song "Tight Connection to My Heart" by Bob Dylan is perfect sentiment--we had such a close connection that is impossible to explain. 

Perhaps to fill the gap or keep my mind off him, I am recording each chapter of my book--and thoroughly embarrassing myself in the process. But what do I care, really? It's fun. And if anyone one, just one person, get enjoyment by listening to it, then that's all I need. I'll be happy. 

Forever

I still miss dear Henry so much. A person can be intuitive and have a gazillion interactions with spirit, but when it comes to someone you spent every waking hour with, cheering on, hugging, feeding, comforting, etc. it's just as hard. Each night I'd kiss him and say, "Goodnight, God bless you, sweet dreams to you, I love you," then I'd think ten more years. Intuitively, I'd been told one year--which came true. Looking at his pictures it's undeniable he was getting on: the silver hair had taken over, one eye was cloudy, and those poor little teeth of his had been in better shape--what was left of them! His quality of life had severely declined, yet still he was tenacious enough for our daily walk. So many times I'd carry his long, short-legged body back to the car like a little football and the same guy at the farmer's market would yell out, "His legs got tired, I see!" Oh, how it got under my skin. Yet, it's possible the sight of my devotion to Henry made others happy, and that's a beautiful thing. 

We ask, why must we age? We, meaning all of us living, breathing creatures here on earth, and the answer is that at some point we need a reason to move on and to let go. That's just the way it is. I imagine as they find more abilities to keep us healthier longer, they'll also introduce ways to look younger. But at some point, the nature of the soul is to age, die and reincarnate. A soul's journey goes on and on, lesson after lesson, life after life. Modern Christianity fails to teach this, damning us to one incarnation (luck of the draw!) and a reward if we're good. I find it incredibly comforting to think we go on--though I do hope this is my last journey. A psychic told me once I'd been a queen in two past lives and when she said this I thought, Mary Queen of Scots must be one of them. After some research I found Mary matched my stats (tall, red hair, long neck), and when it came to the last hour with a guillotine to end it all, it said she had her little faithful dog hidden inside her skirt. That sounds like me, hiding dear Henry. Indeed, in this life I thought we'd be together forever, so inseparable the two of us were. 

I'd spend a million years with Henry, gladly, yet even I succumb to the knowledge that he had a journey, and now he goes on in an ethereal way. Henry and I are in a soul group, which means our souls are tethered with love. We'll always be together in one way or the other, I know this. Yet I also know it was his time to go physically and that we'll be together again. 

Animals teach us love, and they give us joy and sadness. To everything, turn turn turn . . . there is a reason, turn turn turn . . . I believe losing them, and the terrible grief their passing brings, is a lesson in love. In grief there is another way to open our hearts, in particular for me so that his soul and spirit has a place to be when we are separated. A lot of us walk around with closed hearts, but our animal friends teach us to remain open. Heaven is in the heart, and until I can hold, hug, pet, be with him again, that's where he'll be. 

Happiness

Still missing my Henry. I think the last few years of the pandemic forced us to become each other's bestie. During the lockdown when there was nowhere to go, literally, our escape became nature, and in that beautiful confinement he and I perfectly found a together-peace no one else could puncture. Yes, he was just a dog, but not really. I would look across the yard at him--him patrolling the fence, rolling in the grass, basking in a patch hot sunlight--and we'd have a silent communication akin to a note being passed in the air. It was contentment, times one million. We woke up together, got through the long days together, and each night we'd stay out until dusk--until the fireflies stopped blinking their June patterns. I can never get that time back--a time which should have been the worst of my life. I guess it was an awakening. Do you remember how loud the birds sang that spring and summer of 2020? Like they were happy we had stopped our chaotic human things for a small moment in time? Cherubs and seraphims swum invisibly among the trees, they and the birds and all of nature formed a wordless communication as well. It was so healing, but I wouldn't wish for the pandemic or the agony it caused so many. 

That's the thing--the part where I feel guilt. But now that Henry is gone, I long for that time. I truly think nature and all the non-human, animal beings on earth are the most precious. As I write, a young rabbit nibbles grass outside the window, then a bright scarlet cardinal perched near to the glass and peeked in. Humans are fine and all, we do need to love and appreciate each other, but what would we do without the magic which surrounds us daily? Actually, what I'm trying to say is, nature makes us better. It does heal us. It is the one place we can go when the walls begin to cave in. 

Saying good-bye to my angel

When Henry first came into my life, I knew something very special had happened. It was clear from the first moment he was not a normal dog and that I was unusually lucky to have found him. As a mother of two young children--busy, tired and stressed--it was clear a rambunctious puppy wouldn't do. But Henry was like a calm, little old man who'd come to live in a house of chaos. He had soft brown almond-shaped eyes and long, floppy red ears with black tips, and of course the trademark short legs of a dachshund. But he wasn't a typical dachshund or even a typical dog, he was a like friend who'd been sent on earth just for me. 

Fifteen wonderful years have passed with my dear friend. He sat by my side as I wrote, woke up with me to get the kids ready for school--and waited patiently for them to come home--we've had long walks and drives together (oh, those beautiful walks!) and he even got to ride the tram at Fantastic Caverns. 

Every moment of every day with Henry was a day I will treasure forever. Like Forest and Jenny, Henry and I were two peas in a pod. He even knew my thoughts and would very often peek around the kitchen wall when I'd thought about getting him a snack. "You've read my mind again," I reprimand, and he'd wag his tail. 

The years finally caught up with him, my friend, and it was time to say good-bye. The truth is, I'd willed him to live longer than Heaven had originally granted. The last year in particular it became clear it was time to let go and that at long last we'd reached the end of our journey here on earth--but 15 years isn't enough. Not nearly. I miss him every day and still expect to see his sweet paws running to the door after a trip to the store. I miss his humor, his kindness, his grounded, calming energy; his sweet demeanor, his grit and verve. Everything about him basically, I miss. And the kids miss him too. 

Handing Henry to the vet technician after he was put down was the hardest thing I've ever done. It's stupid, but in the car on the way home I thought of that scene in Titanic when Rose says to Jack, "I'll never let go." 

Each day is teaching me to put Henry in my heart so that we can still go on long walks and drives together, and wherever he is, I know he's holding me in his heart as well. For that is what Heaven is. It's not up there or any kind of far-off, mythical place. Heaven is love. Heaven is right here.

I'll love you forever, Henry. You were never just a dog, you were a friend. The dearest one of all. I'll never let go.

Art to relieve stress

The title says it all--art is helping me get through these chaotic times. This last year of writing a little book about John--which I am now turning into a screenplay, I found myself sketching him as well to pass the time and relieve the anxiety of life. At some point when the portrait itself becomes a big sizzling ball of failure, I stop and ask some invisible force to guide my hand. Soon as that wish is put out there, the magic happens. Most of the time. The point is to capture something beyond the actual portrait--to put some spirit into it. Hope you enjoy them and here's to a calmer, more peaceful world in the near future.