More Bits That Dribble Out Of My Head

I don't know why it is so, but waiting for news in a hospital is horribly exhausting. 

The weather is most definitely changing.  Every joint in my body that might possibly be arthritic is achy and/or sore to the touch.

The wind out there tonight is roaring and whining,  and playing all manner of tunes on our wind chimes. The weather is having quite a jam session...

 Making birthday cards seems to take forever.  I enjoy it, but I never find a good time to do it, and I feel like I'm shortchanging my friends by not being painstaking enough over it.

Poetry will sneak up on you, smack you over the head, and sometimes reduce you to tears,
all AFTER it has forced you to sit down and write.

Poems you read will also catch you unaware.
That delicious, comforting knowledge
That you aren't the only one
Who feels that way...

After a very out of sorts week last week, this week still feels
wrong and out of order.

The order of the liturgy always puts my mind in order, and helps me focus my thoughts on things spiritual.


I keep thinking about one line from a song written by a local newscaster about the bombing of the Murrah Building.  "That's the way with April, warm and then so cold..."
It's true, in many places, but especially here that year.  The day it happened was such a beautiful warm Spring morning, and the very next day was cool and cloudy and gloomy.
All these years later, and thoughts of that day can still make me cry.  The day I became an Oklahoman.  The day that broke so many hearts, but showed a whole community reaching out in love to one another to heal the hurts.


Dog behavior is directly related to the way the owners treat them. You can always tell a happy, well loved dog.  He'll be the friendly one. If he's older, he may be a bit cranky, but still. His overall demeanor will be positive. 

Those trees that produce the winged seeds ought to be outlawed! We have a positive  plague of those God-awful seeds this year. They clog up gutters and ruin your downspouts.

Poetry some days just pours out of me.  Sometimes (usually) it's pretty much drivel, but sometimes, oh, sometimes, I hit a streak of getting a lot of good poems out one right after the other.  It's so odd.  I can't control the process, I just have to go with it and see what I get.  They usually don't follow any kind of set scheme, they are as random as the mind that generates them.

  Toying with the idea of reading at the library's upcoming open mic poetry night.  Of course this quote comes to mind : "A poet who will read his verse in public may have other nasty habits. " -Heinlein

The specter of losing my memory plagues me some days.  Like this evening, trying to tell a young coworker about the arias I have sung, when suddenly the names, the melodies, the words, just all evaporated. They came back, but it was a struggle.  Frightening.

And why should it be so that my mind always waits until nearly midnight to let loose any idea worth toying with?  Why is my choice always my sanity or my health?

Just spent a few minutes enjoying a visit with a young man who has returned to town after being away for college.  I think I enjoy such visits not only because it's good to see our young people come back, but also because some of these young people remind me of the nieces and nephews I almost never get to see.

Watch Out, It's Poetry Month!!

April's Fool
C.K. Armistead 4/1/2016

And I wonder
Sometimes
If I am the only one
Who isn't paying attention
And missing the joke.
Everyone else is laughing,
And I wonder why.
Sometimes
I am afraid they are
Laughing
AT me,
Which I feel bad about,
IF you laugh WITH me,
I don't mind a bit.
My heart isn't exactly
On my sleeve,
But I can still be
Hurt.
Pretty deeply
When you're not looking
I cry all over the
Pages
And rain words
Like tears
Until I feel
Well again.

The Stuff Of Life
C.K. Armistead
4/2/2016

"Do not squander time,
It is the stuff Life
Is made of"
Or some similar thing
Said the sundial
Shown on
Gone With The Wind
I have always wondered
About that.
Time is such a fickle commodity.
Running fast as Spring storm water
Or as slowly as the proverbial
Molasses.
Slowly, and wearily
Ticking by
When life is hard upon us,
When we are sad,
Or waiting for news
Rushing and roaring
Right past us
When there are things
We need to do,
When we are with the ones
We love and do not
Often get to see.
There never seems to be enough time
To just hug the stuffing out
Of the ones you love so much
That are usually far away
Never enough time
To stop and say
I love you,
I really do.
My life would be SO much less
Without you in it,
Even if you are usually
So far away
 Physically.
 So, all of you
That I rarely see,
But who mean
So much to me,
(And I hope by now
you all KNOW who you are.)
I love you, I really do
My life would be SO much less
Without you in it.
Really.
Please know that it is true.

The Thief
C.K.Armistead
4/2/16

Time is a thief
We all know this.
You look up  one day
And the face staring back at you
Has wrinkles
And your hair is grey.
You think about things,
And it seems they happened
Only yesterday.
But it's been more
Than 30 years.
You aren't that old yet?
Don't feel too cocky.
Time's stealing your life away, too.
You just haven't noticed yet.
Why all this musing on time today?
Well,
Thirty years ago today
My Pop died.
He's been gone now
Longer than I had him with me in my life.
I was 26 years old.
Already married,
Already not living at home,
But still his Baby Girl.
His Sugar Foot.
Katie Didder.
Only HE got to call me that.
Nobody else better try it.
No matter how much
Of life Time steals away,
That little girl
Who loves her Pop
Is still here.
Still trying
To make him proud.

Spring
C.K.Armistead
4/3/2016

Warm inviting sunshine
But the breeze still has an edge
Trees still not quite leafed out
But daffodils blooming under the hedge.

Spirit yearning to stretch and grow
Yet flesh resistant to trust
That new, flickering, struggling glow
Afraid to stand and shake off the rust.

A season of such contradiction
Of profuse, expansive bloom
And sudden, freezing contraction
Of hope in the light,  but full consciousness of the gloom.

Lord of Springtime, Lord of love
Strengthen our trembling hearts
That we may show the world your love
And spread peace to all its parts.

And Do You Know?
C.K. Armistead 4/3/16

We speak so seldom
Hardly seems we could be
Friends.
Yet, I believe we are.
Your smile makes my heart happy
Your adventures are of interest
Even though you are not
Right here
In my everyday life.
So many of you,
Friends and family
Both.
That live in my heart
And always will
Though we don't often
Connect.
And do you know
That you are loved?
I hope you do
Because you are.
And do you know
It matters not
That we aren't close
You are still cared for.
Your presence matters
To me in this world.
Don't forget that
Please.
I've lost one who did forget
Who thought he was all alone
When he was surrounded by
Love.
Please remember
You are loved.
You are.
And do you know how dearly?
Do you?

Planting Dreams
C.K. Armistead
4/4/16

Spring air stirs the soul
Calls me outdoors,
Sets me to dreaming of beautiful
Flowers
Fragrant herbs,
And pleasant shady
Evenings
In the garden
With you.

Soil amended
New plants planted,
Prayers said for their
Prosperity.
Achy back and sore knees
Water bill going higher
All for the dream
Of fragrant beauties
Found in this garden
If Nature so pleases.

Brutus Waiting

C.K.Armistead 

4/5/16

He sits by Daddy's  chair

Ears up

Listening,

Bright eyes watching. 

He's always up to make a new friend,

But his eyes

Are watching 

For Mama.

He's  well behaved,

Quite polite,

Greeting all who greet him,

Never pestering those that don't

He always seems a happy boy

But oh, when Mama comes out,

You've never seen such joy!

If he could, he'd twist and shout

A Good Night For Sleeping
By C.K.Armistead
4/5/16

"It's so windy,
It's a good night for sleeping."
My Pop used to say.
I used to think he was nuts.
All I could hear
Was the old tree outside (and above)
My bedroom creaking, groaning,
And moaning like Marley's ghost
Thought it was coming for me
For sure.
But Pop loved the wild song of the wind
Loved the whispers of the places
It had been
The power in that invisible
Breeze
That could bend and even buckle
Mighty trees.
Even now,
When the wind is especially high,
I remember Pop
And his anticipation
Of being sung to sleep
By the song
Of the wind.

Awake 

By C.K. Armistead 

4/6/16

To wake up

To move, stretch,

Feel with your body

That your mind

Has come online again.

My body often resists,

Telling my brain 

To shut up,

I need more time.

Perhaps, rather, it is

My mind

That  seeks to stay

In the carefree realm

Of slumber, 

Where no demands are made, 

And no responses expected. 

To be awake, aware of the world 

Around us

Implies a responsibility 

To interact with that world.

There are things We must do,

Responses we must make 

If we are to function properly 

In the world 

Both for our own comfort, 

And that of others.

If we seek to remain 

Asleep,

We don't fulfill our side

Of the bargain with

Society 

That allows us all to live 

With at least some degree

Of peace.

We must, therefore, 

Be awake and aware,

And do our share

Of the work

Of civilization. 

So that the agents of

Chaos

Are not allowed

To destroy those 

Who cannot defend 

Themselves

Those who need their rest

And trust the rest of us 

To watch over the safety 

Of their sleep.

The Cyclical Nature Of Time
C.K. Armistead 4/7/16

Birth.
Life.
Death.
Waking,
Doing,
Sleeping.
Childhood,
Adulthood,
Old age.
We begin with little
But potential
Add knowledge
And experience
Every day.
End up full
Of emotions
And knowledge
But out of time
To share them
The trick is
To make the most
Of the middle
Life
Doing
Adulthood
The time to collect knowledge
And experiences,
But also to share them
So that old age
May be spent
Relishing them.
And all those
Who we met
Along the way.

Peaceful  Place

By C. K. Armistead 

4/8/ 16

There is an astonishing 

Amount of peace

To be found in one's own

Garden.

Never mind the awful amount

Of work involved in establishing 

And maintaining it

The blooms

And the birdsong

Bring such balm

As offsets all the toil.

A "Good" Tired
By C.K.Armistead
 4/9/16

Achy,
But not sore.
Weary,
But capable of more.
Awake,
But not wired.
Satisfied -
It's a good tired.

Goals set
And accomplished
Challenges met
Feeling astonished
That the race is done,
Our tasks are complete
We have won
We rest replete.


Dark Is His Path
By C.K.Armistead
April 11, 2016

When the sky
Turns ugly
And the wind whispers
Of threats coming
I turn my eyes
To the horizon,
And see the storm
Approaching.
I remember then
A line from an old hymn
"And dark is his path
On the wings of the storm."
About God's nearness
Even in turbulent times.
Still
It seems he does have
A very rugged and dark
Path
To come to save us
Along the flanks
Of that boiling,
Dark,
Flashing,
Howling
Storm.

Hurry And Worry

C.K. Armistead  4/12/16

The phone rings incessantly. 

On more than one line.

No sooner dealt with,

And it rings again. 

Time I do not have, 

For I am due 

At the service desk

Where a line of customers  wait.

All afternoon, 

One question after another,

One smile after another. 

Often they come with worry,

And because of information we have,

They leave with a smile.

There have been enough of those today

To make the hurry worthwhile.


Writing
C.K.Armistead 4/13/1
When staring at a blank page
It seems time drags like the last ice age
When ideas finally pop
You write so fast your hand will drop
Lifeless into your lap
Before you run out of creative sap.
If you try to force the muse
She will pout and flatly refuse
No words will flow, none will fit
What you produce will sound like, well, Sh*t.
When at last the muse agrees,
Writing will become a breeze
Images and words will show it
You are and always have been a poet.


I suppose these next lines count as a poem.  I wrote them today in honor of a friend's birthday:

To my friend Ron:
I can't make collages or do video
 Words are the only art I know
 So from my heart I will say
 I wish you a very happy Birthday

Perhaps I should rather say
 Greetings and felicitations on your natal day!


Is That Me?
By C.K. Armistead
4/14/16
Sometimes the mirror
Startles me.
Who is that lady?
The one with grey hair
But a cute haircut,
And who is in better shape
Than I thought I was.
Is that me?
Really?
Because I feel
Clumsy and big
Even though I am
But little.
I feel like the awkward teen
Who wrote angst filled verse
And dreamed of making
A splash in the world
But was afraid
Of her own words.
Who is that confident
Woman
Looking back at me?


For The Birds
C.K.Armistead
4/14/16

Dear Starling in the pecan tree
Bleeping and clicking like
An electronic device at me
Please be so kind as to take a hike.
Your incessant noise is most unpleasant
And the St. Francis statue below you
Doesn't look good wearing your excrement
Kindly find another loo!

Dear Blue Jay creaking on the fence
I know you only want a bath, you see
Please know that I won't take offense
If you make use of our birdbath facility.
I only ask that you take care
And don't fling the water everywhere
I'm not sitting that far away,
And I must look presentable at work today.

Dear Mocking bird scolding the squirrel
Please realize that he doesn't care.
You can scold and dive and whirl
And he'll just stop and blankly stare.
Please take your loud shenanigans
Away, I fiercely plead
For I have to begin all over again
This page I've been trying to read.

Dear Robin singing from on high
You alone are welcome here
Your song so lovely makes me sigh
It is a pleasure to my ear
If those others would so pardon
Us, and be on their merry way
Joining the pigeon squadron
 Off to find the next full feeder of the day.

Dear Sparrows flitting everywhere,
You may stay as well, I guess.
Your merry play without care
Eases much of my stress.
Though most of you can be a pain,
The yard would be lonely without you
So please, come back and visit again
But don't use St. Francis for a loo!

Come With Me!
C.K.Armistead
4/15/16

Come with me!
Look!
See?
It's all here in a
Book.
Adventures galore
Trips to a faraway shore
Rich and satisfying lore
Will leave you begging for more
Just one more
Story.
Please?
I'll go right to sleep,
I promise,
Just one more story
Too help me keep
My dreams alive tonight?
Please?
Listen...
Once upon a time
In a kingdom bright
A little dragon
Wouldn't say goodnight
He began to weep...
Because he didn't
Want to go
To sleep.
Sleep, little dragon
Don't you know?
All of us will watch
Over you
And wait for tomorrow
To hear your stories anew.
Away with sorrow,
Away with fear,
Sleep, little dragon,
You have friends here.

Symmetry 

By C.K.Armistead 

4/17/16

Symmetry  is supposed to be 

Attractive to the human mind

But it is evident to me

That my face is not

The symmetrical kind

My left eye is at a tiny bit

Of an angle

My dimples seem to sit

In something of a tangle.

It makes my smile quirk

With a twinkling sort of grace

And so it seems to work

For my particular face.

Spring Rain
By C.K. Armistead
4/18/16

And the rain came
And the waters rose
I feared for the safety
Of the new plants
Those not yet anchored
In the newly placed soil.
But they seem fine
Growing and prospering
In spite of the rain.
Perhaps because of it.
Just as we dread the dreary
Stormy times
Fearing for the safety
Of our tenuous connection
To this life
Yet they seem to bring
Deep nourishment
To our souls
Helping us flourish
In the end.

Remembrance
C.K.Armistead
4/20/16

Every year
April 19th brings
The sounds, the sights,
The feelings
Back.
The shock
The hurt
The tears.

Even now, sometimes
I see the ruin
Of that building
In my mind
And I remember
Families torn apart,
Our community's heart broken.

The day brings back
So much sadness
Those injured,
Those lost
Especially the children
Who never  had a
Chance to grow up.

It also brought gifts
The gift of love
In the face of  hatred
The gift of courage
In the face of terror,
The gift of healing
In the midst of broken hearts.

That day showed us all
Both how awful humans can be
And also how marvelous,
How loving and sacrificing
Humans can be.
That day taught me
That I, too, was now
An Oklahoman.

(In honor of the 21st anniversary of the bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown OKC.)

A Very Special Gift

By C.K.Armistead 

4/20/16

Perhaps the best gift

To come all unexpected  from

That sorrowful April  day

Is the musical gift

We have found

Since becoming a part

Of the choir.

In truth and in symbol

The harmonies 

We partake in 

Are a gift of fellowship 

And worship 

A wonderful unity

Found in that blend

Our individual voices

Into one.

Every week since

That awful day

We have been safe

In the midst of that

Harmony 

In the midst of our family 

Of faith.

Which if not for tragedy 

We might never

Have truly found.

Music is both worship

And prayer

Giving blessing

To both listeners

And singers.

A beautiful expression 

Of our love for God

And one another.


2016
By C.K. Armistead
4/22/16

I sit and stare at the screen
Sadness everywhere, it would seem.
So much loss, I want to scream
I truly wonder what it all means.

Once upon a time, Don McLean
Sang about the Day the Music Died
This year, to me, it seems,
Is the YEAR the artists died.

So many sad losses, one after another,
And on a personal note, we lost my mother.
Is there a plot out there to smother
Creativity?  Big Brother?

We will survive this year, I hope
Without losing anyone else so dear,
I don't know if I could cope
And despair is what I fear.



The Payoff
By C.K.Armistead
4/23/16

Now all the hard work
Of mowing and weeding
Is done.
We can relax
And maybe have
A little fun.
Sitting with a drink in hand
Surveying the beauty
Our efforts command.



Beware
By C.K.Armistead
4/25/16

The clouds are massing
To the Southwest
The teams are out tracking
The weather's brewing a mess.
Let us pray with all our might
That the Tornado monsters
Pass us by tonight.
With the ice balls they fling
And their terrible teeth
They destroy everything
That falls beneath.
This is one little town
That's had more than it's share
Of toothy tornadoes
And ice-ball filled air.
We've seen this misery all before
So tornadoes, just take yourselves
Right away from Moore.


Muses
By C.K.Armistead
4/25/16

Whimsical and inconsistent,
Oh, wordy spirits,
Hear my complaint!
You lead me on
Keep me awake all night,
Only to vanish
When I need you,
When I have time to write.
All night I hear poems,
Or clever dialog,
Interesting plot diversions,
But by morning, they are gone.
Trying to write them down at night
Is worse than trying to catch a sprite.
Whenever paper, pencil  or screen are close by
Those beautiful words and images fly.
And will not return until once more
I lie trying to sleep and listening
To my husband snore.

Calm Restored
By C.K. Armistead
4/26/16

The noisy meteorological show
Has finished it's bluster,
Gone somewhere else to rumble and blow.
And I  have my tidy world again
Where all is well and safe
Where nothing can harm
Or scare me
My happy place.
For you are here,
Your arms enfold me
There is no fear
When you hold me.


Happy Birthday, Mom
By C.K.Armistead
4/27/16

You aren't here anymore
Where I can send you things
Or call you up and say
I hope your day was wonderful
And I love you.
So,
Happy Birthday, Mom,
I miss you.
I survived another round of
Bad weather last night
Matt's doing well,
He sends his love.
I got to spend time with
Amy and her little girl
The last time I was
Back in California.
They are both well,
 And Amy's husband
Is a good man.
I went out there
To say goodbye to you
And to see where you and Pop
Are remembered formally
Upon this earth.
The place looks nice, all the trees
Are bigger, LOTS bigger than when
We said goodbye to Pop.
Not so easy to see downtown
From there anymore.
But the wind whispers stories
Through those trees,
And I bet Pop would love the place.
Mostly,
You are both remembered and loved
In our hearts,
All four of us,
and anyone else who ever knew you.
I miss you both,
And I hope you are together,
Because someday,
I want to see you both again.
And I hope you'll be proud of me
Of all I am,
Of all I have done,
Even though it isn't for wealth or fame,
I have made lives better.
I DO make lives better,
One little bit at a time,
Every day,
Every time I go to work.
Sometimes in a very quiet way,
A lot like you did.
I learned a lot about
How to be kind
From you.
I really miss you,  Mommy-Mo.


Sleep
By C.K. Armistead
4/28/16

Thou elusive sprite,
I'll catch thee yet!
My eyes shut tight,
The bedclothes my net.
Even though you do scorn
My company,
Long afore morn,
Mine ye shall be!
Leave off the aches that plague
Leave off the sniffling nose
I must fatigue assuage,
Before sanity goes.
Quiet,  thou clacking brain,
And peace, ye racing thoughts,
Let peaceful calm remain
And let sweet sleep be caught.



Escape
By C. K. Armistead
4/29/16

When reality is just a bit too much
I find a better place to look
For comfort, distraction, and such
I simply sit and read a book.
Doesn't have to be the paper kind,
Even though those are very nice
If it's electronic, I don't mind,
As long as there's power for the device.
Sometimes, I find myself dreaming
And making up my own tales
Instead of just reading,
Against harsh reality, writing prevails.
I crawl into my cozy world
And visit with old friends
Until my ennui is cured
And I can face life once again.


Seeking Sanctuary
(A poem based on Beauty and the Beast 1987)
By C.K. Armistead
4/26/16, edited 4/29/16

Catherine's thoughts one stormy night:

How I wish I  could go Below tonight. 

The wind is high,

The clouds are ripe, 

There's going to be

A storm up here.

I wish I could be 

Where candle flame

Glows cheerily

And everyone knows my name.

I wish I could go there

To my safest place where

I'll come to no harm 

When I  see his face

And rest in the safety

Of his arms.

Old Friends
By C.K.Armistead
4/30/16

I stumbled across an old friend today
An old TV show I used to love
When I was very young
And full of dreams.
This show, I should say,
Is not something girls are "supposed"
To have liked
In that era, when I was young.
It involved rockets and space ships
And rescues
And I am sure far more boys watched it.
But I adored it.
Never did I feel I could not
Be one of the daring crew
That went out and saved
People in need.
Not that I WANTED to,
But I felt I could have.
I just adored the machines
And the things they could do.
These old friends reminded me
Of a couple of other
Favorites.
One that I never let go of
And another I had almost forgotten.
One was a giant robot
Controlled by a young boy
The other was the crew of a Starship
Whose adventures I've followed
Forever after.
Because they made me dream
Gave me hope
Made me wonder how
We could get to a world
That much better than this one.
Yep. I was a geeky fangirl
LONG before it was cool.

The Love Of Dogs

I started thinking about dogs Saturday.  There has nearly always been a dog in my life.  The first one I remember is our neighbor's dog, Skipper.  Skipper was a terrier of some sort, and would play ball forever and ever, as long as somebody would throw it.  The neighbor on the other side had a nice, calm Cocker Spaniel named Bobby.  Bobby loved ginger snaps, and would do all sorts of tricks to get one.  Our family didn't own a dog until I was about six years old.  Then, because my teacher had a sweet little dog that she had to find a new home for, we got Misty.

This is a picture of me and Misty.
She was a sweet little terrier, all black, and she and I became fast friends.  She taught me how much fun it was to have a dog of my own, and how much work.  She also taught me one of my first lessons about the pain of loss.  Misty got out of the yard one day, a few months after we got her, and got hit by a car.  Right in front of our house.  I cried for days.  So did my Mom, because Misty was trying to follow her to our neighbor's across the street. 
The next year, a lady who lived on my route to and from school had some cocker mix puppies that she was looking for good homes for.  My Mom was walking with me, and we both fell in love with one golden little guy.  He was about the color of peanut butter, so I named him Skippy.

This is Skippy when he was a few years old. 
We had him for several years, and then, we suspect someone either took him or let him out.  (Because soon after that, someone tried to break in.)  Again, I cried for days.  I loved Skippy, and he followed me around all the time.  He had such short legs, that when he had to sneeze, he'd hop up in one of the patio chairs so he wouldn't bang his nose on the ground. 
Shortly after we lost Skippy, we got a German Shepherd puppy and named her O.D. for Other Dog.  (We were still hoping we'd find Skippy.)  Odie, as we came to call her, was big, awkward, and loveable.  She was scared to death of the Goodyear blimp  One year a hot air balloon race came near our house, and the poor dog just came unglued.  We had to bring her in the house and keep her away from the windows, and turn the TV up so she couldn't hear the burners on the balloons.  My Mom took her to obedience classes, and she did pretty well, but when we moved to a house with hardwood floors, she couldn't come in without help because she was like Bambi on the ice on those polished floors.  She lived a good long life and died peacefully of old age.

This is me and Odie.  Nobody even tried to bother our house after we got her.

 This is Doobie (left) and Dougal, our first Schipperke, he who could chase tennis balls forever.
 This is Dougal trying to learn the fine are of out-stubborning a gopher from Doobie.


 Now, when Matt and I got married, we inherited a dog from Matt's Mom who was moving up north with Debbie, Matt's sister, and already had one dog to take with her.  Doobie was that dog's name, and she was so ugly, she was adorable.  She was half Scottie and half Wire--Haired Dachshund.  Doobie was fun-loving and happy go lucky, and even when she got out, she somehow always got delivered safely home.  She had belonged to Matt's cousin Susan, who had to leave her with Matt's Mom when she went into the Air Force.  (Where she became a dog handler!)  Doobie could track gophers and catch them better than any dog I have ever seen.  It was one of her favorite things to do.  She, too, lived to a ripe old age, and we only had to have her put down when her chronic illnesses became too painful for the vets to do much for anymore.  That was a very hard decision, and we still miss Doobie. 


Dougal.  Ah, Dougal.  My baby boy, our first Schipperke.  (Means Little Captain in Flemmish).  Schips are a Belgian breed, kept commonly on barges to keep rats down and unwanted visitors out.  Dougal was good at both.  He was a most excellent watch dog.  He had to be.  I had to stay all alone in a not so hot neighborhood in San Bernardino when Matt was on TDY, and Dougal was my fierce protector.  We got him when he was a puppy, and Matt had to go TDY the day after we got him.  Dougal became very much MY dog, but he adored Matt.  Matt would play with him a LOT longer than I would, you see.  Dougal was the dog we took with us to Germany, who endeared himself to our German landlords, and the neighbor's kids.  He went on LONG walks with me every day through the German countryside.  (Our apartment was in a farmhouse, out in the country.  There was no on-base housing available for NCOs at Rhein-Main when we arrived. )  Dougal was my dear companion and fierce protector for the long months that Matt was deployed with his squadron for Desert Shield/Storm.  He was the dog that went bananas when Matt came home and wouldn't let him out of his sight.  It made me cry to see how much that dog really loved Matt.  The landlord's dog, Blackie, almost wouldn't let Matt get out of the car when he got home from the desert.  He saw us coming up the drive, and started barking, and wagging his entire body, and then everybody who was upstairs in the landlord's apartment came out and greeted Matt as well.  They had all taken good care of me while Matt was gone. 

Above is Dougal on Matt's lap here in our Oklahoma house. The picture below it is one Matt made with the timer on the camera when he was home for 3 days during Desert Shield.  (His crew got to bring home one of the C-130s that needed maintenance.)  Notice that Dougal would NOT leave Matt alone.   (And, oh, my God, was I really that skinny?!)

Dougal lived to be almost 18 years old.  He was almost deaf, and almost blind, and then his kidneys gave out.  We had to let  him go.  I missed him SO much.  I still do.  He was my baby boy.  (We never had children.  Only pets.) 
I wrote this poem for him, but it could apply to any of the dogs I've lost.  And I still have the best one yet to tell you about. 
Bear.  Oh.  I still cry for my Bear.  He was the sweetest dog EVER.  He's been gone a little more than a year now, and I just can't make room in my heart for another dog yet.  Bear's going to be a hard act to follow.  As much as I love Dougal, Bear was sweeter, and his love meant more.  Bear came to us from a breed rescue group.  He was also a Schipperke, but he was larger than breed standard.  (25lbs as opposed to 18 and longer and taller, too.)  He had been tossed out of the house and made to live basically without human contact in a yard for most of his life.  He was five years old when we got him.  They said they had to put him out because he "couldn't be house trained."  Excuse my French, but, bullsh*t.  They just didn't want to try.  The rescue folks convinced them to turn Bear over, and it took us almost a year of crate training and tethering, (tying him to us whenever he was loose in the house so he knew he was being watched), but we got that dog so well trained that he only ever had an accident when he was ill.  He went from being a standoffish dog, uninterested in people, to being a love bug.  It was like he just couldn't believe he could really stay in the house, get petted a lot, have treats, regular mealtimes, walks, and lots of new friends.  I have written about Bear before.  He was my walking buddy.  He made friends everywhere he went.  He was with us for eight years. 

There's my Bear.  Mr. Bear and Madame Skye would occasionally call a truce if it meant sharing a blanket.  (We still have Madame, she is as despotic as ever. )  (That is Matt's office, by the way.  Mine is NEVER that messy.  I'd trip and fall on my a** if it was.) 
Dogs and the unconditional love they give us can make life so much richer and fuller.  Someday there may be a new dog in our house, and if so, it will be a rescue. They can turn out to be the most wonderful dogs EVER. 
Here's my poem.  Hope I can type it all right.  Hard to type when you're trying not to cry.

For my Dougal
Where are you, old friend?
I listen for your  step
Even though
I know you will not come.
Why did you have to go?
You weren't so old and tired yet, were you?
I know, dear heart, your eyes were growing dim, your ears missed much,
And more things hurt than didn't.
It was time to say our goodbyes.
But still, I find myself looking for you,
Listening for you -
Hoping to find you
Someplace besides my heart.

Of Parades, Homemade Pizza, and Yet More Laundry

Today was the Red Ribbon Parade in Moore. This is an annual event to show support for the Drug Abuse Resistance Education program. The kids make floats and so do many community agencies and businesses. It is a large, community wide event that snakes through "Old Town" Moore to the high school.
Bear and I walked again this year, once again helping Julie and her Corgi, Molly, carry the banner.
Molly got too tired partway through and rode the last bit in the van, but Bear was rarin' to go the whole time, and making friends all along the route. He seems to enjoy seeing all the kids and getting petted and talked to.
The commentators as usual made fun of poor Molly. She's a Corgi, so she's short. They also made fun of our purple banner, t-shirts, and van. They said something like "Your Pioneer Library System, connecting you to the joy of reading and lifelong learning.... and they REALLY like purple!"
I guess it is kind of corny, but the parade is one of our town's oldest and happiest traditions. It is how we know for sure when the first really cold morning will be. They usually happen on or near Red Ribbon Saturday. It is a chance for all the kids in the area to be in a parade or see a parade. They don't do one at holiday time because so many other towns do, and this one is all about the kids. The participants hand out candy, so many kids go to the parade instead of trick or treating on Halloween. (They probably get more candy, if they are in the right part of the parade route.) It is always heartwarming to hear how many of the people cheer for the library. They are so happy to see us coming up the street, they like the dogs, of course, they all giggle at "Jessica" our mascot riding in the convertible, and of course the big purple van that brings the delivery of books and other materials to each library daily. (So, if you ordered a book from another branch, that van brings it, and the kids know that.) It helps that our Friends of the Library group is so generous with the candy every year. The Friends ladies are very popular with crowds along the way. We are also one place in town that almost everybody has been, and they really enjoy seeing us in the parade.

We are having homemade pizza today. The dough is in the refrigerator. I still have to make the sauce. I decided it would be a good thing to do since I have pepperoni and cheese that need to be used. I really like pizza from an Italian restaurant better, but I don't feel like going out after walking (quite literally) all over town this morning.
I use a pizza recipe from the Betty Crocker Italian Cookbook. (I know, Betty Crocker isn't exactly an Italian household name, but the cookbook was written by Anthony Cecceoni, so the recipes are actually Italian. ) The pizza usually comes out pretty good, and we always have plenty leftover to freeze for lunches or snacks.


The laundry once again awaits. It is Saturday, so the laundry must be done. The sorting is the hardest part. Once I get that over with, the rest of it comes along in smaller, more easily digested chunks of work. Alas, getting started sorting is the hardest part. I think after the pizza is made and consumed I will get to the laundry.

I just found out there is a new Mitford novel out. Guess I better get to BOMC web site and order it. Those I collect. Most of my other series novels I have started just getting from the library due to space concerns, but I re-read the Mitford books from time to time, so I like to have my own copies. I also have all the Harry Potter books. There shouldn't be any more of those to worry about finding space for.

This has been a pleasant way to spend time while the pizza dough rests and rises again, but I think I am out of things to write and out of time.