Paisley Pup

Easy

Herself speaks.

The other night, I had a conversation with another friend of Cherished Friend, about Cherished Friend's forthcoming departure to a Place Far Away. And she pointed out that this change will be hard on him, and that he would miss us.

I don't know why it surprised me to hear her say so.  Perhaps I have been focusing so much on the benefits to Cherished Friend of this new change, that I have not looked at potential negatives for him.
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I have always had trouble putting myself in other people's shoes. I can understand theoretically how someone might feel under various hypothetical circumstances (given enough time to contemplate the situation), but it is difficult for me to grasp how someone is feeling in any particular moment unless there are very clear indications that I can see. Hidden motivations always elude me. Why must people be so complicated?

Sometimes I think I might just be defective in my ability to 'read' people. It does not come remotely naturally. Perhaps I am on the autism spectrum? Or perhaps my own feelings get in the way of being able to comprehend those of others.

I try. It can be exhausting.

I've learned over time to read those closest to me: Beloved Husband, the Offspring, my in-laws, my siblings, my parents. It has sometimes been a surprising lesson in my own inaccuracy, though, and I have made missteps along the way. I do not trust my view of others' feelings to be correct. I do not really understand people, even those I know well.

When I contemplate someone as stoic/semi-Vulcan as Cherished Friend, it is doubly difficult to know what is going on inside his head. (Though I know it is a very busy place.)  I am sure he has feelings in there somewhere. He plays them so close to his chest and so quietly, though, that I may not see they are there.

I don't want to make the Divergence harder for him than it may already be, by mentioning that I will be sad to see him go; but I cannot say nothing, for I do not want him to feel as though it is easy to say goodbye to him.

I have always thought that I am easy to leave: out of sight, out of mind, carry on. I do not want him to experience the same sense of ephemeral significance. Nor, on the other hand, do I want him to feel guilty for going to chase his dreams. I just want him to know that he will always be my most Cherished Friend, whatever distance there may be between us. 

I think he may already know. 

And that is enough.

Reassuring Signs

I feel better, knowing that business are trying to protect us as they reopen. 

Walkies

They may both be frail, but they still enjoy a morning jaunt in the neighborhood.

Ride

Herself speaks.

It has been four months since Beloved Husband purchased his motorcycle.  He has enjoyed it tremendously, regularly going for rides hither and yon. He has gone with some buddies from work, and Cherished Friend has joined him on occasion. I am glad that Beloved Husband has had experienced and reliable people with whom to enjoy riding.

A few weeks back, I spent a Saturday cleaning the house while they were out riding. I envied them their freedom. And so, a brief discussion later, Beloved Husband had ordered appropriate riding clothing for me. This past Friday, I made my first non-essential trip into a store, to purchase a helmet. And yesterday, we went for a ride.

Because Beloved Husband is a novice, it would have been extremely imprudent for us to ride together. (Cannot put all the parental eggs in one proverbial basket, even if the Offspring are essentially grown.) Cherished Friend graciously allowed me to sit as passenger on his bike. And off we all went.
-----

Being on a motorcycle is a full-body sensory experience: the sound of the wind, the smell of the grasses and the onion fields and the fried-food establishments, the scenery flashing by, the feel of the road. The wind quieted the noise inside my head. The mountains in the distance reminded me of the drives I have taken to Points North in the desert, where there would be hiking in the mountains and breakfast at IHOP and rummaging in the used book store. Along the ride, the trees were in full leaf, and the crops included all sorts of green sprouts, and there was water in the river. There was an occasional dog barking, and a cat stalking across the road, and another motorcycle passing by. Beloved Husband on the road ahead or in the rear-view mirror behind, and I in the moment where I sat. All I needed to do was stay well seated and go with the flow.

I was a little concerned about sitting so close to Cherished Friend, because I know he has a substantial Personal Space Sphere and I do not like to impinge upon his physical territory. He showed no signs of discomfort, though, and it was a bittersweet pleasure, to be in his close proximity knowing that the Divergence is on the horizon.

It was a SUPERB experience.

I will look back on the ride as a shining point in time, when all was, for the moment, well.

457 to 460

Six

Herself speaks.

I was surprised this morning when Facebook reminded me that it is the sixth anniversary of the Unmooring. Usually May is a tricky month, with transitions that generate flashbacks to other changes including the Unmooring; this year, however, the days and weeks of Stay-at-Home/Work-Safe have blended time into a long, seamless stream of uncertainty from which such reminders are absent. It's a very strange state of affairs. 

It is hard, now, to stretch back through time and touch the tremendous grief that accompanied the Unmooring. Perhaps it is the current unease that renders that feeling unreachable. Perhaps it is the sound of the approaching Divergence that distracts from old sorrow. And perhaps, too, I have at long last come to terms with the Unmooring. Life, and I, have moved on. 

It might be time for me to look backward less, and to set some goals to which to look forward more. I am not sure what to do: I have tended to the needs of others -- husband, children, extended family, clients -- for so very long, that I feel a little lost. What do I want? What can I do for myself, without it impinging on my obligations to others? What would make me happy? 

I don't know. I have a hard time thinking about what I want. 

I do know, that it's easier not to be disappointed if you have no expectations or anticipations; and that much of my disinclination to set future objectives is borne out of a desire not to feel the sting when things do not go as I hope. The tasks at hand thus appear to be: learn to embrace the possibility of obstacles or setbacks, as well as to imagine alternative pathways, in setting and reaching goals. 

We shall see how it goes. 

I can't change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to reach my destination.

The Die Is Cast

Herself speaks.

The divergence has been set in motion.

I do not want to write about it, because it pains me to put the words forth, but -- much like pulling off a Band-aid bandage -- perhaps it will hurt less in the long run if I do so.

And so: Cherished Friend is moving 1,700 miles away from this desert land.

Emotional multi-tasking: I am very happy for him, for it is a solid step on the path toward his bringing his goals to life. Yet I am bereft for myself, for the loss of his proximity.

The grief of this change might not be quite so weighty, if not for the fact that Pandemic. I cannot just jump on a plane to go visit any time soon. And if he contracts COVID, I cannot drop off meals or supplies. I can do nothing but watch from afar. It is hard, not knowing when I will see him again in person after this parting, and knowing that there is a nebulous danger hanging over us all that makes a local support system more important than ever.

Even without the specter of the plague, there is no doubt that this is a bittersweet change. I try to console myself with thoughts of desert adventures we have shared, games of Scrabble we have played, and the complex and enjoyable conversations we have had in places varying from the back porch to the pathways of Carlsbad Caverns to hiking trails in the woods. And though I am comforted, I am also saddened by the knowledge that those times will be few and far between now.

Yet: I can vicariously experience his new seaside adventures, and we can play Scrabble online, and there is the telephone and Skype and email and text and other forms of communication to keep the bridge strong.

It won't be the same.

Nevertheless, 2020 appears to be truly a year of learning what 'new normal' means -- and this must be one more new normal that we must find.

I will not listen to that tiny voice that whispers, he will go away, and make new friends in his new place, and you will be out of sight, out of mind, unnecessary, unimportant, forgotten. The Dementor of abandonment shall not cross my doorstep. Expecto patronum!

I wish for him, All Good Things, including contentment, satisfaction, and flashes of joy. I hope this change brings him ever closer to his aspirations, and that he succeeds in all he tries. And if I can wave him off onto this new Path with love, that is the best I can do. 

Perhaps Ben Harper, Goodbye to you, will help.

Poorly Timed Advertisements, Pandemic Edition

Off-ramp/On-ramp

Herself speaks.

There may be a divergence soon. Though it is not unexpected, it is not without complex emotions: hope and grief go hand-in-hand. There are places unknown, but with tremendous potential, on the metaphorical -- and likely literal -- horizon.  An on-ramp is finally visible for a highway long sought.

I shall write more once a ball is set in motion.

Until then, we seek solace in an old favorite: Amen Omen, of Ben Harper.

Distraction

Herself speaks.

Lots of us have developed Pandemic Pastimes: making sourdough bread apparently is a popular choice, for example. Others have taken up knitting, or learning a new instrument, or organizing all of their closets. Or staring blankly out into nothing. Lots of that, more than we are all willing to admit, no doubt.

I've chosen to peruse recreational vehicles. Class C RVs, in particular. I'm not entirely sure why -- it's unlikely I'll actually ever purchase one. Perhaps it's the idea of the freedom implied by a home on wheels.

Sometimes, I look for a small RV: 25 feet, perhaps, but with all the amenities of kitchen/bathroom/bed. Good for a trip somewhere. Sometimes, I contemplate a slightly larger RV: no more than 32 feet, with more storage space, the addition of a couch. Something that would be satisfactory for longer-term habitation.

I don't generally look at price; it's immaterial since I'm not in the market. I do look for things such as ample cabinets, a pantry, a little bit of counter space, room to stow a few things in the bathroom, a flat surface for my glasses next to the (preferably walk-around) bed. Not too many slide-outs. Not all models have everything; I pick and choose as to what is most important.

One option that I find particularly pleasing, when I am contemplating larger RVs, is the Jayco Greyhawk 30X.It has so many of the features I find desirable: A walk-around bed, a bedside table area, counter space next to the sinks (both kitchen and bathroom), a pantry, ample storage space. Lovely. I think that it's a bit large to imagine toodling around the country in, unfortunately; perhaps, though, I just need to re-tool my imagination for slightly different adventure.

I'm still working on finding the perfect smaller RV. The Jayco Melbourne 24L comes close; though it lacks a bedside table, it does have good storage and counter space, and I especially like the round kitchen sink. The Jayco Redhawk 22J is also appealing; although the size of the kitchen sink means that there is little counter space, it does have excellent bedside tables, and also includes good wardrobe and pantry space. Decisions, decisions.

I'm searching other manufacturers now. Many of the models have very similar layouts, and so it is the small things that are the deciding factors. We shall see if I find other models of interest.

I may never actually get in and take a drive, but it is still a nice escape inside my head for the moment.

The 2020 Jayco Melbourne, found here:
https://www.jayco.com/products/class-c-motorhomes/2020-melbourne/24l/

Snore

Tiny Dog has been on her seizure medication for a week now. The first few days were a bit rough; her back end was a bit wobbly and she had trouble walking. It was rather a bit heartbreaking. She spent much of the time in the dog carrying sling or in my lap (two of her favorite places). Snoring gently. Not so bad.

The ataxia has improved, and she is her regular feisty self, and I worry a bit less about her having another seizure. I know a break-through seizure is likely inevitable, but I have a little bit more peace of mind with her on the medication. Peace of mind is in scarce supply these days, so we take what we can get.

Bless you, Tiny Dog. 

Pandemic Thoughts, Five

Herself speaks.

I have reached a new level of numbness in the ongoing Weirdness that is the Pandemic. I do not feel fear, nor panic; nor anger; nor frustration with the situation. Nor even love -- which, if I did feel feelings, would make me sad to admit.

I go through the motions, I do what is needed. I think I might break, though, if one Feeling seeps through the Wall I have built for protection during this time.
-----

While scrolling fruitlessly through Facebook this afternoon, I came across a National Geographic post with footage of a blue whale nursing her calf. And I thought about that mama whale, moving serenely through the ocean with her child, and I marveled at the serenity. What would it be like, moving slowly, purposefully, peacefully through the quiet waters?

I do not know.
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Perhaps a little music will help. Let's try John Legend and Alicia Keys, Let It Be. 

Snail Trail

If you look very closely at the path in the morning light, you can see the trail left by one or more snails who meandered the sidewalk previously. Every now and then we can even see the snail at the very end of the trail. 

It's always a little mysterious, seeing signs here in the desert of critters that I normally associate with wetter climates. It is a reminder to look for all the little miracles, every day. 

Life finds a way. 

Snooze

Today's miscellaneous thoughts:

On pets:

Tiny Dog is experiencing a bit of ataxia because of her new anti-seizure medication. I am bereft at the thought that she is not able to hunt lizards or chase her favorite toys. Everything I have read seems to state that she may improve as she gets used to the medication. Let us hope. Bless you, my Tiny Dog. 

On Harry Potter:

Whatever happened to Crookshanks and Pigwidgeon after the Battle of Hogwarts? Did they go back to Hermione and Ron? 

On COVID:

One of our household may have been indirectly exposed to the coronavirus at work. We shall see what testing reveals. I know it's only a matter of time until one of us comes down with COVID, and we'll do what we have to do when it happens. 

The fear of illness I carry with me is not a rational fear. (Then again, my fear of illness has never been rational.) We'll get through. One day at a time.

I think I will go bleach the doorknobs, just in case. 

Maybe A Little Stoned

Current Mood

Herself speaks.

In this Ongoing Pandemic Weirdness, it is hard to post -- so little seems important enough to set into words, and yet everything is rather a bit fraught so surely processing by writing would help?  

Is there any relevance to internal dialog that includes thoughts such as: Should I bleach all the doorknobs and lightswitches?

I think that perhaps I will opt for a daily (or at least a regular) photo post for a bit. It might be a motivational task. Or will it, like everything else, seem overwhelming in the face of everything, and yet nothing, matters?

We shall see. In the meanwhile, New Old Dog summarizes the current sentiment nicely.

Love Your Mom

Twitch

We were able to take Tiny Dog to the vet's to follow up on the seizure of last week.  The good news: the bloodwork didn't show anything significant that might be causing seizures.  Although platelets and bilirubin were both a bit high, everything else was within normal parameters.  The bad news: so, we don't know what's causing the seizures. Hmmm.

The Googles tells me that a likely cause of geriatric-onset seizures in canines is... brain tumors. Oh, dear. There is no way I'm going to subject a nearly ten-year-old, five-pound chihuahua with a grade 6 heart murmur to an MRI, though, so we'll likely never know for sure.

And does it matter? The course of treatment would be palliative, as it is now. For the moment, the strategy is to start her on anti-seizure meds. I'm ambivalent, because I am concerned about side effects, yet also worried about the possibility of more, and more severe, seizures.

Is this the beginning of the end? Is this a long slow walk? Or will it be a fall off of a cliff? There is no way to be sure.

I don't like not knowing things.

We'll do the best we can for our very tiny dog. She is so small. And cute. She breaks my heart.

Oh, Tiny Dog.

Summertime

Today's earworm: Summertime, by Orville Peck.

Perfect.

Shoulder Dog

On the patio in the evening, after becoming worn out from seeking the lizards.

Detente

Offspring the Third wanted very much to get a companion for his kitty. And so, another kitty has joined the household. Kitty the First took umbrage at interloper Kitty the Second, but they appear to be working things out. 

It's good for our small fur friends to have a similar fur companion. Tiny Dog, for all her grumbling, previously tolerated (and even occasionally enjoyed) Elderly Three-toothed Dog's company, and now feels the same about New Old Dog. As long as there is an understanding about who is in charge, there should be no issues. 

Good luck, kitties. Offspring the Third will take very good care of both of you. 

Let It Be

Herself speaks.

Tiny Dog had another seizure last night. It lasted about a minute and a half -- forever, it seemed.  Fortunately we had the wherewithal to film a bit of it so that we can show the vet exactly what happened. She was a little groggy, agitated, and unsteady afterward, but eventually settled down to a peaceful night. She has spent much of today tucked inside my shirt while I work from home. She seems a bit tired, but still feisty.

Because of pandemic restrictions, our regular vet had no appointments available until next Friday. My only other option was to drop Tiny Dog off at the vet's office, so that they could look at her whenever they could squeeze her in. Given her personality and her grade VI heart murmur, I thought spending all day trembling in a cage alone at the vet's office would be a Very Bad Situation. So now, we wait. We keep her calm and comfortable.

I'm not sure what this portends. All my COVID-related fears are now centered on the mental image of my Tiny Dog alone without her people, and my heart breaks at the very idea.

Tiny Dog. We will do what we can for you.

Here is a song for you, with a kindred spirit. Malinda serenades a feisty tiny dog with Let It Be. Perfect.