Thursday, August 9, 2012
Markers, Pencils, and Pens, Oh My!
Monday, April 23, 2012
To Tangle, Tangle, Tangled, Have Tangled
I like the word tangle. I am specifically often fond of words that seem to have the power to conjure images in the mind that look like the word sounds. Vertices is a lovely word that instantly sweeps you to the top of a group of towering...triangles? But then one has to wonder if these words really do sound like they look, or do we project our own mental images from years of exposure to knowing what these words mean? For instance, would someone learning English as a second language have the benefit of the mental images to which some English words lend themselves? Language is irresistibly fascinating.
Back to "tangle". In the verb form, "to twist together into a confused mass". It summons up visions of windblown hair, snarled necklaces, knotted, intertwined tree branches.
"O, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive" - Sir Walter Scott
"I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions" - James Michener
"We always did feel the same, We just saw it from a different point of view - tangled up in blue." Bob Dylan
Back to "tangle". In the verb form, "to twist together into a confused mass". It summons up visions of windblown hair, snarled necklaces, knotted, intertwined tree branches.
"O, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive" - Sir Walter Scott
"I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions" - James Michener
"We always did feel the same, We just saw it from a different point of view - tangled up in blue." Bob Dylan
Now tangle has a new meaning for me. It is the verb form of the new art form noun known as Zentangle. Zentangle was created by Maria Thomas and Rick Roberts and defined on their website: http://www.zentangle.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=7&Itemid=30,
 |
| "Our Zentangle method is a way of creating beautiful images from repetitive patterns" |
One aspect I love about Zentangle, is the tangled, complex look many of the patterns have, but, when broken down into steps, are simple lines and geometric shapes that can be easily untangled. Untangling is always so satisfying.
So, I'm going to post some of my tangles here. I've recently tangled the lampshade that hangs over my desk and I tangled a tiny pumpkin last fall. Tangling on objects is fun. I also have branched out from traditional Zentangles (3 1/2" X 3 1/2" tiles of art paper that consist of only Zentangle patterns) to ZIA - Zentangle Inspired Art. It still seems a little odd to me that something so new has a lingo all its own already...but I've become so familiar with Rick and Maria, their website and blog, and so many other Zentangle artists and their blogs, that they (and their lingo) all feel like old friends to me. I feel part of a community, albeit an online one. It is one of my sincerest wishes to attend one of their CZT (Certified Zentangle Teacher) Seminars. They hold them in Rhode Island and they are three days in length. There is one scheduled for August and one for September of this year. September in Rhode Island....then maybe a fall folliage jaunt northward. Wouldn't that be grand? sigh....
More another day. All this uploading is tedious.
(((hugs to everyone who reads this))), and I'd feel so validated if you left a comment. I promise not to go all Sally Field on you...
"You like me! *sob* You really like me!"
Really...I won't....not where you can see anyway...
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Hillary Rosen Is Right
Hillary Rosen doesn't think my job is a real job. Her quote heard round the Twitter World about Ann Romney, "His wife has never actually worked a day in her life", means that women who don't work outside the home don't have real jobs. She knows that raising kids and keeping house is actual work, so she didn't mean that Mrs. Romney, and the 5.5 million+ of us women who also don't work, don't actually work. What did she mean?
What Hillary Rosen meant was, women who stay home with their children and work at homemaking, rather than enter the workforce, do not have real jobs. And she's right. A job is defined as, "a regular activity performed in exchange for payment". The work I have been doing for the past 36 years could most definitely not be classified in any sense as "regular activity" and I certainly was not paid for it. No, I don't have a real job, and neither did Mrs. Romney. So why all the outrage? The answer makes me smile. The answer lies buried deep within our culture's frenzied efforts to eradicate ideas like selflessness, femininity, masculinity, female dependence upon men, and the original intent of the real American Dream.
I smile, because your outrage means, you really do care, America. In your heart of hearts, you know this heedless remark was not about work. You were instantly, instinctively angered, because you understand...and value...what the nonworking, stay at home mother is doing. Most of us had one, many of us are one, all of us know one. And we know that some things in this life transcend remuneration, are beyond valuation, and that mothering possibly tops the list. So I'm simply gratified that for all our high sounding, progressive ideals about equality and empowerment...there's within us still that spark of truth - of knowing - what's really important in life. And like it or not, the knowing involves recognizing that the old fashioned models of selflessness, real gender roles that embody femininity and masculinity, and, horrors, female dependence upon men, are incumbent upon the brave woman who chooses this most difficult of...er...jobs.
So, no, it wasn't Ms. Rosen's stay-at-home-moms-don't-really-work remark that lit my fire. It was the one she made in a CNN interview later: "This isn't about whether Ann Romney or I work. Other women of some means can afford to make a choice to stay at home and raise kids. Most women in America, let's face it, don't have that choice." Now that made me mad.
"Other women of some means can afford to make a choice to stay at home and raise kids". Really? You really think the millions of us who have chosen to rear our own children are all women of means and do it because we can afford it? How could one so educated and experienced, and having risen to among the highest ranks of highly paid working women in the world, be so ignorant of the simple demographics of her own gender? Surely she knows that the median income for men is currently in the neighborhood of 50K. This is not a figure that gives families a sense of financial freedom and whimsy! And given that this wage is an average, many millions of men are earning far less than this. No, dear, we don't do it because we can afford it. The vast majority of us really can't, and are making significant sacrifices to manage it. We do it because we believe.
We believe it is the best thing for our kids. We believe it is the best thing for our husbands. We believe we are responsible for our own kids and we welcome it. We believe in the American Dream of our founders: that any American, male or female, can be anything he or she desires with hard work and honesty, and we want to be the ones to help our children grasp this vision. We believe we are better equipped than anyone on the planet to give our children the unshakable and tangible knowledge that we love them more than anybody or anything else. We believe we are the ones from whom our children should learn about right, wrong, good, bad, and yes, Virginia, there really are moral absolutes. We believe we are the ones who can instill a deep sense of familial identity, security, and belonging in the hearts and minds of our kids. And we believe all this is more important than money and is really a matter of priorities.
What kind of obtuseness, Ms. Rosen, fails to see that we, Mrs. Romney included, are neither motivated nor unmotivated by money in this stay-at-home endeavor? We do it, Ms. Rosen, because we are women of conviction, commitment, and courage. And we'll take it over your real job any day.
What Hillary Rosen meant was, women who stay home with their children and work at homemaking, rather than enter the workforce, do not have real jobs. And she's right. A job is defined as, "a regular activity performed in exchange for payment". The work I have been doing for the past 36 years could most definitely not be classified in any sense as "regular activity" and I certainly was not paid for it. No, I don't have a real job, and neither did Mrs. Romney. So why all the outrage? The answer makes me smile. The answer lies buried deep within our culture's frenzied efforts to eradicate ideas like selflessness, femininity, masculinity, female dependence upon men, and the original intent of the real American Dream.
I smile, because your outrage means, you really do care, America. In your heart of hearts, you know this heedless remark was not about work. You were instantly, instinctively angered, because you understand...and value...what the nonworking, stay at home mother is doing. Most of us had one, many of us are one, all of us know one. And we know that some things in this life transcend remuneration, are beyond valuation, and that mothering possibly tops the list. So I'm simply gratified that for all our high sounding, progressive ideals about equality and empowerment...there's within us still that spark of truth - of knowing - what's really important in life. And like it or not, the knowing involves recognizing that the old fashioned models of selflessness, real gender roles that embody femininity and masculinity, and, horrors, female dependence upon men, are incumbent upon the brave woman who chooses this most difficult of...er...jobs.
So, no, it wasn't Ms. Rosen's stay-at-home-moms-don't-really-work remark that lit my fire. It was the one she made in a CNN interview later: "This isn't about whether Ann Romney or I work. Other women of some means can afford to make a choice to stay at home and raise kids. Most women in America, let's face it, don't have that choice." Now that made me mad.
"Other women of some means can afford to make a choice to stay at home and raise kids". Really? You really think the millions of us who have chosen to rear our own children are all women of means and do it because we can afford it? How could one so educated and experienced, and having risen to among the highest ranks of highly paid working women in the world, be so ignorant of the simple demographics of her own gender? Surely she knows that the median income for men is currently in the neighborhood of 50K. This is not a figure that gives families a sense of financial freedom and whimsy! And given that this wage is an average, many millions of men are earning far less than this. No, dear, we don't do it because we can afford it. The vast majority of us really can't, and are making significant sacrifices to manage it. We do it because we believe.
We believe it is the best thing for our kids. We believe it is the best thing for our husbands. We believe we are responsible for our own kids and we welcome it. We believe in the American Dream of our founders: that any American, male or female, can be anything he or she desires with hard work and honesty, and we want to be the ones to help our children grasp this vision. We believe we are better equipped than anyone on the planet to give our children the unshakable and tangible knowledge that we love them more than anybody or anything else. We believe we are the ones from whom our children should learn about right, wrong, good, bad, and yes, Virginia, there really are moral absolutes. We believe we are the ones who can instill a deep sense of familial identity, security, and belonging in the hearts and minds of our kids. And we believe all this is more important than money and is really a matter of priorities.
What kind of obtuseness, Ms. Rosen, fails to see that we, Mrs. Romney included, are neither motivated nor unmotivated by money in this stay-at-home endeavor? We do it, Ms. Rosen, because we are women of conviction, commitment, and courage. And we'll take it over your real job any day.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
"The Trip To Bountiful"
I recently watched "The Trip To Bountiful" again. What a gem.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XczocuuAMV8
It is based on a play by Horton Foote. I love him; such an insightful writer. Geraldine Page won a well-deserved Oscar for her performance, and the music score is....perfect. An altogether understated, quiet film, but so powerful.
With facial expressions, body language, and a few pointed remarks and barbs in the opening scene, we instantly recognize the plight in which Carrie Watts finds herself. Old, lonely and wistful, forced to live with her only son and his selfish, carping wife in a two room apartment, Carrie longs to go home. To Bountiful, Texas. She'd really rather be almost anywhere but here, but Bountiful calls her, pulls her. She remembers happy days there, and shares a poignant memory of running in the moonlight there with her son when he was small...she was young.
Ludie, Carrie's son, is a weak, ineffectual man, who, unlike his mother, fails to find joy in the small things of life. He denies any recollection of the moonlit excursion with his mother. He has clearly shut the door on his past, and is struggling, grim-faced and white knuckled, to simply hang on to the present.
The story unfolds as Carrie escapes the prison of Ludie and Jessie Mae's apartment. We feel her sense of urgency and longing. We cheer as she foils their attempts to stop her; especially when we learn Carrie has tried many times to run away to Bountiful. Carrie befriends the sweet and accommodating Thelma on the bus. Thelma learns about life from Miz Watts and becomes protective of her. Carrie learns Thelma's husband has gone off to the service, and is kind and sympathetic. She knows about heartache.
Carrie is the recipient of kindness and generosity from strangers; which makes the absence of these from Carrie's own family all the more striking.
We feel the weight of Carrie's grief and disappointment as the reality of the ravages of time hit home. Her friends, her family, her way of life, Bountiful...all changed, all gone. We are sharply aware that this is the way of old age. That it awaits us all. Oh, that we could meet it with the grace and courage of Carrie Watts. A gentle, humble, unsung heroine of uncommon grit and valor.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XczocuuAMV8
It is based on a play by Horton Foote. I love him; such an insightful writer. Geraldine Page won a well-deserved Oscar for her performance, and the music score is....perfect. An altogether understated, quiet film, but so powerful.
With facial expressions, body language, and a few pointed remarks and barbs in the opening scene, we instantly recognize the plight in which Carrie Watts finds herself. Old, lonely and wistful, forced to live with her only son and his selfish, carping wife in a two room apartment, Carrie longs to go home. To Bountiful, Texas. She'd really rather be almost anywhere but here, but Bountiful calls her, pulls her. She remembers happy days there, and shares a poignant memory of running in the moonlight there with her son when he was small...she was young.
Ludie, Carrie's son, is a weak, ineffectual man, who, unlike his mother, fails to find joy in the small things of life. He denies any recollection of the moonlit excursion with his mother. He has clearly shut the door on his past, and is struggling, grim-faced and white knuckled, to simply hang on to the present.
The story unfolds as Carrie escapes the prison of Ludie and Jessie Mae's apartment. We feel her sense of urgency and longing. We cheer as she foils their attempts to stop her; especially when we learn Carrie has tried many times to run away to Bountiful. Carrie befriends the sweet and accommodating Thelma on the bus. Thelma learns about life from Miz Watts and becomes protective of her. Carrie learns Thelma's husband has gone off to the service, and is kind and sympathetic. She knows about heartache.
Carrie is the recipient of kindness and generosity from strangers; which makes the absence of these from Carrie's own family all the more striking.
We feel the weight of Carrie's grief and disappointment as the reality of the ravages of time hit home. Her friends, her family, her way of life, Bountiful...all changed, all gone. We are sharply aware that this is the way of old age. That it awaits us all. Oh, that we could meet it with the grace and courage of Carrie Watts. A gentle, humble, unsung heroine of uncommon grit and valor.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
I HEART SAKURA!
A really fun thing happened on my way to my Ordinary Day this week, transforming it into an Extraordinary Day! I received an email from Julia Reed, Marketing Manager for Sakura of America. Sakura is the marvelous company that makes the BEST micron pens, among dozens of other cool pens/markers, that are used in the art of Zentangle. She said she had seen a comment I'd made on a Zentangle blog, was "intrigued", and asked me to contact her.
So I called her, and we chatted for several minutes! We talked about Zentangle, drawing, pens...it was so fun to connect so quickly with a total stranger. THEN! She said she'd like to send me some pens; I said I'd like to receive them!
Look what arrived in the mail this week!
A set of eight colored micron pens, six Souffle pens, a nifty zippered pouch to store 'em in, and a lovely handwritten note from my new Sakura Friend in California, Julia! THANK YOU, Julia - you and Sakura are the BEST!
So I called her, and we chatted for several minutes! We talked about Zentangle, drawing, pens...it was so fun to connect so quickly with a total stranger. THEN! She said she'd like to send me some pens; I said I'd like to receive them!
Look what arrived in the mail this week!
A set of eight colored micron pens, six Souffle pens, a nifty zippered pouch to store 'em in, and a lovely handwritten note from my new Sakura Friend in California, Julia! THANK YOU, Julia - you and Sakura are the BEST!
Saturday, December 17, 2011
The Young, Restless, and Reformed - A Continuing Saga
I have noticed that one of the recurring themes with the YRRs* (Young, Restless, & Reformed) is:
"We're (really meaning YOU) just aren't getting it right. The way you've been doing...pretty much everything...for centuries isn't quite right. We now know what you've been doing wrong, and read our books, buy our DVD's, listen to our podcasts, read our blogs, buy our sermons, and we'll tell you how to get it right."
After reading Emily's blog post for today at http://www.captivechurch.
http://www.christianpost.com/news/francis-chan-christians-not-praying-how-god-intended-64814/
http://www.christianpost.com/news/francis-chan-christians-not-praying-how-god-intended-64814/
"...the former megachurch pastor teamed up with Flannel ( http://store.flannel.org/
("Flannel" is the new marketer for Nooma, Ed's Story [a guy who went from working at Liberty University, to being on the Executive Board of The Moral Majority, to being a pastor in Michigan for 18 years, to living a "Year Like Jesus", to voting for Barack Obama because O "was closer to Jesus's teachings"], and now Chan's new videos, "BASIC").
Chan advises..."Don’t just go and start talking, Chan exhorted. Come silently, come slowly, be careful." So David's flood of emotions so often seen in the Psalms really should have been toned down...more thoughtful, deliberate, "silent" and "slow"...? Poor David. Where was Francis Chan when David needed him? All those, "Help me, God! Help me NOW" prayers...wrong. Who knew? Paul's exhortation to "pray without ceasing" is carried out...how? Or "Moreover as for me, God forbid that I should sin against the Lord in ceasing to pray for you: but I will teach yo the good and right way" 1 Sam 12:23 How does Chan's formula fit here?
It doesn't. Because prayer is not just an "act"...a good "work". It is an attitude. It takes place when we yield our minds and our hearts to Him, giving place to what should be constant communion with Him. How else can God expect us to "abide in Him"? 1 John 4:13....He abides in us and we in Him because "He has given us of His Spirit". Prayers don't mystically float up to God. He resides within us in the form of His Spirit. Clearly, I don't know the "right" words! So the Holy Spirit graciously and mercifully interprets and intercedes for me! ..."with groanings which cannot be uttered" Rom 8:26.
"Chan admitted to making a lot of mistakes in prayer as well. A lot of times in church, prayer became a “transition thing” used between praise and sermon, or an ending for a service, not a congregation of people coming before the presence of God." sooooo....praying before the offering, or after an opening hymn, or before the last hymn...or wherever...in an organized worship service...is a "mistake" that he actually had to be "forgiven" for?!
Chan is "excited about Christians learning to pray the right way". Really. And, "What if you got together with a group of people and you knew that this group of people they all loved God, they all feared Him and they really were living for God’s kingdom and His mission?” Well, I know a lot of old Christians at my church who DO get together every Wednesday night for a thing still called Prayer Meeting (silly them), DO love God, DO fear Him, and are REALLY living for God's Kingdom and His mission - THEY would be really excited if Chan were to show up and pray their wrong prayers with them. Or, here's a thought...maybe hold weekly prayer meetings at his own church. Oh. Wait. I forgot. You left your church.
On that, listen to him here:
Good grief. So uncertain about everything! So much anguish and hand wringing over...life! "I just don't know..." and "It's really crazy"...and "I'm sensing God wants me to....but...." and "...do something different, but I don't even know what it is..." and "He wants me doin' church in a different way"...
Into wishy-washy? There's plenty more:
C'mon. Lead, follow, or get out of the way. OK...really, just get out of the way.
But here's what's disturbing. Francis Chan is SO not the only one. Erwin McManus, Ed Stetzer (Southern Baptists, both), John Eldredge, Tim Keller, Donald Miller, Mark Driscoll, and *gasp* David Platt (SBC golden child)....on and on. It's actually being called a movement. yeah. The Young, Restless, and Reformed Movement. sigh. Listen to John MacArthur on them:
and this is a great post with some good links:
If it's not the Seeker Friendlies it's the Emergents. If it's not the Emergents it's the Spiritual Formationists. If it's not the Spiritutal Formation crowd, it's the YRR's. Toss in the new Rabid Reformed kids, and you've got a real mess. It's always somethin'...and..."there is nothing new under the sun"...
Monday, November 21, 2011
Sadie
Today is cold and cloudy and dreary. Outside, and in my heart. "There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother". I know the scripture refers to people friends. I think dogs are better friends than lots of people. I'm always sad when an animal suffers or dies or even "disappears". But three times in my life I have genuinely grieved over the loss of animal friends.
The first was Pee Wee. A fat, yellow tom. I found him as a kitten behind a church one block from our home on Elizabeth Street. I was...9 years old? Maybe 8. I often played at that church; it had a marvelous "tunnel" between a row of bushes and the east wall of the sanctuary, and one day I heard mewing in my secret bush alcove. I scooped the tiny kitty up, and ran all the way home. My next door neighbor, Nancy (who was my exact age) stopped me in her back yard (no fences then), demanding that I give the kitten to her. I refused and ran to our back door, banging to be let in. Mom never refused a cat in her life, so Pee Wee became ours. He was a dear friend to me, listening and purring his replies to many kid sized troubles, and allowing me to wet his fur with tears on many occasions. He was gentle and patient. He grew old and sick, and one day he was lying in the grass beside our house. I sat beside him a long time talking and stroking his fur. I knew he was going away to die; and he did. That was the last time I saw him, and it was sad and hard.
The second was Gracie. Loren and I got Gracie when we had been married 9 months, in June of 1976. She was a darling yellow and white kitten. She lived in the house and was such a good friend. Slept with me when Loren was at the fire station. An unobtrusive cat who would happily sit on your lap if invited, but never one of those pushy, annoying, inyourface cats. When Emily came along, I worried that she might not like the baby, but Gracie was gentle and patient and allowed Emily, then Erin, Ellen, Evan, and eventually Elizabeth to lay their heads on her, pick her up (usually unceremoniously), play with her...all with quiet, friendly cat love. Not long after Emily came along, Gracie was banished to an outside cat life. She accepted this without complaint or the normal dashing-in-the-open-door opportunistic behavior of average cats. Gracie was not an average cat, and I've never loved another more than her. We had to have her euthanized when she was 16 years old. I miss her still.
The third animal I have grieved was Copper. He was a pretty, golden and white lab mix puppy we got as a Christmas present for the kids in.....? Can't remember the year...must have been 1988 or '89. Copper was his own dog. He allowed us to call him ours, but he knew, and we knew, he was really his own dog. With all his willfulness and bad behavior, Copper was a lovable soul and endeared himself to every member of our family. He had a special relationship with Erin. He endured with soulful eyes and nary a whimper circus tricks on the slide and doghouse, hours on the operating table followed by splints and bandages that many dogs would not have born. He loved our family, but his real mission in life was following his nose. And he did. He developed a cough and became mysteriously ill when he was 8 or 9 - December of 1995 or '96. The vet couldn't pinpoint it, but I've always suspected it was related to the tranquilizer gun used on him at the airport the time he ran off with another dog for two weeks. I'll never forget the day we found him lying in the yard, unable to get up. We all took him to the vet, knowing we would say goodbye. So sad. So hard.
Today a fourth animal friend will be added to my list. I have been grieving for Sadie for several days. I've watched her deteriorate steadily for the past several weeks, even months. But for the past 4 days, she has barely been able to move. Her breathing is labored, and I know she is in pain. I feel so bad for her. We have to be the ones to end it. So today we will. The hardest part for me is watching her try so hard to keep doing what she's always done. And that is...be faithful. What a faithful friend she's been. Always so happy to see you, so happy to be with you. Going with you to the barn (hoping for a mouthful of grain), keeping you company while you water, or weed, or plant, accompanying you to the mailbox, or to take out the trash cart. Erin brought her home to us on New Year's Day of the new millennium - a darling Sheltie mix pup. She tossed around the idea of Millie for a name, but settled on Sadie. Erin taught Sadie to sit, shake, and stay, but nobody had to teach Sadie to fetch! Sadie loved going to the barn with Erin and spent many hours watching for stray grain and dodging hooves. Erin was seldom home in those days and got married the next year, so Sadie became Evan's special friend. I can see so clearly in my mind's eye Evan trudging off to the hedgerow with Sadie trotting close behind or running out ahead. She knew the way well, because they went there together so often. I can see her sitting on the edge of the driveway waiting with her scrap of wood while Evan and Zibby played basketball. I can see her trotting gaily beside Elizabeth (who became the Animal Feeder De Facto...thank you, Zibby) out to the barn every day then anxiously guarding her own bowl from Lucy's greedy gaze. I can see Evan throwing a bucket of baseballs for her to fetch, then doing it over again. And again. No dog ever loved fetching more than Sadie, nor was less discriminating about to whom she would bring her ball, or stick, or Frisbee, or wood scrap, or even rock. Faithful, but quirky. She never failed to chase the thunder. Every time it rained, if she was outside, every clap of thunder sent her dashing madly in the direction of the sound barking a serious warning that she was on guard. Funny little dog - good little friend - best dog ever.
So goodbye, Sadie. I love you. I'll miss you more than words can say. You're a good girl.
The first was Pee Wee. A fat, yellow tom. I found him as a kitten behind a church one block from our home on Elizabeth Street. I was...9 years old? Maybe 8. I often played at that church; it had a marvelous "tunnel" between a row of bushes and the east wall of the sanctuary, and one day I heard mewing in my secret bush alcove. I scooped the tiny kitty up, and ran all the way home. My next door neighbor, Nancy (who was my exact age) stopped me in her back yard (no fences then), demanding that I give the kitten to her. I refused and ran to our back door, banging to be let in. Mom never refused a cat in her life, so Pee Wee became ours. He was a dear friend to me, listening and purring his replies to many kid sized troubles, and allowing me to wet his fur with tears on many occasions. He was gentle and patient. He grew old and sick, and one day he was lying in the grass beside our house. I sat beside him a long time talking and stroking his fur. I knew he was going away to die; and he did. That was the last time I saw him, and it was sad and hard.
The second was Gracie. Loren and I got Gracie when we had been married 9 months, in June of 1976. She was a darling yellow and white kitten. She lived in the house and was such a good friend. Slept with me when Loren was at the fire station. An unobtrusive cat who would happily sit on your lap if invited, but never one of those pushy, annoying, inyourface cats. When Emily came along, I worried that she might not like the baby, but Gracie was gentle and patient and allowed Emily, then Erin, Ellen, Evan, and eventually Elizabeth to lay their heads on her, pick her up (usually unceremoniously), play with her...all with quiet, friendly cat love. Not long after Emily came along, Gracie was banished to an outside cat life. She accepted this without complaint or the normal dashing-in-the-open-door opportunistic behavior of average cats. Gracie was not an average cat, and I've never loved another more than her. We had to have her euthanized when she was 16 years old. I miss her still.
The third animal I have grieved was Copper. He was a pretty, golden and white lab mix puppy we got as a Christmas present for the kids in.....? Can't remember the year...must have been 1988 or '89. Copper was his own dog. He allowed us to call him ours, but he knew, and we knew, he was really his own dog. With all his willfulness and bad behavior, Copper was a lovable soul and endeared himself to every member of our family. He had a special relationship with Erin. He endured with soulful eyes and nary a whimper circus tricks on the slide and doghouse, hours on the operating table followed by splints and bandages that many dogs would not have born. He loved our family, but his real mission in life was following his nose. And he did. He developed a cough and became mysteriously ill when he was 8 or 9 - December of 1995 or '96. The vet couldn't pinpoint it, but I've always suspected it was related to the tranquilizer gun used on him at the airport the time he ran off with another dog for two weeks. I'll never forget the day we found him lying in the yard, unable to get up. We all took him to the vet, knowing we would say goodbye. So sad. So hard.
Today a fourth animal friend will be added to my list. I have been grieving for Sadie for several days. I've watched her deteriorate steadily for the past several weeks, even months. But for the past 4 days, she has barely been able to move. Her breathing is labored, and I know she is in pain. I feel so bad for her. We have to be the ones to end it. So today we will. The hardest part for me is watching her try so hard to keep doing what she's always done. And that is...be faithful. What a faithful friend she's been. Always so happy to see you, so happy to be with you. Going with you to the barn (hoping for a mouthful of grain), keeping you company while you water, or weed, or plant, accompanying you to the mailbox, or to take out the trash cart. Erin brought her home to us on New Year's Day of the new millennium - a darling Sheltie mix pup. She tossed around the idea of Millie for a name, but settled on Sadie. Erin taught Sadie to sit, shake, and stay, but nobody had to teach Sadie to fetch! Sadie loved going to the barn with Erin and spent many hours watching for stray grain and dodging hooves. Erin was seldom home in those days and got married the next year, so Sadie became Evan's special friend. I can see so clearly in my mind's eye Evan trudging off to the hedgerow with Sadie trotting close behind or running out ahead. She knew the way well, because they went there together so often. I can see her sitting on the edge of the driveway waiting with her scrap of wood while Evan and Zibby played basketball. I can see her trotting gaily beside Elizabeth (who became the Animal Feeder De Facto...thank you, Zibby) out to the barn every day then anxiously guarding her own bowl from Lucy's greedy gaze. I can see Evan throwing a bucket of baseballs for her to fetch, then doing it over again. And again. No dog ever loved fetching more than Sadie, nor was less discriminating about to whom she would bring her ball, or stick, or Frisbee, or wood scrap, or even rock. Faithful, but quirky. She never failed to chase the thunder. Every time it rained, if she was outside, every clap of thunder sent her dashing madly in the direction of the sound barking a serious warning that she was on guard. Funny little dog - good little friend - best dog ever.
So goodbye, Sadie. I love you. I'll miss you more than words can say. You're a good girl.
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