Your hand around mine

First night of insomnia in Months.

Seriously, since getting pregnant, my body is disinterested in my restless brain's occasional desire and decision to not sleep.  It knocks me out every dang night.

I fell asleep quickly but at last, the roller coaster that is my life the last twelve months, greeted me at 12:32am.

I tried not to move.  Maybe if I pretended not to be awake, maybe my brain would forget, maybe -

Luna's cold nose softly poked my arm.  I opened my eyes to see this gentle friend watching me. She knows, my breathing gave me away.

We got up and went down stairs and she went out to go potty and I did too. When she came back in, she tried to herd me to bed but I went to the second bedroom.

Usually this room helps.  The warm adobe walls embrace me. This time it doesn't.   I think about this being her room.

I listen to the vibrations of her hiccups - whenever I move in the middle of the night, it gives her the hiccups. Her little feet start paddling gently against my lower rib cage.

I think about what this means; first time parenthood is daunting and thrilling and odd.  I feel so young these days.  I see that my thirty years something equals infant something maturity.  My grasp of life and my place in it is so small.  Infinitesimally unbelievably small.

Despite this fact, my life is overwhelmed in gifts of great grace, with astonishing beauty.  I am privileged beyond believable explanation with my relationship to the most remarkable human ever made.  Our rare, gorgeous, messy relationship will be a shadow on the wind forever.

I marinate in this until 2:30am.

Then I get up and go downstairs.  Char greets me and we hang out for a bit.

There was this moment in Yellowstone....

I was drunk with joy.

Blinding sunlight reflected off the dark blue green water below, a breezy cool wind raises goosebumps on my wet skin...  

I smiled up at him, into his silver blue eyes,  My long tangled hair lies in wet ropes on my sun burnt shoulders, my exposed white belly blazes in the blue afternoon and the little life inside me curls up tightly.

I do not fear the water as I usually would, I do not question my semi-uncoordinated feet, I am holding the hand of the one I value most and the world is ours.

His hand, warm and strong around mine, gives me confidence to jump into the deep -For the fifth time.

He counts down from three and together we jump, never letting the other go.

All the ups and disorienting downs of the last several weeks comes back to this moment.  All of the disjointed happenings in the last 365 days are summed up in that moment.

Yes life is strange and people sometimes as awful as they are amazing... Yes the unpredictable is scary and terrifying but no matter what - there we are.

As long as we jump together, as long as our fingers are interlocked as we plunge in, as long as we surface linked; no unrelenting current will pull us apart.  We will laugh, reflecting back to each other all that over flows and builds in one to the other; victorious in this story that is of you and I.

A thank you note

I remember that last day at the Inner Harbor, when you told me 'This is how I will remember you'.

It was raining, a drenching soaking misting rain and through it fell rays of sunlight.  I wanted to answer your question, the one behind that comment but as I tilted my face up from under my baby blue cloche hat and smiled at your dark eyes, I couldn't.

Instead I reached up to let my fingers glance down the side of your face, fluttering as they fell and I looked away to the ocean. After a moment I turned back to you, all my thoughts tripping over themselves, my breath heavier than a humming bird's wings; yet still I froze. You watched and smiled reassuringly at my silence until I laughed a little.  So we said nothing more and I let you take my hand as we walked on.

Later, weeks later, I remember your voice.   I was sitting on the floor, my knees pulled in, clutching my phone with white knuckles as I heard the break in the connection, the break in your voice, "Come back- come back to me" and still I didn't have the words to tell you I could not, and why I could not.

Years have passed and that moment still exhales as if it just inhaled.  I wanted to write to you when I wound up out on the west side of the states.  I wanted to tell you about the day I met my sweetheart.  I wanted to call when we were engaged.  I really wanted to tell you about the day I decided to stop being afraid and instead love to fly.

I didn't. 

I didn't because I still did not know what to say.  But I know what I want to say now. The words came unexpectedly, while I was alone on a white mountain in a bright blue day.  They came with an easy understanding that reminds me of looking into clear water. 

I don’t want to interrupt the place I am in and the place you have doubtlessly moved on to.  I do not want to betray our strange and delicate friendship found during such a chaotic time in our lives. But I am going to write all of these badly belated words here because they are a tribute to your gift to me at a time I needed it most.

Regardless if it was because of how I was wired, how society had trained me or the experiences I’d had;  At that time my personal doubts were so all encompassing I could not see anything but them.  I needed a mirror to show me what was above and below; what was inside and outside and this mirror was to be you.  You were my first mirror and when I saw myself as you saw me; everything changed. 

You were the first person I believed who believed in me.  You were intelligent, successful, kind and good looking.  You were in a position of authority and inappropriately and significantly older than me.  You asked nothing from me (except to sometimes hold my hand).  You called me eclectic and beautiful and you told me I could Do Anything I put my mind to.  And because of how I saw you, I believed you.

Over the months, you began to love me, not just the attracted-to-you kind, but the real kind.   I knew you would shield me from the world; you would have showered me with excessive kindness and indulgence.  You would have given me anything I wanted, anything at all. 

I had began to understand the value of the gift you had given me and I began to know there was only one gift I could give back to you.  And that was to leave.

It was your character that made you kind and intelligent; it was your experiences that had taught you patience and given you your insight; Your successes were achieved after persistent attempts made over years and continued after failures.

I was young and I knew I knew very little.  I, wild and thin, I lived on coffee, cigarettes and spontaneous choices.  You had a community, you had businesses, friends, family – you had built a life I should not be a part of.  

Looking at you, I too wanted to gain character to make me kinder and intelligent.  I wanted experiences to teach me patience and to give me insight into myself and the world I live in.  I wanted to learn persistence, perseverance and gain my own success.  I wanted to find a place and choose to call it home.  I wanted to find a man I could grow to belong with and be equal to.

When I look back, now that I am also in my mid-thirties, maybe you only saw my youth, my femininity and vulnerability.  Maybe I made you feel young; Maybe you just wanted to help the broken unhappy girl.

But perhaps you saw my possibility.

Dear friend, here is an update.  While I am still not an ambitious person when it comes to a ‘proper’ career, I am competent and independent.  I paint, and sell my work.  I write and post my scribbles here online and sometimes people from all over the world read and re-read my work.  When you knew me I had never belonged anywhere, and today I have lived in one place with one person for more than ten years. 

I love a man who is everything a man should be and more And he loves me back  We argue, we squabble, we laugh and take care of each other. Because of him I have battled my way to becoming a half decent skier.  I was terrified of water and I learned to scuba dive and make myself swim in the ocean.  I am scared witless by heights, yet I love my paraglider.  I have overcome my social anxieties and I capably manage my dyslexia and naturally scattered self.    

I have taken what you gave to me, what I saw in you and made it my own. Thank you for being my first mirror.

Dear Friend - Part 3

Dear Friend,

It is funny, the habits one develops without noticing. It was my habit to talk to you old lady. To talk to you about everything.  And now, without you to talk things through, when I try to write them its just a messy knot of sticky spaghetti noodles.

The words run like a rampant virus in my brain, spreading and infecting everything, yet the moment I go to write them down, it all retreats under a convenient mental blanket.

I stare at the lump on the bed in my head and I try to remember exactly what it was I really needed to have said.... but I am unable to discern the shapeless heap.

For so long I chatted you. I never thought twice about it when you started to talk back to me. My words may not have been all that different from your grunts, woofs, sighs, growls and whines.  One of my favorite memories was when you began to kick the floor when you were impatient with me or someone or something.   You would kick the floor, just like a child would stomp their foot.  Even as an old lady, (when standing for any kind of time was not reasonable), while you were sitting on the floor you would kick your foot against the floor and woof! I am laughing right now just thinking of you!

Last November Sal, that last gorgeous warm sunny day with you... when I needed to be strong for you?  That was the memory I kept replaying to make myself smile and be calm in front of you.

I have put that last day with you on my inner shelf.  The one I keep things on when I don't know what to do with them.  My inner shelf has been relatively uncluttered for a while and that day, sitting up there, nearly all by it's self, that day looks a little daunting.

I, fortunately, have my darling.  A tolerant (although I tend to exasperate him) man, he has watched me mourn, held me close and poked me into finally painting again.  We started going for walks together in the evenings, a habit I sorely missed when you were gone.  I have bonded with our Charlie Cat; Prince Charles to you who are not on intimate terms.

I started walking dogs at the Humane Society in December after work.  I was going every day and I would pick out two and take them for a walk.  Maybe it is because I think of you too much but none measured up.  They were not quite... sassy enough.  Even when we first were together and we were both all jumbled up inside, you were sassy.  Intelligent, sure, gentle, always and comfortably sassy.

Now it is January and earlier this week I met a dog.  Rescued from a pound in New Mexico, she is a stray on an Indian reservation, she is about a year and a half old.  She is sweet and nervous and excited and spooked and curious.... and I hesitated.  I walked her and she did her best even with her fear of the leash and the cars and me and the place.

Afterwards, I talked to her foster human for a few minutes.

Around the 20 minute mark -Which is a terribly long and boring time to stand and wait for humans to do something interesting, this little dog despairing groaned aloud and sunk herself tragically to the ground.  I looked down and found her bright amber eyes looking curiously into mine.

And my heart smiled.  And today I wrote this out.

My sweetheart has adeptly picked the name 'Luna' for this little Muppet.

Dear Friend - Part 2

Dear Friend,

Just over a week ago, I laid on the warm grass in the back yard, idly playing with your fur around your shoulders.  You were 'giving up' the last couple of days. You who love to run up and down the mountains, chase squirrels and tennis balls, swim in creeks, rivers and oceans, explore parks, camping and crazy long road trips (California, Wyoming, Utah and more)... 

Your last few pleasures are becoming impossible... getting in and out of the car, walks in the neighborhood, coming upstairs to bed.  This was a good day but as I watched you watch a bird in tree, the sunlight in the grass-  I knew I was watching you let go and it was time to ask myself to also let you go. 

I last wrote to you in April (http://acarnamedkatie.blogspot.com/2014/04/dear-friend.html). I am writing to you, again here on the internet, not for you but for other humans.  I hope they read this and know that to be in balance with life, we need balance with the world we are born in.  Animals were once a common part of our time on this planet. Now they are often not and we are losing something important as we lose this connection.  

Animals teach us lessons in real friendship. For all our logic and thumbs, we share the same longing for family, safety, adventure and play.  Dumb in our world, they are unable to articulate their feelings and needs with our words.  To truly bond with an animal, we learn to listen, hear, see and feel differently than we are taught to in our human interactions and this brings us into focus with our own natures. 

We humans tend to live in the past, regretting and second guessing what is done.  We tend to live in the future, worrying and planning for what we cannot predict or change. Animals live right now and living with them, we are brought back to the present.

And to you dear friend; It is all right that I am grieving for you. Ohhhh the lessons I have been privileged to learn because of you!  You know all my looks and I know yours.  I know your moods, your inclinations, your signals and you know mine. You accepted me and I learned to accept you. I have hated watching you become limited with age, I am sympathetic to your depression and frustration. I miss you on every run, walk, every excursion of shared "grocery store/ oil change/ park" we had together!

You have been my child, my sister, my friend.

And I promise, because I value you and our friendship, that I am letting you go too.  In tribute to our friendship I will not ask you to keep you going anymore.  I, and my best friend, we will let you go in the next few days, we will pick a day that is beautiful and we will let you go with peace and dignity.

  

Inspiration Point (Original Art)

'Inspiration Point' 

10.75" X 13.75" 

Heavy Weight Mixed Media Paper

Permanent markers; Oil Pastels; Acrylic

Dear Friend - Part 1

Dear Sally,

In 2004, before I found you I had been both to the city animal pound and the humane society twice.  That August I made my first visit to the bi-annual ‘Super Pet Adoption’.

The Super Pet Adoption is an event hosted, financed and promoted by various state and local animal organizations.  On the designated weekend hundreds of animals, (literally), although primarily dogs, are delivered to a parking lot volunteered by a Pet Store.

I wandered through make shift temporary kennels stuffed with hay and covered with tarps to protect enclosed padded feet.  Industrial sized containers were constantly refilled with fresh water and there were land mines of poo in every direction.  The stifling smell of urine, hay and hot asphalt greeted numerous human shoppers.  The scalding late summer sunshine was soaked in saliva.

The dogs knew they were in hell.  They knew one of us was the only way out. It was a frenzy of excited barking, long tongues waving and furry bodies lunging at each person making their way through the narrow maze of kennels. 

I took my time at each enclosure, looking over pinned up cards giving each occupant’s information –breed, age, gender and a quick synopsis of the animal’s background and personality.

After a couple of hours in the exhaustive heat my search had proven unsuccessful.  I started down the last line.  Puppies, pit bulls and mutts alike were quieter, worn out by the hot noise and smells. 

At the second to last pen, I was stopped by a card that started with the words ‘Allie -Australian Sheppard-Lab‘. An Aussie mix?  I was raised by an Aussie. I looked down to find myself being eyed by a very thin, mangy black dog wearing a wicked scar on the inner crook of her left eye. 

Your stare was direct but not aggressive.  You’d crammed yourself into the straw in the further most corner. Your card advised your name was Allie, one to three years old, half black lab, half Aussie, crate trained, recently rescued from the pound by a local rescue.  As you stared at me, I couldn't help staring back and I smiled.

Huh.  I asked for a leash and took you out. You were awkward with me; not knowing what to do with my offered hand, or how to walk on a leash.  You did not recognize any commands, you did not respond to your name but you did continue to stare intently into my eyes.

I decided you were too young, too un-trained, had a very scattered background –the care/worker advised your history comprised of three homes and four rescues or impoundments. 

I sadly asked you one more time, “Sit.”  You sat.   I looked at you.  You looked me. 

I was coaxing you up for a repeat when I glanced over and saw a different person working with a different dog.  Upon repeat, this you again copied them.

I decided to walk away, to think it over.  I called my mother and consulted her.  The other hiccup was I couldn't quite afford you; older dogs were half the cost of younger ones.  She encouraged me to follow my instincts, promising she would fund the other half of the adoption fee.

I went back; I brought you home and renamed you Sally.

When I left the east coast, during my last visit, my physiologist had recommended I always have a dog because an animal distracted me from me.  When I had settled in California for a few weeks, I followed her advice and adopted a much much older dog.  I was fond of him, but his already advanced age helped me keep my distance.  Regardless of how that admission sounds, this is where I was in life.  I lived alone, I moved a lot; I was a ‘gypsy’ as my short term friends would joke.  I belonged with nothing and nothing belonged with me.

The violence of my teen years and divorce relentlessly stalked me. Despite miles of separation, I still woke up nearly every night screaming at 3am. 

I had so little trust in myself - I was afraid of everything.  What is really sad? The person I was at this time was a dramatic improvement from the person I was before.  By the time I had decided to head to  Utah, I was at least functioning. I didn't have public anxiety attacks anymore, I could hold a job, laugh; I paid bills and even began painting a little again.

Oh Sal, I was still such a mess when I met you.  I didn't trust you and you certainly did not trust me; it was an uneasy six months, remember? You cautiously learned basic commands and I diligently walked you every morning and night but we didn't bond.  You had your stories and I had my stories and we kept them to ourselves. 

Then we had a break.  One hot summer afternoon, I’d gotten off work and found an eaten pair of favorite shoes in the living room.  I flipped; yelling, I threw the remains of one at you and stormed into the kitchen to take a breath.  A minute later I calmed down and walked back into the now empty living room to stare in horror at the open door.  You were gone.  

Panic hit my chest like a lead ball.  This apartment was by a very busy street… Dashing out, calling your name, I looked out across the ‘streaming-with-cars’ street, and there you were, sitting by a tree on the grass.  You were staring at me; eyebrows low, mouth tightly shut, anxious eyes waiting.  

I shut up, slowly walked over and sat down next to you. 

I was unspeakably relieved to see you.  You were anxiously relieved I was looking for you. 

I sighed and told you I was sorry.  You sighed in reply and we both relaxed and rested, leaning on each other.  After a while we got up and as we crossed the street together, I realized you were looking for traffic too, just like me….

A couple of nights later I had a dreaded 3am.  Unlike the dog before you, who hid because I frightened him, you came and put your head next to my head, whining to wake me up.  Then you let me cry and hug you.  I never faced a 3am alone again.  After time, 3am came less and less until I realized one day I had not had a 3am in years.

We had an unspoken pact between us, I would always have your back and you would always have mine.  You have never been great with words commands but you are amazing with facial and hand signals.  We went everywhere together, to every fair, festival, shop, park, road trip; we were glued at the hip. I began to be braver and make real friendships and real conversations.  Hell you even went on a couple of dates with me. I chuckle now remembering what a suspicious and disapproving chaperon you were.

A few months after our ‘moment’, I met my knight in shining slightly dented armor and eventually I married my hero, a soaring hawk with sharp intelligent grey blue eyes. Together we live a life of adventure and friendship. 

Today, a decade after you and I first met, I am more than a functioning adult.  I am a thriving human being.  And I know it is in part because you trusted me that I learned to trust me too.  You Sally girl, you were a missing link.

You are old now; I think you are as puzzled by this as I am.  Despite being on a fairly intense regiment of pills, natural food and regular walks, age descends on you anyway. You've not lost any of your 'marbles' but you haven’t any of your legendary patience left for small children and dogs.  I don’t care.  I put you behind baby gates when needed and walk you in the evening when the younger dogs are gone. 

This morning was a really tough morning for you.  You fell trying to stand and fell again trying to go up the stairs.  I watched you hunch your shoulders, resigned; you stayed down, eyebrows lowered. 

I put down what I was doing, got out some more painkillers and while I waited the twenty minutes for them to take effect, I laid your quilt out in the back seat of the car and got your leash and collar.  I could tell they hit when you picked your head up to smile at me and wag your tail.  I helped you stand (painkillers, unfortunately, don’t make you stronger) and get into the car. We picked up my sweetheart for a coffee lunch break.  A couple of nice ladies cooed over you at the coffee shop and you happily visited with them while we ordered.  Afterwards you and I made one more quick stop before heading to a favorite park.

How we laughed as we pulled up.  I let you set the pace and direction and was astonished at how far you wanted to go.  When you were tired, you changed course and headed for the shade in a grove of trees. There you laid down and I sat down.  

You smiled and I smiled. 

You were the first to belong with me and me with you.  Our friendship is the foundation for all the ones that have developed since. You are beloved beyond words.  I know you know I love you but the volume of my gratitude is not something I can adequately express. 

But I'll tell you every day anyway, thank you for helping save me.

Part 2: http://acarnamedkatie.blogspot.com/2014/11/dear-friend-part-2.html

Friendship

Last night my husband, Sally and I staggered into the house weary and happy and hungry from our evening run. About two seconds after I had inhaled my eggs on toast I suddenly thought “Where is Charlie?”

At about that exact moment, my sweetheart, who had just stepped outside to change the sprinklers, yelled “HEY!!”

Darting outside, Sally went left, bristling as she herded the neighbor’s dog off our yard from the driveway. We found Charlie puffed and perched on the edge of the eight foot brick wall on the right side of our property. In his mad dash to escape the teeth of the copper colored dog, Char had made it up the wall in record time. My husband had a hand reached up to try to soothe the terrified fuzz ball also known as our cat and Char had a shaky paw extended back, claws latched onto the sleeve of his hero.

I know I have mentioned before that I love this furry individual dearly. He is just so gentle, good and kind-hearted. I reached up retrieve him and I cuddled his tense little body so tense, each paw a knotted little pin cushion.

He coiled up against me, his face in my neck... but as I started to step away we all realized Char had kept one paw locked onto his rescuer's sleeve and  Char was not about to let go.

I handed over the shattered spooked dude to my husband.

Upon inspection of our arms and hands we discovered a bit of blood and a closer examination revealed all of his paws shredded and a back foot missing a claw from scaling the rough tall partition. And you know what? Even though this little creature was scared witless and a bit hurt, he never once, accidentally or not, scratched either of us. We cleaned him up and tucked him into his blanket on the back of the couch to watch his ‘TV’ (aka cracked open window with shades partially drawn up).

The next morning I got up to say hello and received my usual purred reply. My husband got up and was immediately greeted with meows and conversation.

Friendship given by animals is such a magnificent and strange relationship. They choose us even more then we choose them.

MT Olympus

My fiancé, our good friend, and I decided to climb Mt. Olympus here in Salt Lake City, Utah. We all met at Pete’s Point and began at 7am last Sunday.

The majority of the hike going up was in the cool shade of the mountain. We started laughing, talking, joking and shooting pictures. But as the morning drew on and muscles began to rebel, our teasing grew silent and the pauses to breath were without the camera.

This hike is about three and half miles up. And I mean Up. Stair climbers and stair masters have Nothing on this mountain. Even our amiable, good natured and mature friend looked a bit exhausted.

Although we were sheltered from the early morning sun, I sweated, gasped and coughed and at two thirds of the way up from the saddle, collapsed on a log blocking the trail struggling to breath the thin, sharp, fragrant air.

It wasn’t so much that I complained as I simply would fall further and further back from the two of them. My fiancé was my motivator. He took to hanging behind me to encourage and remind me to drink; coaxing me along, one step at a time. Our friend was patient with my weakness and heartened by their support, I pushed myself on despite my screaming heartbeat and frantic choking lungs.

We reached the ‘saddle’ and sat in the shade of a tree to munch on trail mixes and other snacks. It was Eleven Fifteen in the morning. There was the summit, looming a 1000 feet above us. We felt revitalized, invigorated and began to talk about completing the last half mile.

As I had started to follow them, I realized I would have to make the very steep hike down three miles but this time in the heat of a mid July day. The temperatures were already approaching the nineties, and as we descended and lost the altitude, the heat would be scorching at a hundred and six.

I had packed four liters of water in my camel-back, I had already gone through two. I decided to wait

The other two pushed on. I watched them from my little sheltering over hang as they scrambled up the sheer face and listened to the echoes of their voices. When they withdrew from sight I watched the dragonflies, a humming bird, bumble bees and flies. I watched the scattered hikers going by. There were a couple of dogs and as much as I had wanted to bring my dog I was glad I hadn’t. There was little water and shade for most of this. Even shaved, her black coat would have made this a cruel excursion.

They came back, looking triumphant and tired. It was Twelve Thirty.

The way back was brutal. The knees of both of my companions caused their faces to tighten under the glaring sunlight. Ankles threatened to roll as we picked our way down, each becoming increasingly separated as distance between us lengthened. Sweat rolled off as the body attempted to cool down, flies swarmed and I wondered if this was a bad dream. I felt lost in the swelling hot air, the ceaseless path, the tired throbbing in my hands and feet. I concentrated on my feet and the sound of my best friend’s breathing. He was struggling now. While I could do little but stay with him and touch his arm gently, I would be his motivator and ignore his protests that I should keep going and he would catch up.

We made it to the tiny stream in the little patch of shade we had passed earlier in the morning. Water trickles out of the mountain here, breaching the path to offer about an inch and a half of brutally cold water. Our friend made it there first. Shoes off, feet in, he half smiled at us and graciously offered us his seat.

Isn’t he kind? The one thought that crossed my mind before this was the relief that if we were all going to narrowly get ourselves into trouble, there are no other two people I would want to be in trouble with.

I don’t know how long we sat there. Maybe five minutes, maybe thirty. My best friend took my top tank (I had on two), soaked it in water and draped it around my neck and head. He rubbed water on my arms and face and legs. I shivered violently and offered the shirt to him and his face and neck. About then two young college girls came across us then. One chatted happily about birds and their calls, names, species. A pretty girl, with serious eyes and excited smile. She was from Montana and here for school.

At last we rose to face the last of the mountain. The refreshed looking girl advised that we were 1.4 miles from the bottom. We were just over half way back.

Protesting feet were re-stuffed, hats and visors re-soaked, sunscreen applied and off we went to continue down. I realized as we rose that I had drunk the last of my water on that 1.6 mile down. The dismay I should have felt was tempered by exhaustion. I knew the others were low.

I had thought that the first half of coming down was bad. This was hell. The world was an oven. My skin felt hot and tight and crisp. As if it would split open but if so it would only expose saw dust underneath. My mouth was hot and I kept swallowing without respite. I stopped thinking with the exception of two thoughts on repeat.

First… how did we go so far? I don’t remember it being this far. The trail went forever and I tried to stop looking ahead.

Second… thank God for these two men. They discovered I was out of water as I began to stumble and they shared the last precious drops they had. Their faces were grim and closed. I couldn’t feel the pain in my feet, legs or shoulders anymore.

My fiancé was once again my motivator. He reminded me to watch my step, held my hand when the world was fuzzy…

We made it to the car. We made it home to the cool dark house. At five o’clock in the afternoon, nearly ten hours from the time we began this venture, we climbed into showers and wearily fell into bed to restlessly sleep for an hour. We struggled to think about what we would want to eat and blankly stared at each other until going back to bed for the night.

Today and yesterday, our body’s have cried out their protest and in response we are trying to decide where to try out next weekend’s adventure!