oldsunbird

"I have been more outrageous and more alone and more courageous than the world has known. Passerby, my heart is like your own."

Archive for the month “September, 2012”

JennyPenny

She’s 10, a red mini-poodle, on the small side.  She joined our family last Friday after a long flight that lasted all day, with two lay-overs.  She was tired and scared when she arrived.  My joy at having her was tempered by the knowledge that she was ripped from her other family and the only world she’d ever known to be with me.   I’m humbled and honored to be her new mother and I’ll do all in my power to make her comfortable and happy.

She’s eating well, drinking water and going outside to potty.  She does a happy dance (twirls in circles) when she’s excited, especially when she knows she’s going to get her thyroid pill wrapped in a piece of cheese.   She was very nervous about the cats at first; and though she’s still  not interacting with them, their presence in the room no longer makes her shake.  She mostly ignores them.

She’s a sweet, mild-mannered little soul and I love her already.

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Meet JennyPenny

JennyPenny

Unhappy Thoughts

Feeling low.  An emptiness I can’t fill.  Watching reruns on TV.  Trying to read.  Fixing meals.  Just going through the motions.

I’m sad, anxious.  Three weeks ago I began getting ready for Audrey, a lovely mini poodle from Daisy Hill Poodles.  Linda emailed pictures.  I fell in love.  A week ago, I got a call from Linda informing me that she wasn’t going to ship Audrey after all because she was afraid she wouldn’t do well with the flight.  Audrey is a mild mannered dog and the flight would be difficult, not to mention new people and a new life at the end of the line.  Actually, I was relieved that sweet Audrey wouldn’t have to make that trip.  I was worried about her myself.  But sad for me.

In the meantime, I’d bought a new ortho doggie bed, a nice collar, all the things I thought would make her comfortable.  I even hired someone to come and help arrange things in the house, with Audrey in mind.   No different from how I’d get ready for a family member or a friend.  As far as I was concerned, she WAS a family member, and I could hardly wait to welcome her into her new home.

What do I do with all that energy?  All those emotions?  I tell myself I have to forget her.  But I can’t.  She’s in my heart.  All this love, and no where to put it.

Lonely Tonight

I sit in bed, computer on my lap, TV on.  We had a severe storm earlier with high winds.  The lights blinked for a few seconds and I looked for the flashlight, but didn’t need it after all.

This is the day Audrey was supposed to arrive.  Her bed I ordered from Amazon arrived a week ago.  I took it out of the box and it’s been waiting.  How many times did I imagine her in it?  And the pretty collar?

The bed is still empty.  And it will never hold Audrey girl.  Linda called Wednesday night with the news that Audrey will not be coming.  She’s a mild mannered little girl who scares easily.  And the plane ride would just be too much.  The entire experience of leaving the home she knows, sitting in a strange place, being taken in and out several times, ending with people she doesn’t know would be quite a blow.  I was worried about it myself  Dreaded it for her, in fact.  And was relieved for her when I learned she wasn’t coming.

But sad for me.  It’s amazing how I bonded with her having never seen her face to face.  It’s much like I felt when I carried my children.  You imagine and plan and wait.  I’m doing a kind of grieving.

Linda said she would send me some one else instead.  She also broke her foot stumbling over a cat and can’t take another to the airport right away, so there will be another wait.

It’s all right.  I don’t have any feelings for a new one right now.  I need to say goodbye to Audrey in my mind, though I know she’ll always be in my heart.

 

 

 

“Smile, though your heart is breaking…”

The day is winding down.  I’ve been going through old mail all day–statement after statement, receipt after receipt, letter after letter, advertisements, offers, magazines, catalogs, notebooks–2010, 2011, 2012.  All stuffed in boxes and plastic bags.  Mounds of paper staring at me, accusing, demonstrating the state of my mind–disorganized important, to me,  matter embedded in minutia.

Among the papers, I found an old Nat King Cole DVD.  Tonight, having worn myself out, I sit and listen to the old songs–The Very Thought of You, Mona Lisa, This Can’t Be Love, Smile.

The music takes me back, back to simpler times, when the only papers I had to deal with were the ones I wrote my homework on, my diary, poems, letters to Forrest, then my boyfriend (later my husband) and his to me.  It was during WW II.

We sang those songs during intermission at the movies–always a double feature, cartoons and live, very graphic news of the war.  No sugar-coating.  After the first feature ended, and the news, the lights went on, everyone stood and sang the songs as someone played an organ.  Songs mostly related to war.  The words moved across the screen and into our hearts as we joined our voices in pride and sorrow.   The news was filled with scenes of skies filled with war planes and parachuting soldiers, closeups of soldiers shooting at planes, some going down in smoke, piles of dead bodies, Americans, Japanese, Germans.

The movies were mostly  romantic war stories–brave soldiers, their adoring an understanding women.  There were always tears.  I was in my teens and very impressionable.

I’ve wondered what made me like I am.  Not until today, listening to Nat King Cole, have I made a connection between the war years and much of my personality.  I know that’s simplifying it, but I do now see a real connection.   I want to start exploring that connection, but for now, I just want to say, I’m quite a romantic.  My ideas about life have been unrealistic much of the time.  Consequently, I’ve been disappointed and disappointing.  I’ve smiled a lot, “though my heart was breaking.”

And not for a minute do I believe I’m unique.  How many of us do that?  Why do we?  And should we?  It’s a good thing to be positive.  But at the expense of being who we are, being able to express our sadness, at the expense of being emotionally isolated?  I want to bring these thoughts back, to be explored another day.  But, tonight, I’m tired.  I’ll take my sadness to bed.

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