Missing Brody

March 23, 2013 By
Brody and big brother, Sam.

Brody and big brother, Sam.

A week ago this past Friday, Brody died of pneumonia. He apparently had it for the entire six weeks that he blessed this household with his big heart and huge personality.

He lived every moment of his life with gusto.  When he was afraid, he turned snarly. He thought he was the biggest dog in the world and if he didn’t like you, he tried to make you as afraid of him, as he was of you.

When he slept, he slept deeply.  He loved lying on his back in my lap and have his tummy rubbed.  His head would drop toward the floor, his eyes would roll back into his head, and he’d snore a little.

He ate like it was going out of style, afraid that someone might steal his treasure, but there was no food aggression.  He never tried to get Sam’s food away from him and never seemed to be jealous that Sam was getting more attention than he was.

He played the way he did everything else, emptying a large basket filled with toys in minutes, seeking out the noisiest squeakers he could find.  He’d roll on his back, flipping his chosen plaything up in the air, catching it in his mouth and between his paws.  The living room floor was always a maze of stuff that Brody brought out to play, and if I picked it all up and put it back in the basket, he’d immediately begin emptying the basket over again.

He was always happy to see me, running at full speed through the door and into my lap just the night before he died, after Bill had picked him up from “Doggy Daycare.”

He loved with every cell of his body, consuming those he loved with his deep, dark eyes and his smile. Mornings, I’d lean out of bed, open his crate, and he’d jump up on the bed, waking me with his kisses. He loved Miss Lily, the cat, with as much love as he had for Bill and I, and simply adored his big brother, Sam.

Except for some coughing and sneezing that became nonstop the night before he died, he never showed signs of being sick.  He ate well, played well, lived well.  He had been examined by at least three veterinarians and they never picked up that his lungs were filled with fluid. His presence and his passing have served to remind me of how all of us must live … with gusto … with love … taking nothing for granted.

We all miss you, Sweet Brody, but we know you’re up in heaven somewhere, amongst the other angels, Molly, Charlie, Peppermint, Hannah, and Cleo, who blessed our lives before you. We’re taking your cue to live well and will soon be welcoming another little doggy soul into the place you kept warm for him.

IMG_0625

Brody, taking a nap.

Filed Under: Animals I Love, Dogs, Gratefulness, Healing, love, Matters of the Spirit, Memoir, Navigating Through Life Tagged With: , , , , ,

Dogs In My Toolbox

February 9, 2013 By
Top Dog Sam. He's been with us since 2003.

Top Dog Sam. He’s been with us since 2003.

There is a toolbox in my heart.  It’s filled with all sorts of things that help me navigate through my days and keep my life on the straight and narrow. When I begin to feel a bit off, anxious, or fearful, I can reach in and pull out something that will bring relief, slow me down, and get me back on track.

My tools include things like taking time to sit and meditate, choosing to take a hike, or a quick walk around the block. My weekly Yoga and Pilates sessions also figure in as tools as well as my cross-trainer that I can jump on anytime and work off a bit of anger or frustration. My weekly phone chats with dear friend, Sharon, who lives too far away to have tea with in person, brings me laughter and helpful listening when they’re most needed.

There are lots of books in my box as well, like those written by Buddhist Nun, Pema Chodron, that can straighten out my thinking when I’m in a quandary and need a bit of inspiration. Poets like Mary Oliver, Mark Nepo, and David Whyte are also on the shelf. A goodly number of memoirs are stacked inside. I love them because they help me to see how others navigate troubled waters. Some of my favorites includethose by Cheryl Strayed and Mary Karr.

But some of the best tools I’ve ever had were dogs and cats. A year and a half ago Molly left us to join my other deceased companions somewhere over the rainbow. She was the love of Sam’s and my life. She left a hole in our hearts that nothing could fill.

Very Special Molly

Very Special Molly

Over time, Sam and Bill seemed to become one with each other but I was feeling a bit left out. To try to even things out we adopted Terry, last summer. He didn’t last very long because he beat up on Sam, as well as on much of the furniture. Thankfully he is now with another family with two little boys to keep him busy and no other dogs to be jealous of.  But Bill was heartbroken when we had to give him up and didn’t want to try another dog in fear that again, it too might not work out. We both get very attached in very little time. He told me he might be open to trying again after the holidays. I agreed, while that hole in my heart just stayed put.

In the meantime, I followed Animal Connections on Facebook. They are the folks who had rescued Molly from a terrible living situation. Over the last six months I’ve watched one sweet, little dog after another go off to their forever homes. One little guy in particular caught my attention.  He and his brother were given up by their family, who for one reason or another could no longer care for them. I knew that I couldn’t take in two dogs and figured I’d never get to meet the one that looked a bit like Molly.

Brody, four years old, and as sweet as can be. Ear-do #1.

Brody, four years old, and as sweet as can be. Ear-do #1.

I followed Brody and his brother, Morgan, as they were sent off to a foster home, getting in a car accident on the way.  Though Brody wasn’t hurt, he was scared and ran off into the woods and couldn’t be found. Crazy me didn’t sleep well that night, worrying about a little dog I’d never met.  After he was found the next morning, I was relieved and ecstatic that he was back with his brother.

The holidays came and went and when I asked Bill if he was ready to try another dog out, he said no.  Sam seemed to be happy on his own and was more Bill’s companion than mine. They were both happy and out of respect for them, I gave up expecting that I’d fill that empty corner in my heart.

Then just a week ago, I got a message a friend who works with Animal Connections.  It seems Brody and his brother had to be separated because suddenly Morgan was beating up on his smaller sibling. She said that Brody might be a great fit for our family and asked if she could bring him over to meet us.  I hesitated before showing the email to Bill, but ended up pleading my case and he gave in.

Brody, Ear-do #2.

Brody, Ear-do #2.

Brody has been with us now for a week. I adore him and the hole in my heart is overflowing with love and a little fellow who jumps up on the bed in the morning when the alarm goes off, and kisses me awake.  Sam at nine years and possibly feeling a bit arthritic is not as playful as he once was, but seems to enjoy having Brody for company.  And of course, Bill is as much in love with this little guy as I am.

How about you?  What’s in your toolbox?

Filed Under: Animals I Love, Books, Dogs, Friendships, Gratefulness, Healthy Living, love, Matters of the Spirit, Mental Health, Navigating Through Life, stories Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Being Reborn

January 12, 2013 By

IMG_0571Anybody who knows my visual art understands that I LOVE color.  It turns me on, provides me with an abundance of joy, and makes me want to dance.  I’m happiest when the sun is shining, and the sky is a deep, arctic blue and there are flowers blooming in the garden of every possible color. The bolder the colors the better. When I’m feeling down, it can be very pleasing to pull out one of those big boxes of Crayola’s and smear color all over an empty sheet of paper.

Yesterday was a dark, cold, rainy day.  Bill and I decided to make our way to Richmond, to see the Chihuly Installations at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. A neighbor who had gone to see the show before Christmas told me about it. She recommended that I go over and take a peak before it disappears in February.

The hour-long drive over to the museum was miserable with steady rain and poor visibility. I wondered why we were out on the road instead of staying home in front of a warm fire, drinking hot tea and reading a good book.  But once inside the museum and just beyond the entrance to the exhibition, I knew we had to be there.

IMG_0542I’m not one who is usually blown away by art glass, no pun intended.  It can be very beautiful, but it’s never really caught my attention … as in feeling that I was so excited, I was about to explode. My heart rate revved up and I felt like I was about to fly into one of those gorgeous sunsets we sometimes experience over the sea, in warmer climes, when there is lots of pollution in the air.

IMG_0559I was speechless. I was breathless. The installations are life-size, enveloping the darkened, but exquisitely lit galleries in bold reds, greens, yellows, blues, and every possible shade in between.  It took me a few minutes to calm down and begin to carefully listen to Dale Chihuly, talk about his work on the audio guide.  And as much as I love his glass work, I love his “drawings” more. They speak to me in soft whispers and loud shouts. I’ve never been “saved,” as in a church by Jesus, but I was certainly reborn yesterday as I stood before this magnificent, explosive work.

IMG_0544To be honest, I haven’t taken myself on any art dates recently.  The last time we were in New York, I didn’t step foot in a museum or gallery. I’ve been too obsessed with my memoir and writing.  But seeing this exhibit has inspired me so much, in so many ways, that I’ve decided I’ve got to get out more and see what’s going on in the visual arts world these days.

IMG_0545Seeing other people’s artwork is powerful medicine for me. I feel lighter. I feel happy. I feel giddy. I feel like writing. I want to dance. I want to live life to it’s fullest.

IMG_0554Do not miss seeing Dale Chihuly’s work should you find yourself within viewing distance of one of his exhibitions.

Filed Under: Being Creative, love Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

Trees and Books

January 9, 2013 By
Zoe and Noah climbing a tree. The Outer Banks, 2007

Zoe and Noah in a tree on the Outer Banks, North Carolina, 2007

“A book is made from a tree. It is an assemblage of flat, flexible parts (still called ‘leaves’) imprinted with dark pigmented squiggles. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs, who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time, proof that humans can work magic.”  – Carl Sagan

Filed Under: Books, Childhood, family, love, Memoir, Quotes, Trees, Wise Words, Writing Tagged With:

Parenting And The Unfairness Of Life

November 10, 2012 By

Amaryllis, © Joan Z. Rough

I will be turning seventy years old next week, and one of the lessons I’ve learned over the years is that being a parent doesn’t end when your child walks out the door, goes to college, and then gets married.  Being a parent is a life long proposition.

There is a huge amount of letting go one must suffer through in order to live life with ease, once the kids are gone. But no matter how much I let go, I find that I’m still alert to the tone of their voices and body language. And by indelicately stepping over the line from time to time, I disturb their peace, as well as my own.  But like a little kid touching a hot stove, I tend to learn what not to do by doing it anyway.  At last, I’ve figured out that they are learning about life the same way that I am. If someone tells us the stove is hot and we touch it anyway, we get burned and learn to trust the signals we are given.

As parents, Bill and I have been very lucky. Our two grown children, have had happy and meaningful lives. When there are narrow roads filled of boulders to navigate through, I worry a bit as any mother would.  But I’ve learned that being mindful of boundaries, both theirs and mine is of the utmost importance. During difficult times, I might think about them more often than I usually do, and send positive energy their way. But other than that I usually feel my job is done and know they are perfectly capable of getting through their troubles. But there are times when their pain is so great, that I want to sweep them up into my arms, rock them like I did all those years ago, when they fell and got hurt. I want to tell them that everything will be alright, that the pain will soon be gone and the sun will shine once again.

I’m in one of those spots right now.  It seems that life can take turns that are not fair.  Hurricane/Super Storm Sandy, was not fair to all of those who lost their lives, their homes and are living without electricity as winter comes on.  I can send a donation to the Red Cross and make myself feel better, but it’s still heartbreaking and unfair.  So much of life is like that and I often join the ranks of those yelling and screaming about it. But it’s one thing if it’s a political issue. When it comes to the weather or illness, no amount of breast beating, yelling, threatening or screaming can stop what we deem to be not right.

About a month ago, Mark’s adopted daughter, Casey, was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer.  She has had a double mastectomy and is preparing for some eight months of chemo and radiation.  She is twenty-four years old and none of us, including her Doctors know what will happen.  Every day, I hear myself repeating that it isn’t fair. That one so young can be struck by such a horrible disease, makes my heart break.  But it also aches for my son, her mom, Jane, her sister, Trish, her brother, Dustin, her boyfriend, Ian, and all of the people who care so deeply for this beautiful young woman. Everyone who knows her is grieving and we all pray that she will be well again and be able to live out a long and happy life.

For most of my life, I have wanted to save the world from suffering. I find it almost unbearable to see those I love in pain.  Once in a while I’ve been able to bring a smile to a sad face, but it lasts only a few moments. Right now I feel paralyzed. I wish I could do something to help all of those I love ease their way through this life as it is. I wish I could remove cancer from the land and bring an end to all pain.

As a mother and a parent, I grieve for my son, a parent himself, going through what could turn out to be the unspeakable pain that no parent should ever have to go through … The fear of losing a child.

Healing thoughts and prayers are greatly appreciated for Casey, as well as for all those who also have had their lives turned upside down by cancer.

May peace be with all of us through difficult times.

Filed Under: Childhood, family, Fear, Life, love, Navigating Through Life Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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