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an everyday life

Author Archives: Janell

Great Scot!

07 Sunday Jun 2009

Posted by Janell in Life at Home

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Dog Tales, Everyday Life, Scottish Terriers, Standard French Poodles, Writing

DSC_0118aI thought about Kelli’s message for three days before calling her back.  Kelli has this great little Scottie lass…if we still want one.  And if… the poodles and Cosmo can play together nice. 

But how could Kelli know she was catching me at a weak moment?  I don’t need another dog.  Two gorgeous standard poodles should be enough.  But… for reasons that defy reason, for the last few weeks I’ve been wrestling with longing for a little Scottie dog.  And it sure didn’t help that I ran into this journal entry a few days before Kelli’s call.

October 2007

“As I read, a Scottie crawls into my lap to rest heavily on my legs.  He is snoring.  A dead weight, dead to the world, completely relaxed in my presence.  I hate to bring it to an end, it is so comforting.  But duty to Karson calls.”

My Scotties are truly dead to the world now.  Tavish, my lap-warmer, died in July 2007 and his brother Mac  adopted Maddie into the fold before dying  ten months later.  Well, to be honest, Mac didn’t exactly throw out the welcome mat upon Maddie’s arrival.  Because at first he tried to ignore her, hoping she would just go away.  And being a little hard of hearing helped Mac a lot.  But when Mac realized Maddie was here for good, Mac began ‘acting out’, letting us know in no uncertain terms of his displeasure.  And this came long before Maddie began her torments, of which her favorite was nip-a-scottie-in-the-butt.

At the ripe old age of twelve, Mac was long past playing games.  He was retired, for goodness sake, at least before Mad Maddie arrived on the scene to provide him a bit of unprescribed grief therapy.  Or maybe we got our signals crossed and Maddie thought she was here to give Max a lot of grief?  Without a therapy component?

As most senior dogs do in retirement, Mac slept away his life, either in his favorite kitchen corner, or when I was in it, near my favorite living room chair.  Unfortunately, the latter left him vulnerable to Maddie’s sneak attacks, which promptly began whenever Mac began to snore deep, his unknowing signal to Maddie that the coast was clear.  Quickly springing up on her young poodle legs, this little lady-in-waiting dived toward Mac’s backside to give Mac a little nip — Maddie’s  way of saying — “Let’s play old man.” 

It was a rude wake-up call for our little guy.  Full of idignation and blustery Scottish fire, our faithful old geezer would stand up all our fours as quickly as his arthritic legs allowed and begin to  bark Maddie a piece of his mind, to let her know she’d gone too far.  And poor Mac would be so focused on barking that he wouldn’t notice Maddie had flown around the room for her second sneak attack.  And then the game was truly on, Mac turning like a weather vane as Mad Maddie tried to nip his hiney from both directions, first north then south.  

Somehow, in spite of these torments… and perhaps Mac’s better sense… Mac fell in love with la Madeleine.  I noticed Mac’s tenderized heart about a month after Maddie’s arrival, when Mac began expressing interest in accompanying Don and Maddie on their evening walk.  We knew there was no possible way Mac could keep up with Maddie’s pace.  For even in the prime of Mac’s life, those short legs would have been hard-pressed to keep up with our long-legged poodle. 

But true to Scottie form, Mac was determined, so I volunteered to walk Mac so that Mr. December would not hold his new young love back.  And to give credit where due, our little guy walked as fast as his old short legs would carry him.  But when the inevitable happened, and Don & Maddie disapppeared from sight, Mac threw on the brakes and put his old body in ‘park.’   And no matter how much I encouraged, Mac wouldn’t budge.  Because for better or worse, Maddie was his girl, and he knew she’d be back for him, once she’d discovered he was no longer following.  And in his way, Mac was right.  For when Don and Maddie arrived home to notice Mac and I stalled half-way up block, they trotted up for rescue and recovery.  And Maddie’s arrival would make Mac so happy.  He’d just get right up and follow Maddie back home.

So I know scotties and poodles make great friends and that Max and Maddie will welcome little Cosmo to their poodle games and walks.  And my waiting lap will offer a bit of rest whenever Cosmo’s ready to take a breather from playing with the big kids.

A Yankee Transplant

06 Saturday Jun 2009

Posted by Janell in In the Garden, Life at Home, Mesta Park

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Aging, Death, Everyday Life, Mesta Park, Oklahoma Gardening, Parents, Writing

The old stressed Magnolia outside my window is blooming profusely this summer, which is not a good sign.  Sensing its days are numbered, the Magnolia is reproducing many seeds, in hope that some will land on fertile ground.  I often wonder how old the Magnolia is.  Was it planted back in 1928, when the home’s first owners moved into what is now Mesta Park?  If so, my tree would be close to Daddy’s age. 

I’ve an interest in knowing more about Daddy’s early days as well.  But he has no interest in me knowing.  This Saturday and last, I invited Dad to confirm bits and pieces of his childhood told to me by his sister, my Aunt Carol.  He ignores me.  But later, when I wonder aloud a simple question about the actors on an old Andy Griffith show we are watching together, he has no trouble getting his point across.   Only the trivial is worthy of a response.  

So Daddy’s past appears irrevocably closed.  I will not attempt to cross back to the land of his childhood again.  But today, I learned that even our shared past is full of unknowns, because my point of view is different than Daddy’s.  This lesson was brought home by thumbing through a travel journal I made Daddy seven years ago, on the occasion of his seventy-second birthday. 

The journal records memories of a vacation we took eleven years ago — Daddy, Christi, Don and I– when we stayed seven days in Ireland and three days each in London and Paris.   I kept a contemporaeous journal of our travels and I think it was Christi who put the bug in my ear that Daddy might enjoy a copy of my memories for himself.  So it was Daddy’s copy of the travel journal I picked up this afternoon, in an effort to share memories with Daddy, even while Daddy was off on his own travels in the land of  nod.  

At the end of my words on Paris, I was surprised to run across an entry in Daddy’s own handwriting, that seven years ago, was still strong and legible, rather the faint hieroglyphics it has become today.  Daddy’s memories of Paris were different than mine, he wrote, probably because he was older than me.  For one, Daddy loved seeing the bird’s eye view of Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower, as we circled the city in the air on our arrival into Paris.  And he also expressed thanks that Don was willing to climb 160 feet of stairs to the top of the Arc de Triumph, for he didn’t think he would ever forget seeing eleven roads converge into one.   Simple things became unforgettable for Daddy. 

And though not simple himself, Daddy too will be unforgettable.  Though the rich and lovely memories that I share with Daddy alone… as well as the dark secrets of the past that remain unknown by any save Daddy… will all die with Daddy’s death.   When that happens, a small part of me will die too, because Daddy’s life and mine are intertwined, and his passing will leave me with unfillable void.  

No so with the old Magnolia outside my window.  And while I mean no disrespect, when this old girl dies, I’ll just plant another tree.   And it will not be another Magnolia or any other southern tree.  Rather, if such a thing exists, perhaps a nice Yankee tree, in memory of Daddy, that like Daddy himself, will prove a strong transplant for Oklahoma.  

Settling In?

04 Thursday Jun 2009

Posted by Janell in Life at Home, Soul Care

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Tags

Aging, Death, Everyday Life, OKC Dining Out, Parents, Pixar movie 'UP", Robert Browning, Soul Care, Writing

Life is settling into a new everyday normal.  Don has been home from Beijing a week now, so life is good on the home-front. Meanwhile, when I saw Dad on Tuesday at his new home away from home — a rehab center in Seminole — he seemed to be settling a little more into his old self, in spirit if not in body. 

I know from experience that Dad’s condition is a day-by-day thing.  One day he seems to be on the rebound.  Two days later he’s in the ER, surrounded by his daughters and a sister-in-law.  Daddy’s condition teaches me that a good Tuesday is not a sign of a good Thursday or even a string of good days, but only ‘what is’ — that he is having a good day on Tuesday.

Even now, my Father teaches me.  And I am thankful for ‘what is’, rather than thankful for what I hope will be–a string of better days ahead for Daddy.   Being anchored in the present with a grateful heart keeps me from fearing what I cannot control, what one day will be, what one day will come unexpectedly too soon, which keeps at bay the worry and fear of what may be hiding around the next corner — or Thursday.

Today is Thursday.  And the last four Thursdays in Daddy’s life have been anything but settling.  Two ER visits, one almost ER visit that lessened into an unscheduled Friday doctor’s appointment and then, last week, making arrangements for Daddy’s rehab stay.   By any rights, I should fear seeing the face of  another Thursday, as they’ve brought nothing but bad news of late.  But instead, I choose hope rather than fear.  And instead of anxiety, it is peace that settles in all around me, like some warm soft blanket, fresh from the dryer on a cool Thursday night in June.

Living in the present moment creates an open spirit, a heightened awareness to see and receive unexpected gifts that would be easy to miss were I preoccupied with worry.  Last Sunday for instance, my family gathered in Norman for May’s movable feast, for some of Kyle’s favorite fast-food chicken, which is served up by Raising Cain’s.    The strength of numbers from the after-church crowd caused us not to settle into our choice large table for too long, but rather than adjourning to go our separate ways, we vacated to spend time in a nearby park and then decided to go see the new Pixar movie “UP”.  

I knew nothing about the movie when I signed ‘up’ to go.  And as I settled into my chair and into the latest installment of Disney — that offers something to children of all ages — I saw that the hero of the film looked a little like my Daddy: A lonely widower, who was something of a dreamy introvert, who was misunderstood and under-appreciated by the world, who was being forced, against his will, to give up his treasured home for a new life in a nursing home.   To see how all these elements that sound so down can become the source of moving ‘Up’ is better seen than explained.  And it is worth seeing.  I left the movie feeling up.   And with the feeling that it’s best not to become too settled, but to be open to whichever way the wind blows us.  And to hold everything and everyone in this world lightly, whether a treasured house packed full of memories or a treasured best-in-the-world Daddy.  Because, as Robert Browning wrote, all those years ago, the best is yet to be.

“Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith “A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!”
Robert Browing, from Rabbi Ben Ezra 

 

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