it was nearly 8pm on july 30 when I photographed this sunset on the harbor channel.
we have noticed how dark it is at 8pm now. we have noticed how – in walks west on the channel – how much earlier the sun is setting, how much further to the south the sun rests.
time just marches on.
every friday we look at each other – in surprise – and say, “it’s friday again.” stunning how it all races by. all of it.
after our sweet dogga was seriously ill, we deep-dive researched and changed up his diet to bland homemade foods and monitored him closely. for eleven days he was better. he ate without getting sick, he began to run in the backyard, he looked at us with puppyface eyes. we were immensely grateful.
the day that he got sick – twelve days later – made us scared and destroyed any confidence we had in what had now become routine – making every meal and snicky-snack by hand – and watching to see how he handled it. he is our guiding light and we were taking our cues from him.
we still are. i am writing this post ahead – several days ahead, actually. so i am hoping that by the time it publishes, we are back in a steady zone, that our little lighthouse is guiding us and our care of him through these tougher senior-dog days.
i know that it is important to our dogga that we are centered in this time. i know that it is important to our dogga that we stay focused and balanced, that we don’t forget, that we don’t lose our footing – no matter what happens. i know that the gift of this aussie anam cara is the gift of a lighthouse for the entire time he has been with us, for the entire time he will – sometime – be with us from the plane of existence right next to this plane.
he is our soul dog.
time is speeding by in real life. but here – as we hold caregiving space for the australian shepherd who has taken care of us all these years – it is slower.
in slow motion, we bend to kiss the top of his head, ruffle those incredibly soft aussie ears, whisper how much he is loved.
and the sun rises and sets – and it’s all a mystery – for us and our lighthouse.
we have been spending a lot of time near home these days. with the uncertainty of our sweet old dogga, it is nearly impossible to make any plans to go away. we need to be here with him – through all the challenges his senior roller coaster presents.
and so, our hikes-for-miles are exchanged for walks-for-miles and are from our backdoor.
we take them at different times of day and in different weather. it is truly gobsmacking what is right nearby and, on these days close-to-home, we are taking care to notice that and appreciate it.
late on a stunning late-september afternoon – delaying dinner prep for a couple hours – we took off from home.
walking east along the marina we could see the smallest softest-pink half circle rising out of the lake. as we got closer, the pastel palette of sky continued to change hue – and the harvest moon began to make its way into the horizon.
we did absolutely nothing to help this moonrise – we simply stood in awe, staring at its stellar performance, soaking in the sheer beauty, the predictability of a moonrise, the comfort of something so normal yet so entirely gorgeous.
after a bit we noticed that many people had gathered on the rocks to watch, also obviously enchanted by it, also photographing it.
a sailboat was heading north and passed directly in front of the moon. as it continued to sail, people were comparing notes about their videos and photos of this moment in time – a moment we had all shared.
it was as if everyone was – for these minutes – on the same page. we could all agree that this soft-pink harvest moonrise was glorious.
if only all the rest of life-these-days were as aligned.
just a block or so east, around the bend and a bit further south is the southport beach house. built during the years 1936-1941, the united states department of the interior has since declared that it is on the national register of historic places. a bit up the shoreline is simmons island beach house, built around the same time, also a designated historical site. both are stunning eclectic examples of tudor revival buildings on the shoreline, architecturally beautiful.
we are deeply connected to “our” beach house for many reasons, including that it is in our ‘hood. it was the site of our wedding reception – so it is filled with memories of people we love, toasts, a food truck, music, a bonfire, hula hoops and daisy cupcakes. we will forever feel connected to that art deco place and love that it has undergone renovation and preservation work, just as the simmons beach house has as well.
it isn’t all that complicated. protecting history and historic sites for this-land-is-your-land-this-land-is-my-land seems pretty basic.
but we live in a country with an administration that struggles to embrace truth – the truth of history, the truth of how historic sites inform us. instead of telling an honest story, they are choosing to whitewash anything that gets in the way of their extremist-male-dominated-white-supremacist narrative.
instead of preserving all of which has made this nation both beautiful and ugly, both stunning and stunned, both rich with hope and deeply wounded by the lack of this-land-was-made-for-you-and-me civil rights for all, this administration chooses to move forward with dumping history, banning books, paving and mining our national parklands, decimating the peoples’ house, rescinding the endangered species act, tossing environmental and wildlife protection management, eliminating mention of slavery and climate change… the list is expansive – all brought to you by this gluttonous administration and its wildly-bowing – and – wildly-profiteering sycophants.
the same department that listed southport beach house on the historic register: the department of the interior – whose mission statement is: “the u.s. department of the interior protects and manages the nation’s natural resources and cultural heritage; provides scientific and other information about those resources; and honors its trust responsibilities or special commitments to american indians, alaska natives, native hawaiians, and affiliated island communities.”
when d’s sweet dad died a few years ago now, i told him that the grief he would feel was hard to explain. grief is not tidy nor is it linear. it has prevailing winds that sometimes are at your back and sometimes are right in your face, pummeling you. i told him that it will take him by surprise – moments when, all of sudden, grief – in all its glory – arrives and slams you, taking your breath away.
and there are other times. when grief kind of sails along with you. it oddly softens the blows of other hurtful things – for, grief asks, what it is that could be more hurtful than the loss of someone you love. and so, by sheer comparison, grief puts all in perspective.
i told d that, though he may be pounded by grief on certain days, they will not be the predictable ones – not the birthdays, not the anniversaries of hardships that befell columbus (or another beloved), not the hallmark-card days.
instead, they will be the regular days, the days in which you are just living and doing and suddenly the light will line up and the sounds will echo and the scents will waft by and you will be – figuratively – or not – on your knees.
tomorrow – merely 83 years ago – my parents married. to say that i am grateful for that day would be an understatement. where – on this earth – would i be without that day, i wonder.
i can feel them around me. some days most definitely more than others, but always, always, there is a presence that informs me somehow.
in these times – absolutely dreadful days when our democracy is being assaulted by our very own government – i can feel their horror, the kick-some-ass my dad-the-ex-mia-ex-pow is pissed enough to wish for, my mom’s be-kind philosophy railing against this vile establishment.
and i totally miss them. i wish to have a conversation with them. i wish they could tell me that everything will be all right. and, with the schisms in their own family thanks to this heinousness, i wish they could be here to comfort me the way only families can comfort each other.
no matter what, the grief of missing them – even after fourteen and eleven years – is sometimes kicking my butt.
but love prevails.
despite any perceived boundaries that different existential planes may present.
if i doubted at all – in the middle of these splendidly sunny and warm days – bonus days, really (or payback for the un-wisconsin-ish intense summer days) – that fall was actually here, this tree informed me beyond a shadow of a doubt.
we passed it on the sidewalk just down the block around the corner from our house. i stopped and went back to it, drawn by the vivid colors. gorgeous.
and it left no doubt. it is autumn.
funny about those things that leave no doubt in your mind, things about which you are convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt.
that doubt thing – the shadow of a doubt thing – beyond reasonable doubt – is important. all logic and rational sense, all evidence points to the fact that fall is beginning.
and so what is it – in this country at this time – that has not moved the entire populace into knowing – beyond a shadow of a doubt – beyond all reasonable doubt – that this current administration is – with every single thing in its power – perceived or stolen – foisting authoritarianism upon this nation?
what is it – in this country at this time – that has not proven to the entire populace that the good of the people does not matter to this current administration?
what is it – in this country at this time – that has not shown to the entire populace that there is no point at which this current administration will stop to hold onto positions, tether itself to power, exercise all gluttonous efforts to feed itself on all-the-money-it-can-get?
what is it – in this country at this time – that has not delivered to the entire populace the message of this current administration – of cruelty, of isolation, of division, of rights-less survival, of bigotry and misogyny, of xenophobia and white supremacy?
what is it – in this country at this time – that keeps the entire populace from knowing, from being horrified, from rejecting this heinousness?
because – beyond a shadow of a doubt – the leaves are clearly changing.
for years now, walter and irma have had an ongoing spat about our backyard. they have argued over and over about whether or not we would everrrr get a flat feeder for them – this beautiful pair of cardinals who are loyal to our address.
every time walter would moan and complain irma would reassure him, “i know they will get one. just be patient,” she’d tweet at him, admonishing him for his lack of faith.
we have a “regular” hanging birdfeeder and we have a handed-down standing birdfeeder (which, right now, we aren’t stocking since it has been a source of sustenance for a very large raccoon family who are likely the culprits doing damage to our roof and our neighbor’s.)
but the flat feeder we had in our sights was a bit out of reach for our budget – wild birds unlimited has a really fabulous set-up: a pole that discourages even acrobatic squirrels (of which we have plenty), a little umbrella and flat feeder, various other feeders for various other species of birds and all in recycled plastic that should last throughout the seasons. just not really in the line-up of things-to-buy right now.
so walter was kind of right – his kvetching about our slow response to their flat-feeder-needs might have been well-earned.
until this week.
d and i love to watch our birds. particularly in these times. we sit on the deck or out on the patio (or even in the sunroom at our bistro table by the window) and watch them fly in and out, at the feeder, on the top of barney, at the birdbath or the pond – getting sips of water. they warm our hearts – these innocent creatures. they calm our spirits and they do us good.
it suddenly occurred to us that we might be able to just simply build our own flat feeder – out of scraps of wood in the basement – in order to at least tide over these cardinals and finches – particularly walter and irma – who like to eat their schnibbly seeds while looking all around them to keep safe.
we can totally understand the need to look all around to stay safe. we are all in that mode these days, i’d say. this country is giving us a run at what we can make our own efforts to save our democracy – to push back lurking authoritarianism that is the apex predator for us all.
and so we went into the basement and found the exact right size piece of scrap wood. some paint, glue and four screws, some hooks, some jute, screen that was rolled up in the rafter, and a shower hook later, we were ready for the royal couple.
d did the honor of hanging the feeder on the pole. we clapped and sat back and waited.
nothing happened.
not one bird even ventured near it.
here we were, trying our best to address their needs and not one of them even explored our new flat feeder.
the next day was the same.
and so was the next.
it was somewhat depressing.
and then….it happened.
suddenly, there was a cardinal on the edge of the feeder. and then he moved INTO the feeder. and then he started to munch on the safflower in there!!
not a big moment in the overall scheme of things – particularly now – but a moment nonetheless.
for we saw a need and we tried to address it. even the creatures and critters around us have needs. it may not be fancy – or the most perfect flat feeder – but in these times if we just all do the best we can, offer the best we can – in every way – it makes a difference.
walter and irma perched on the fence at the back line.
irma glanced over at walter, “see?” she said.
from the patio, i swear i could see walter rolling his eyes.
but i also could hear his tiny brain, “she’s always right.”
even so, he turned toward her. and with a belly full of safflower seeds, he chirped to irma, “i love it.“
we each have a chance to make a positive difference in these days. whether big or small – or even tiny – everything counts. in our own homes, in the backyard, in the ‘hood or our community, in our state and in our country, in this beautiful world – which desperately needs us to participate in goodness. particularly now.
there were fewer people as we walked along the harbor. it was a weekday and school was back in session. some of the big boats were being lifted out of the water for dry dock. the minks were scurrying around and the gulls were likely frustrated with fewer available schnibbles readily accessible. the light is golden, the sky is azure. it is a stunning day. we spent time with the bees out on the patio, until the bees were just too much. so we took a walk.
the alien showed up on our way back. we had made the big loop – along the sidewalk, through the park, hugging the beach, around the point, along the harbor and then – east – onto the walk along the lake’s rocky shoreline, down the channel and back along the marina.
and there it was. just standing there. it wasn’t scary. it was actually quite cute. and it held up two fingers in a galaxy-wide understood symbol of “peace”.
we flashed peace signs back to it and it grinned.
we pondered why it was there.
i’m thinking that it must have shown up because it had to actually check in on this earth…to see for itself.
it had to jaunt over – like, perhaps, many of its cohorts – to “normal” places in these united states to view how it is that we-the-people are continuing to allow the utterly dangerous ravings of the leader of this country, how it is that we-the-people are continuing to permit our very lives, our resources, our land, our rights, our allied loyalties, our respect to be desecrated – to be shat upon – by this administration. it had to jaunt over to see for itself the decimation, the schisms, the lunacy of this time – when – last it checked – when ET stopped in – we were a relatively good people.
i’m not sure if it found any answers, this cutie-patootie alien.
i’m pretty sure it left with as many questions as it came here with. “why?” is a big question but, apparently, there has been much heinous and clandestine planning for this shocking, morally-devoid takeover. it goes way back. the corruption is rampant and generational.
every now and again since, as we walk on our walk, we look for our alien friend. it hasn’t been there but we pretty much know the reasons.
i mean, i can certainly understand why an alien wouldn’t choose such a place of disunity, of dismantling – of disgrace – when it could simply stay where it was, hanging out with ET and sharing peace.
most of the people we know – or hang around with – have like 40 or more. 11 is way different than 40. in some ways, it is like we are still newlyweds, not quite catching up to the tenure our friends have had in their relationships or marriages.
i wonder – sometimes – if we will have 40 someday. we’d be well into our nineties. considerably different than 40 in your sixties. i guess we’ll find out. i hope so.
in the meanwhile, we will be rambling on – traveling what is now the daisy path – trying to attend to the littlest details of this thing that is love, trying not to miss stuff, trying not to be lax or in any way aloof. because – no matter what – we will have less. less time, less experiences, less of a life arc together. so every thing counts.
we had different plans for this 11th anniversary. plans to be away on this day, plans to hike under high mountain sun, plans to renew our vows. but you know the story. our dogga needs us to stick around here right now. and so here we are. cause that’s what love is.
the daisy path is not etched in stone. this tender path is fluid and the dirt under our feet creates stardust as we walk along it.
when i dip, he raises me up. when he dips, i lift him. when my frustration gets the best of me, he helps reorganize how i am thinking. when his frustration gets the best of him, i help him cut to the core of what’s actually important. when a tear falls on my face, he can feel it. when a tear falls on his face, i weep along with him.
it’s the same with laughter and simple stuff and beauty and anticipation and moments of adventure and moments of glory.
we don’t have as much time as our friends. so the time we have seems amplified. and every day is liminal space between where we have been together and where we are going.
soon and very soon we will have to trim the stunning plumes off the grasses in the backyard. dogga loves to walk right alongside these grasses and the spikelets attach to his fur. posing as perfectly harmless golden seedheads, these little spikelet awns end up on our bed, in our socks, on the area rug in the living room – and ultimately stab us repeatedly, until one finds the source of the pain and removes it.
last year…as fall progressed and the number of spikey jabs increased, it occurred (slowly) to us to remove the source – and so we reluctantly trimmed the plumes out back, even though the way they catch the sunlight is remarkable.
nevertheless, they somehow sneak in, these tiny posers. and we heroically hold up one or two showing each other that we have literally saved the other’s life.
it’s those sneaker-inners that plague us…like needles from a long-gone christmas tree…they show up…and the longer they are around, the dryer and pointier they get. so it is important to try and eradicate them from inside the house as soon as possible.
ahhh…speaking of eradicating them from inside the house – we are ever closer to midterms and the big house – that-white-one-that-no-longer-has-an-east-wing – the one that every single one of us owns – that house needs big time eradication of the posers lodged there.
any reason to continue to tolerate that which brings pain is not acceptable.
they are seeding nothing but cruelty, bigotry, gluttony, self-serving agenda. and it is all at our peril.
we are wise enough to remove the spikelet awns from our comforter, our rugs, our socks.
we must remove the same from the leadership of our country.
everything was already changing. we were on our way from seattle in a budget truck – david’s stuff loaded in the back – moving him to wisconsin. everything was in flux for both of us and we were riding on trusting the universe, a 20′ truck and love. it was no small deal.
as you have already read before, the sign “aussie pups” caught my attention and we turned around to drive up the hill at the farm. with only one puppy left – in sore need of adoption – we followed farmer don to see it.
d told me that australian shepherds are usually multicolored, merle, browns and whites and auburns with a bit of black, but never all black – which was good since we had decided that sooooomeday we would get a puppy – a black one so fur wouldn’t show up on our decidedly black wardrobe.
the only thing was – farmer don told us that the reason his only puppy was not being adopted was…wait for it…because he was all black.
cue life change.
we fell for his amber eyes the moment we saw him and he bounded over to us, curious about who he obviously knew was his new family.
even though we left a deposit and drove across the state, debating dog/no-dog/dog/no-dog for the next couple days, we figure dogga knew that whole time.
and then we drove back.
we picked him up. and our hearts and our family grew.
and now – as we watch him aging before our very eyes – as we pass through days when we are so, so worried about him – like this past weekend – we know our time is limited.
“this is nothing new,” you are thinking, “you’ve been writing about this.”
and yes…you are right…we have both been writing about this.
but today – today is that day – the day we met the aussie-angel who has walked with us. and that is a big deal.
he now has tiny grey hairs scattered across his face, not just around his muzzle. and every now and then he looks a little confused when he wakes up. there are other issues and concerns and we deal with each and have many workarounds. we stay home or close to home. there is nothing we can do to change it. we are in this with him just like he has been in life with us, through it all.
as 20 wrote the other day, “no matter how much love and sacrifice we give, we just can’t change the outcome.”
exactly.
what we can do is celebrate the moment that all that black fur came bounding at us – a full-throttled expression of exuberance, a full-throttled expression of i-am-who-you-need, a full-throttled expression of love that has carried us for thirteen glorious years of time spent together.
there are many things we are not doing these days, simply so that we are here for dogga. no matter.
we can hardly remember the before. we cannot think about the after. these days are the important ones.
in every way we are grateful that thirteen years ago our dogga – tripper – chose us and the universe gave us the wisdom to drive back.
