Diamonds In The Rough

If I had know then
 that the handbook of life had
 been lost to the fire before I was
born,
 torn asunder
by the parents who
 could not love
 one another without
 drawing knives,
I may have just turned
 around and
 headed back,
 saving myself an entire life to here,
 digging holes trying to find
the instructions for
 living and
paying special attention to the
words of others who have
 walked across the Mohave without
water,
 lived on nuts and berries in
the Sierras,
 fashioned shoes out of tires
shredded by 18 wheelers climbing
The Grapevine.
Growing old on earth
 vanquished that child in me to
the shadows for survival
 with all of her dreams glistening
 and bejeweled like
diamonds in the rough.

The Ashes Of Evening

We were able to attempt to entertain Jade yesterday at a PetExpo by putting him in front of other dog butts and finding new ways to keep him interested in life, change and well, dog butts.  I was pretty excited having a chance to see other dogs and continue to put salve on that place in my heart freshly wounded by Omi's death. 

We move forward, one step and then stall, then take more steps and then pause to remember all she was and how quickly her exit left us feeling lost.

There were hawkers of dog paraphernalia and more than a few rescue groups giving out stale dog bones that Jade refused to eat.  We met up with our Greyhound rescue group and met Rogue, Felicia, CiCi and Georgio.  Butt sniffing was shared and we felt we had reached our maximum threshold of fun and toddled home.

As evening began to show her reach, we took Omi's ashes and twelve red roses down to the creek walk to scatter what was once a red tornado amongst the leaves and the end of a warm October day. Something about it felt right and something about it felt all wrong as I come to terms with these weeks of my plans for a few more years with both Greyhounds as I patch myself together after a long dry spell.

Rituals are important to me and especially in marking the death of one so close.  Omi loved the creek walk we do every morning and I thought of her bouncy walk, kind of built like Wendy the Whippet  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FEOoCiq16g There has not been a day that I haven't looked outside on the patio dog beds for Omi, our polar girl who loved to sleep outside in the cold.  There will be more of those days to come as we come to terms with the ashes of this evening.

The Last Dog Standing

As we three get ready for the Greyhound reunion, I find that place in me that mourns the death of Omi who came with us last year, to stand with other ex-racer Greyhound families still devoted to these stoic, graceful, injured, funny and beautiful dogs used as gambling machines for ignorant humans. We all come together to experience "diving for hot dogs," the "50 yard dash," and "the longest tail" contest in order to bring some humor to the commitment we have to these exploited dogs.

Some of us are just plain folks and some of us are a bit fanatical yet all of us share the love we have for these amazing sight hounds.  For us, maybe today will bring some salve to our broken hearts just to see dozens of Greyhounds, reminding us of what Omi, Ginger, Rosie and Major were to us and that there are many still that need homes.  The "race industry" is diminished yet Greyhounds are still dispatched in cruel ways after their race careers come to an end.  We will be there to catch them and love them big.

For Jade, being the last dog standing in our home has its benefits, like sleeping in with "flea" on a cold morning in October before it is time to pile in the car for our next adventure.

Remembering Omi's Exit

We have done several things here at home, to mark the place where our little red tornado held us aloft and made us better humans.  At least, I hope to be.  Roses on her bed outside and her collar and leash on her bed next to Jade.  There is a great emptiness and that will last for a long time.  She exited a week ago and yet, I lose track of time and feel myself hugging my heart to stop the pain.  It continues.

A book I picked up again is a remarkable story about an amazing author and her journey though darkness.  I have picked it up through my parent's deaths, a divorce and too many dog friends.  I find it in my hands again, as I walk through these days leading into Fall, knowing that I may never understand what has happened to my life until something changes radically.  Omi's death has set me on my haunches wondering where that blow originated and how her dogness softened the edges.

"We cannot walk out of the darkness unless we are first willing to immerse ourselves fully in it. It demands a leap of faith, for there are no signposts along the way that will guarantee our safe return. There is only a dark tunnel, leading to who-knows-where...We know, intuitively, that we may never come out of the blackness.  But there is no choice, for to be fully alive, we must die with our losses. This is the moment in time when we succumb to death, so that we may live."
-Companion Through the Darkness, Inner Dialogues on Grief by Stephanie Ericsson

The Other Side Of Night

The silence surrounds Jade and I, as I sit on the couch, early AM before dawn, reading, searching the “spiritual” books for an answer after a night of restlessness and bad dreams. Omi is gone and with her, the light and the energy of her complaining and her joy.  Jade watches me with his black eyes in that white, Greyhound face, to see how I am, and I watch him, watch me and wonder, how long do we have together?

 

The silence enters uninvited as we reach Monday, all over this world, the working stiffs of our neighborhood, so full of SUVs and trucks and people plunging off to their important work lives while we sit here, at the corner, mourning Omi, sharp and true and painful , getting ready for our solo walk down to the creek.

 

My Omi 6/3/04-9/10/13

My dog,
 my self.
I greet your death with shock and remorse
 for all that I shall not live without you,
My wild, untamed Greyhound,
 quirky, joyful, disobedient, fierce, loving and
 sorrowful.
May we find a way to move forward and embrace
 our sorrow in this gap
where once you made us whole.
You were the light that shined here through the dark
 days of this interminable year,
your affinity for any kind of chip,
dog cookies,
"the snake",
frantic end over ends in the living room,
helicopter tail wagging,
dark, Cleopatra eyes,
sleeping,
upsidedownandbackwards Omifying,
in and out of the dog door revelry,
sleeping outside on your Limburger cheese bed,
sleeping outside in the dirt,
talking and complaining in your misunderstood language,
scratching and
sultry eye melting when we massaged you.
My dog,
 my self-
how shall I find peace without you?

What If God Had a Meetup Group?

In our northern California town, there isn't much happening and so often, it feels that all one can do is get outdoors and occasionally, find a good movie.  There is not much for me here that I want to keep and that is what so many people feel about the town they grew up in.  This isn't Ohio, but it might as well be just that.  It was time to move on three years ago and life kept getting in the way and then it all came down like a flimsy house of cards. 

However, I am of the mind to not give up on life.  We have tried a Sierra club group in Marin and felt very underappreciated, though they appeared to want new members.  We tried three different events that took about an hour and a half to get to and though we saw some great views, the company was pretentious and chilly.  Hmmm, not our people we guessed.

We have tried other contrived social events here in our own county and those felt very flat as well, disjointed, no connection with our peeps.  You have this little glimmer of hope and then you realize, it is just another party that is a flop.  It is where we are and it could easily be somewhere in the Mohave or Ventura or Riverside or Modoc county with worse weather. 

I tried yet another attempt, on my own, at a local Meetup group-the new trend for people forced together by a common interest or desire at a specific place and time. When I showed up for the movie and ready to meet "my people," I could not figure out who they were since they didn't have a little cardboard sign like at the airport! The film was some kind of art piece that was troubling and compelling but not exactly a social lubricant. I left after the film with some other strangers, who were not apparently my Meetup group, and we chatted about our take on the hideous film. Nice people.

The following day, I received email remarks spun off by the Meetup website that said, in bold letters-GREAT TO SEE YOU!  I thought to myself, huh?, did I see you? Ah, a slight of hand or rather, a computerized message generated by a website that recognizes that you registered for an event and gosh darn it, they want to thank you for showing up.  Huh, did they show up and I just missed them?  Weird.

I began to think about the ramifications of all of this, in regards to our disassociation from one another and Meetup groups and fake "GREAT TO SEE YOUs" and the universe.  The mystery, the universe, the space in between, existential thoughts on connection and loneliness. We are so "device" oriented and so separate that we need to create events to pretend that we are connected.

 I wondered if God had a Meetup group, would God announce "god's self" with a small cardboard sign and would God generate a big "thank you" even though God stayed home to wash God's hair and never showed up at the event?  I wondered.  I wondered some more.