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 tag “journal”

Progress

I walked forty steps with my walker today.  Breathless afterwards and had to rest, but it’s a beginning.

The past few weeks have been brutal, physically.  Today was more of the same but I decided I can’t go on like this.  I have to do something!  So I pushed through discomfort and fear, clenched my teeth and just DID it!  Jenny walking beside me.  The sun is shining, the weather is mild.  I’m alive again!

 

 

 

 

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Thank You and Best Wishes

Just want to wish everyone a healthy and happy new year.  May 2013 bring peace and safety to all parts of the world.  Thank you, my blogging friends, for your interest and support in me and my imperfect blog.  I’m amazed by the warmth and caring I’ve found here.  I can’t tell you how I’ve benefited from knowing you.  I hope to have more to give to you in 2013. Love and hugs. XO  Mary

Where is Jenny?

She had her first grooming since her move to Missouri.  I hired a woman who drives a mobile unit and does the transformation in the driveway.   This week, she had to park in front of the house as there were other vehicles in the drive.

Jenny was at the door in a hour, looking like a little skinned rat!  My sweet girl has been hiding under a huge fur ball and now she’s clipped almost bare.  The top knot too short and her ear hair cut in half!  Her beautiful, long, lovely ears!  I wish I knew how to transfer photos from my iphone to wordpress, but, sigh, I haven’t learned that yet.  I hope the top knot and ears will grow out again.

She’s still sweet and lovable and my best friend.  She follows me everywhere I go.  This minute, as I type these words, she’s snuggled up against me, sleeping.

It’s 7:00 P.M.  Ken’s been gone since 3:00.  I keep the TV on to drown out the silence.  I have such a hard time being alone.  I loved it when I worked three jobs and had family coming and going.  Then, time alone was rare and precious.  Now, I have entirely too much of it.  The warmth of my loyal companion is relaxing and soothing.  I’m so grateful she’s in my life.

 

Such a Pretty Girl!

Jennypenny, my sweet mini-poodle, got her first grooming since becoming a member of our family.  Since she’s been through so much in the last three weeks-a long plane ride with three stops, leaving everything she knew behind, having to meet new people and kitties, getting used to a new home and a new way of life, meeting strangers at the door, etc., I wanted not to have it done too soon and to be as stress free as possible.

I searched the internet and found a mobile unit.  The owner, Be Be, drives to your home, parks in the driveway or in front of your house, and grooms your dog in air-conditioned comfort.  There are no other animals around and no waiting in cages. It takes about an hour to do a small mini-poodle.

The first thing she did after Debbie brought her in was to pee on the living room carpet.

Then she paraded in front of me as if to say, “See how pretty I am.”  Now she’s curled up next to me, sleeping.  Worn out and glad it’s over.  She looks so different!  Soft and small.  Not the  fur ball who arrived three weeks ago.

“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.

This Lovely Creature

will soon join our family.  I’ve fallen in love with her already.  She was five years old yesterday, retired by her breeder and will live in her forever after home with me.  Her name is Audrey.  I’ve bought her a new ortho comfy bed where she can curl up and dream happy dreams.  My empty arms will soon be filled again. 

The Dog Bed

Super soft

dusk gray

cozy

velvet pillow

arched & rising

from the floor

thick foam

bolster

to rest a chin

or lay a head

reaching out

to cradle & comfort

old joints

tired bones–

empty again

(c) Mary Harrison, 8-4-12

Thinking of sweet Muffy, Betsy and Scott

It’s been rough.  Today, all day, I did nothing.  I felt physically and mentally ill.

Muffy was put to sleep about a month ago in the ER.  She was dying of cancer of the liver; Betsy died Wednesday morning at home.  It all happened so fast.  She seemed okay.  Then she became ill and died.  Her ashes were delivered today.

And today is the anniversary of my son Scott’s  suicide.  I always dread August.  The day Scott killed himself, we were having a heat wave.  And now, again.

There’s always such guilt involved when a loved one, so close, dies.  What were the signs it was going to happen?  Why didn’t I see?  What could I have done to save my son?  My baby girls?  Was I inattentive, negligent in some way?  The questions haunt you, disturb/prevent sleep, tie your stomach in a knot so that you can’t eat.

Karen came with gifts, as usual.    She’s here visiting her mother; always comes by when she’s here.  Today she brought a cinnamon roll from the bakery on National and some lovely tomatoes,cucumbers and watermelon from a fruit stand.  I took a few bites of the cinnamon roll, had a tomato for supper.

My heart is breaking.  My mind isn’t really working.  I’ll tell the stories of Muffy, Betsy and Scott another time.  Just wanted to mention them on this day.

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