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.

 

Liar, Liar . . .

photo credit: torbakhopper the tool shop sells tax evadaince pinatas, scott richard via photopin (license)

Should Trump be impeached? I think yes, he clearly broke the law. But if you're still questioning this, look at his pattern and why believing his innocence is akin to believing a magic fairy will bring you a million dollars on your birthday.

Trump's pattern of lies:

1.      The birther crisis—he said Obama was not a US resident, calling him a liar and a fake. For years he went on talk shows toting this false claim until the election was over, then he admitted the lie and let it the whole thing go. Oh yeah, he says, I lied.  This started when Obama roasted him at a public event, thus triggering Trump’s fragile ego and need for revenge.

2.       Hilary’s hidden email server. This whole thing started when it became clear she might win the election. But not only was it the hidden emails, Hillary became a rapist, a murderer, a criminal. Cries of “Lock her up” could be heard at all of Trump’s campaign rallies, much to his puerile happiness. The FBI investigated these claims countless times and came up with nothing, so then Trump went after them. Perhaps that’s why, in desperation, he called upon Russia to help.

3.       John McCain became Trump’s anti-war hero. A crook, a criminal, a liar, a murderer (see the pattern?) because he voted against the new health care laws Trump wanted to put in place which threatened to end Obamacare. This angered Trump so much that he still bullies McCain—a dead man.

4.       Elizabeth Warren became his new scapegoat after she battled his claim she wasn’t a true American Indian. When she had a DNA test done and only a small percentage showed such heritage, he continued to call her Pocahontas, a racist term which he still uses today. And no one in his camp call him out for it.

5.       Joe Biden—Trump made up a false claim that Joe’s son Hunter ran corrupt business in the Ukraine. Claiming it was his duty to end such corruption, he used the famous quid pro quo term “do me a favor” to new leader Zelensky. It alluded to a secret operative meant to dig up (or create) dirt on the Bidens—as we all know Joe is currently running for president. What a coincidence! The words ‘do me a favor’ are straight out of mob speech, like the term rat—don’t rat me out. Guess who’s used that term before as well?

6.       Greta Thunberg. A young autistic conservationist with a passionate zest for all things of the environment. Who knows what started this ego war, but when Time recently made her person of the year, putting her image on the front cover, Trump lost his mind. He went on to bully her on twitter then had a doctored cover made with his face photoshopped on top of hers. A low move from a grown man—a president.

The point I wish to make is this: we have a pattern. In each case a false narrative is started by Trump—usually after some event in which he feels slighted or challenged, then it goes into full blown conspiracy meant to derail if not imprison the innocent party. The claim that Obama wasn’t a US citizen went on for years. Trump spent countless years, time, energy sticking by his lie until it wasn’t needed anymore. He makes up detrimental, hurtful lies to destroy what he sees as an enemy, and vehemently asks the world to believe him. He hires lawyers, search teams, goes on talk shows, radio shows, and twitter stating false facts over and over again. He breaks laws. As president, he makes up his own rules and does whatever he can to win. Including obstruction and collusion. Clearly, he’s lying about the innocent party, yet he gets by with it over and over again. It’s a pattern. He lies. He’s a liar. He lies to destroy people. Even children. When people still seem undecided over whether he should be impeached I say, look at the pattern. When has this man shown himself to be telling the truth? And why does America deserve to live in the shadow of his falsehoods one moment longer than today?

Fa la la la la . . .

I'll be going somewhere similar at a point in the near future, piped versions of Last Christmas by various artists blasting from mystery speakers high above; my desperation is intense because it's getting close to Christmas and I have not done a speck of shopping as of yet. How about you? Have you filled your bags with goodies and emptied out the purse (wallet)? Shopping is a slippery slope of selflessness and gluttony--One for them, one for me. Hello, new socks with glittery snow bears on them. Who wouldn't like an 'AS SEEN ON TV' toilet light? It's on discount. I'll see you when I get back. If . . .

selfie

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1xQV43Wu63Uc0OGHMiYqiY9c8SEKsZYbl/view?usp=sharing

Last year I took a film class that turned out to be a literal film class where we were given cameras and assignments and lots and lots of creative stress. My first thoughts: I can't do this. I'll have to quit. This girl knows nothing about lighting, cameras, storyboards, production, editing, etc. A quiet voice said: hang in there . . . do it anyway.

The first assignment was to shoot an uncut one-scene project about ourselves. It could be done in any way, any length, but no cuts. In my head came an image of what I wanted my project to be, but then came the voice again: You crazy? You can't do that. Quit now. You don't have an SD card. You don't have time to film. 

Do it anyway . . .

I drove to the store, bought an SD card, then went to the lake and filmed the shot exactly as I had seen it in my head: a landscape seen through a clear glass jar filled with water. Slowly, I dropped in black ink until the water was clouded and became a mirror. The idea was to show how toxic words can be, and how others' harsh opinions or actions slowly contaminate us until we become a mirror to the abuse. 

That night as the kids were busy watching cartoons and gaming, I peeked at my video and felt horror. My God, it was ten minutes long, indulgent, horrible, boring, etc etc etc. I dreaded the day I'd have to show it in class in front of the others, and when it came time to do so, I sat back in horror, somewhat hiding my face with my hand, wishing I could shrink into nothing. The lights came on and the teacher spoke about elements he'd liked and not liked--the lines of the landscape, the repetition, the colors. I chalked it up to constructive criticism and nothing more. 

My grade turned out to be a Perfect A. He wrote down that it was only the second time he'd given someone that score on that particular project. I was in shock, but happy. 

A few weeks later I showed my mother the grade and she was happy too--little did I know she'd be gone within months. I'll always be so grateful of that memory. She and I did not always get along--we were like the mother/daughter duo in Terms of Endearment-always at odds, too alike, too stubborn. There was toxicity between us both, but also love. Sometimes we can fix the past, forgive, and sometimes it never happens. Sometimes it takes a while and it's ourselves we need to forgive.  

Like art, life is to live, learn and let go. Once it's done, you leave it for others to judge, enjoy, own, hate. That part is not up to you. I'll tell you more about the film class later. And if can upload the damn thing, that'd be great. Thanks for reading. 

I like light

I like to take pictures in the morning light coming through the back door blinds. Also, I'm bi. It's a big announcement, the blinds and all. Don't get upset about the blinds, they're okay. They've only been on this one door their entire life so they're not weird or anything. It was just time to open up a little and let the light in.

photo credit: mattlemmon Mother and Child Sculpture Closeup via photopin (license)

June was a beautiful month. I could forgive the rain. Then came July. On Independence Day I began to have a strange inclination to see my mother and didn't know why. Nothing else mattered, not the picnics or fireworks or sitting poolside with friends, I just wanted to see Mother. It was overcast and unseasonably cold when my daughter and I drove to her house; we had a good afternoon catching up. Mother bought $5 in fireworks and we all laughed when an angry neighbor drove through an air of smoke and fire. Seeing her laugh made me feel better, though her appearance had lost its vigor--a strength that had been constant from childhood. She'd gotten through the depression, had traveled the world, survived three cesareans, had gotten us through the divorce, through meager funds, through teenage drama, high school and beyond. My mother was a strong woman.

A week goes by and I start to worry again. Gone With the Wind is on TV and it reminds me of how how she'd cry every time Scarlett returns to Tara, only to find out her mother has died. The next day, a Saturday, I call to check up on her. In my ear, a voice shaking and weak. She needs help. I drive down then rush her to the ER. 

Hour after hour goes by with no real help or answers. Bronchitis, heart issues, they all say. They never hook her up to an iv or offer medicine. Finally a nurse comes in and mentions the word 'cancer.' Stage 4. Terminal. Shadows on the lungs. It started in the ovarian and has spread. Mother keeps saying she is ready to go, but that is no relief. I don't want to hear those words and go into a cognitive dissonance. Time for miracles. Divine healing. This is not going to happen. The nurses wrap a DNR band on her wrist: Do Not Resuscitate. 

A few days they send her home. Hope. Nurses come by, there are dietary restrictions, physical therapy. Mother has to use a walker. There will be chemo, lung drains, xrays, meds. It all becomes a blur as I drive back and forth between my house and hers--my kids are veritable orphans existing on ramen noodles and Netflix. Though summer has grown hot, we never go to the pool, we never take a vacation or see a movie. My mission: save Mom. Ten more years, I say in my car to no one. Please, God, ten more. 

Chemo, more operations. They put a stint in her lungs, then the next day my siblings and I watch how to drain it ourselves. We never had to put our knowledge to the test. The next day mother is rushed to the ER again, and then hospice. If you don't know what that means, congratulations. Here's to never having to know.

Through it all there is peace in knowing that somehow this was all meant to be, and at least Mother isn't suffering too much. Hospice is calm, and ironically healing--for those in emotional turmoil. it was a fast, horrible journey. In three days she takes her last breath, her three children there with her. 

It is beyond painful to know that I'll never see or hear my mother again--in this realm. Earth. But I know she's out there. At the store a white-haired woman will walk by and I feel so damn jealous. Why do other people get to have parents still? Or grandparents? My voice of reason is gone. I'll never talk to her on the phone again, or see her on my birthday--she always took me out to lunch. She'll never knock on my door again, or complain about my hair or call me her angel. It hurts so much.

It's funny what you remember in times of chaos. At one particular appointment when she was supposed to get chemo, her doctor said she could hold on a few more months, or heal enough for two more years. Chemo could save her life for a while, or kill her now. Mom was quiet when I drove her across the street afterwards to get a new xray. I dropped her off at the door to park my car, then went into the lobby only to find her coughing. She'd swallowed wrong on a drink of water. Little comfort, people stared, a man took his baby outside even though it was July hot. Mother slumped and began to cry. She said to me, "Let's just get this over." And I knew what she meant. Then, when the nurse called her, she straightened her shoulders and we got the damn xray. On the way home I bought her a smoothie at McDonald's. That became our ritual. Appointment? Xray? Smoothie. It was about all she could eat. I bought her one two days before she went into hospice. 

My mind is playing tricks on me. I pretend she's still alive in some alternate timeline, and if I could just get to her, all will be fine. But the truth is, she's free now and I have to accept it. Never felt so painfully alive before, in the worst kind of way. Hug those you love. Don't take them for granted. Tell them how much you love them. Go buy them a smoothie. 

Ya'll know I write under a pen name.

photo credit: Web-Betty Pete's Kitchen | Denver, CO via photopin (license)

A girl’s perspective

Sally is wise for her age, tough, bitchy, rude, sweet, depressed, lonely and desperate for change in the small town she lives in. So when Gerald Vick drives up in his Hollywood Cadillac touting a modeling op, she goes for it--no holds barred. And him. The problem is, what does she really know about the crazy Hollywood photographer, and how much is she willing to risk finding out?

Love and Lust at the Dairy Stop Cafe is free for download right now. A tip: listen to the Janis Joplin channel on Pandora for a great experience while reading.

As always, thanks for stopping by!

Will the rain ever go away?

My life right now. Waiting for summer, biding the rain, finding luck wherever it comes, whispering with my intuition, reading clouds, accepting each moment as it is.

More life