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Tuesday, July 9, 2013

it's a dog's world...




This is Butler.  They say I saved him.  But, the truth of the matter is he saved me.  It's his birth month, and he deserves lots of treats.  I also thought his alpha dog status in my life deserved some reflection.  Butler is the only dog I have ever owned, and this is why I love him.
  • He is honest.  He is afraid of storms. When the summer sky on Folly darkens and thunderbolts shake the marsh, Butler races to his favorite hiding place...under my bed.  He unabashedly shows his feelings.  I like that in dogs and humans.
  • He loves treats and is not afraid to ask for one.  Bubba, my neighbor who works at Locklear's on the pier, has a stash just for Butler.  I think his best girl, Nancy, is really the one who stocks Butler's treats.  I love it when we go for our walk-about and Butler strains on his leash to get to Bubba.  When I finally let go, Butler takes off in a mad dash usually turning to look back at me...trailing far behind.  I give him the go ahead, and he becomes a thoroughbred at the races.  The only thing on his mind is the finish line and his daily treat.  Thanks, Bubba and Nancy, for loving my dog.
  • He seeks friends.  Butler is beach dog to Camille and Colin, my neighbors from Charlotte.  They have a cat, Boots, at home, but Butler is their beach dog.  There are no adequate words to paint the picture of a dog and kids at play.  They romp, run, jump, and wrestle with Butler.  He begs relentlessly to visit; for dogs and kids are made for each other, you see.  They buy him treats at the Pig on Folly Road.  They gave him his monkey chew toy we call Bunky the Monkey. Butler knows how to work a crowd.
  • He is a good student.  Butler's latest report card from Dawg Tired and Cat Naps Too was an A+.  He got high marks in dental hygiene and coat care.  His ears were clean, and he was a good boy getting his nails trimmed.  Kristen, his groomer, said that he was a little angel.  Thanks, Gray, for making Butler love his outings at Dawg Tired.    
  • He loves his best friend, Tiny, the beagle.  When I'm out of town, Butler goes for a spend-the-night party with Tiny and Brian and Sara.  The first thing he does is bound up the stairs and hide under the bed.  He loves to eat out of Tiny's bowl and sleep with Tiny at night.  Tiny and Butler are happiest when they're on a golf cart ride around Folly.  Butler appreciates good company.
  • He knows how to wiggle his way into your heart.  He has unbounded loves and licks for Amanda.  Deep, majestic barks and bounding leaps announce her arrival.  He merits lots of love in return and easily wins that spot on the sofa with his Pottery Barn throw.  They're a team.  What can I say? 
  • He has staying power.  Butler has been with me since my last year as a teacher at Blythewood Middle School...seeing me through the roller coaster ride known as middle level education.  I will never forget the day I met his second owner at the Publix parking lot at Trenholm Plaza on Forest Drive.  I was there to look the little tike over.  His owner arrived in a truck with the pound puppy positioned on the navigator's side all curled in a circle and wrapped in a beige towel.  After a very long gaze, it went like this:
Man in Truck:  Well, do you want him?

Me:  No response.  Long pause.

Man in Truck:  Well, do you want him?

Me:  No response.

Man in Truck:  (Irritation in his voice)  Well, do you want him?

Me:  I'm thinking, I'm thinking.   Another long pause.

Me:  I really wanted a female............

Man in Truck:  Well, I have to go.  He'll never get over three pounds.  My wife and I are just not dog people.  Well, do you want him?

Me:  (Long desperate pause) Okay, okay, okay, I'll do it.


Bunky the Monkey




And that is how I came to meet my Butler.  By the way, he may be have been immobilized when we first met...sitting so calmly on his beige towel, but the minute I put him in my car a Tasmanian devil was loosed upon the Earth.  I like to think it was pure joy at his good luck.  Girl meets dog and falls in love.


Monday, July 8, 2013

i love my scarred body...

I'm back from the dermatologist sporting some new scars-in-the making.  2012 was a bumper year for my dermatologist and for scars.  After 17 biopsies, enough cat gut (or nylon...take your pick) to wrap-up Christmas, infected stitches, embedded stitches, jugs of antibiotics, and scars galore, I'm back in the saddle again.  I know I shouldn't complain about my friend, lidocaine, but the thought of our getting together again makes my blood pressure exceed its allowable limits.

Today went something like this:

Nurse:  Now, don't be alarmed when you see that huge white, swollen spot on your face.  It will go away eventually.  Don't be scared.

Me (in silent protest, with a sideways glance):  But I came here to get pretty...that doesn't sound good.  And if you can see a white spot on my chalk white face...what have you done?  (Having very rabid thoughts of my last little procedure in this very same spot, which resulted in a huge blister the size of a quarter right smack dab in the middle of my face...great for Christmas pictures!  Now, you know why you only saw one side of me in the Christmas 2012 snaps.  Believe me when I say the New Year had come and gone and my little procedure was still very evident.

Nurse:  Don't get your hand wet for 24 hours; don't wash your face for 24 hours; and oh, the cryosurgery will result in a blister.  You can pop it if you like.

Me:  POP IT!  (Silently) Don't think so.  Some things just have to happen on their own,

Nurse:  Use lots of Vaseline.  It will prevents scars.

Me:  (Silently) Yeah, right, gazing at the two big whopper scars on my bony arm from procedures past. Not to mention the scars on my legs and those untoward scars on my delicate section.

Nurse:  We will let you know the result of the biopsies in two weeks. 

Me:  And....

Nurse:  If we did not get it all, then, as you know, we will have to repeat the procedure.  There will be stitches.

Me:  No words, audible or otherwise.  I'm fresh out, and my blood pressure is up, by the way...all for the love of this scarred body.  So, all of you out there in Web Land.  Get up off your lidocaine and get your skin screened, and in the process--love your scarred body!!

Melanoma Research Foundation
http://www.melanoma.org/

the sea of forgetfulness...

It started inching its way into out lives long before we knew its name and long before we knew the crime.  Was its role inscribed in some far-off ancestor?  Where is he or she?  I want to see the face that started it all.  I want to stamp on the green earth and scream to the heavens.  You stole our memories, and if all we are is a memory, are we slowly drowning, too?  Bit by bit, flung into the sea of forgetfulness.  Floating between this life and the life to come in some murky darkness.

She can no longer remember her children's names, have a conversation, inquire of the weather or add her opinion...that feisty opinion that charted our childhoods.  Floating...where she can't know that she has outlived her oldest grandchild.  She can't know the pain we feel when we see her ravaged face and call for mother.  She can't feel Christmas joy, summer heat, or autumn's color.  We can never live another memory on the porch at dusk. We can never walk the garden or pick the rose.  We can never see the wistful smile that bore the weight. Is that it?  Was her pain too great to bear into the next world?  Is that why it languishes here by her side refusing to let go?  Must she divest herself of some token or some secret before she can take leave?  Is her job yet undone?  Is there more work waiting for the one who did all the work...?

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

through a glass, darkly...

I hold my favorite Fourth of July memory in a teacup with both hands to keep it warm.  It was not red, white, or blue.  There were no fireworks.  I remember exactly where I sat.  It was a Monday.  We had steaks on TV trays.  I remember the light outside the window.  I can still hear the cars passing on the road.  Most of all, I remember my grandmother's love.  I remember her hands.  I remember the goodness in her heart.  It was just three days before my wedding.  I have never had a better Fourth.  I would move Earth out of its orbit just to feel that way again!  

True Blue
He found me
when I was the most
Unfindable
When all the scars had crusted
over and squeezed the pain into a hardened lump.
When my world rotated in
black and white
No sharp focus
No blues
No greens
Only this and not that
He found me.
Now, I must find him
 in
this silly game of
Hide and Seek we play.
Where love is always It.
Folly
2013

bad is the new good...


A



If brown is the new black, and bad is the new
good...is hot the new cool?  Or plump the new thin?  It all gets so confusing.  So, wherever or whatever just show up wearing the new you...which was the old you all along!

Happy Fourth, America!  Prance and twirl in technicolor...the new red, white, and blue.