“Car”ma….

21 08 2010

So, last night a bunch of us girls went out to enjoy a long, giggle-filled DELICIOUS dinner at fusion in Nelson. Afterward, we headed out to MarketFest, to enjoy the sights, sounds and funky stuff that is this amazing little town we live by….

(I had the most fantastic pasta, btw…. Wild mushrooms, essence of truffle, goat cheese and spinach. It. was. sublime.)

We were crossing the street, the bunch of us. The car approaching us on the left stopped to let us cross, and when we reached the middle of the road, we stopped as the car coming at us on the right was obviously not going to stop.

My sister hollered out “HEY!!!! You’re supposed to stop!!!” (Did I mention there were mocha mojitoes at Fusion???), and this odd little ol’ man’s bewildered face looked at us as he zoomed by, his wispy combover gently blowing in the breeze from his open window.

Just then, the ghost car right behind him flicked on his flashing red and blue police lights, and proceeded to pull the old feller over, amidst our shrieks of laughter at the sweet coincidence of perfect timing.

Others saw, and laughed too.

Karma will getcha…. Sometimes instantly…..

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Ugh.

5 08 2010

So, yesterday, I sat down, full of the giggles, and wrote a bit of a post about my old crotchety cat, of whom the running joke about her impending death is quite common ’round these parts. I interspersed her annoying qualities and my frank desire to have her finally die with loving tributes to her sweetness and tenacity. I chose to store it as a draft, as I usually have a few more tweaks to my writing before I hit that publish key.

And just then, my daughter discovered her own cat, dead on our sidewalk. She had been hit moments before by a car, struggled her way home and died right outside of my house. My daughter’s cries of anguish made me run outside, my son broke into tears, and my mothering arms could do no more but hold them close to me as we found out together what it feels like to lose a treasured family pet.

I found out how hard it is to see your child feel grief.

We all took turns holding our sweet Bamboo to say goodbye; this thin tortoiseshell cat that Elisabeth chose from the SPCA for her 6th birthday. The first day we brought her home, that cat slept on Elisabeth’s bed. She knew who she belonged to instantly. Other than a bit of blood on her mouth, she looked completely fine. She was still warm in our arms as we discussed what we needed to do.

We all got down to the fine art of burying her. Special mementos were placed in the box with her. We all signed the box with messages of love to her. Flowers from our garden were chosen and cut, placed around her sweet kitty body.

Elisabeth carried her down by her own flower garden, where Dan had prepared the grave. Oh, my little girl just knew how to be strong, to handle the task at hand. Her tears and grief magnified the simple beauty of our impromptu funeral. She lovingly did what she felt she had to do, and then stood back. Together, then, Dan and Nicholas filled the grave. It touched my heart when Nick picked up the shovel, this act of burying was such a hands-on way of dealing with this tiny death. It was what he needed to do.

As we all stood together, in the final moments after the sod was placed back, my dog (who adored Bamboo, as she loved to rub on his legs every day and allowed him to sniff her butt whenever he wanted to) came into our grieving group. Not usually a “leaner” on people, he nudged his way in, and placed his whole body against my leg, almost pushing us over, as if to say “I’m sad too”.

We all went into the house to begin the process of grieving our loss, as small as it may seem to some. My heart hurts for my kids, this mini-tragedy is their first taste of true grief over death. It has let me see how I will need to handle the bigger losses yet to come.





Goodbye July….Hello August….

1 08 2010

The majority of the year, I am either in mourning or anticipation of summer.

But right now, in this very moment, I am in it. I am immersed and surrounded and breathing the very sumptuous delight that is summertime.

That hot, sensual and (almost but not quite) unbearable tightness of the sun on my skin is a very healing balm to my soul. The only way to alleviate the heat is to plunge into the waters of my lake. I try to be in the water every day in these precious days of summer. Whether it is an all-day excursion to the beach or a quick dip in the evening after my kids are in bed, I try to baptize myself in the water as much as I can. No matter if it’s raining or sunny. I will not have that regret in the thick of winter that I didn’t swim enough. Soon enough this summer will be over and I refuse to have any regrets about not being in the moment, enjoying the richness of the heat and sun.

Summertime is sexy. I feel the most alive in the sun. The heat draws an intimate delight from the very core of me, like butter I relax, ooze and bake in the warmth of July and August.

My skin is brown, my hair gets bleached. I am at my fittest, since nothing equals running in the summertime. Yoga on the deck, bike rides along the shore, long swims. Nothing but fresh fruit to eat; peaches and cherries and nectarines, juicy, fresh, fulfilling. Crisp cold ciders to finish off the day, picking fresh tomatoes and beans for supper.

I really hope I don’t die any time soon, as that would really piss me off that I couldn’t enjoy another summer. I need to rock my bikini for a few more years.

So. Right now, at this very moment, I have no grief and mourning in my heart, there is no anticipation vibrating inside my heart. Right now, at this very moment, summer is here. Summer is all around, it is the life force that speaks to me through birds chirping at 4 a.m., it is the thunderstorm that rumbles late at night, it is excess of growth in my garden, the heat and life that thrums around me.

It’s every thing I dream of, the core of satisfaction, the ultimate time to be alive.

It is summertime. It’s everything to me.