My Furry Sidekick

Leo has not been feeling well. Yesterday I took him to see the vet, who gave me tiny pills to give him before he eats. Leo hasn't been able to keep any food down because his stomach contracts before he can digest the food. The pills are supposed to delay the process so he can eat and not get sick, which was still not the case yesterday afternoon. I went back to allowing him just water, and last night he glared at me while he stood watch at his empty food dish.

Then he decided water was better than nothing.

He has been as clingy as a toddler with a tummy ache. Last evening he went from Ken's lap to mine or climbed on any available surface to get as close to us as he could when we weren't sitting down. This morning I gave him a bit of white meat chicken, which seems to agree with him. I will know he's feeling better when he would rather be at his post at the top of the stairs than following me around the house.

Poor little guy. I've grown quite attached.

Some Days Are Like That

I was looking for a poem to describe the feeling when the pieces won't fit and there is nothing that can be done about it. I found this one, and it's just right.

In Answer to Your Query
by Naomi Lazard

We are sorry to inform you
the item you ordered
is no longer being produced.
It has not gone out of style
nor have people lost interest in it.
In fact, it has become
one of our most desired products.
Its popularity is still growing.
Orders for it come in
at an ever increasing rate.
However, a top-level decision
has caused this product
to be discontinued forever.

Instead of the item you ordered
we are sending you something else.
It is not the same thing,
nor is it a reasonable facsimile.
It is what we have in stock,
the very best we can offer.

If you are not happy
with this substitution
let us know as soon as possible.
As you can imagine
we already have quite an accumulation
of letters such as the one
you may or may not write.
To be totally fair
We respond to these complaints
as they come in.
Yours will be filed accordingly,
answered in its turn.

from Good Poems for Hard Times
Selected and Introduced by Garrison Keillor, 2005.

Pemaquid Point

On Saturday Ken and I drove down to Pemaquid Point. We walked down to the rocks to look out at the ocean ~

and back up at the lighthouse, circa 1857 ~

We were going up in the tower for the first time ~

to see the light ~

and the view out to sea ~

The Woman In The Mirror

Six months ago my life felt different than it does today. Some of what has changed belongs to me and some of it is due to circumstances. Twenty-six weeks, or one hundred eighty-two days, doesn't sound like a lot of time, until I think about all the things that have changed ~

My youngest son has moved to Boston.

I knew this was likely, but it was six months ago that it became a reality. He decided to pursue a co-op experience in the big city, which meant he would live there year round. Most of his friends are there, as well as his volunteering and engineering activities, so it made sense that he would want to be there, too.

Today his room is home to my sewing machine, and there are curtains at the windows.

My oldest son has moved to the west coast.

I knew this was a possibility, but I had filed it in the "remote chance" folder in my mind. He proposed to his girlfriend in January, and six months ago we were making plans. There is going to be a wedding! There are venues to see and cakes to taste and colors to choose! Things fell into place quickly, and I sensed an undercurrent of activity. Wedding plans gave way to job interviews and moving arrangements.

Today I put his motorcycle on a moving van bound for Cal-i-forn-ia.

My daughter has started her third year of residency.

Six months ago she was headed out of state for her second month-long rotation "away" in her second year. There was flurry of activity at the residency as the next class of interns was granted admission and graduation loomed for the finishing third-years. Politics, problems with schedules, and feelings of being overwhelmed prevailed. Then it was time for the new third-year residents to take the reins. This is the year they prepare for life after residency, where the person and the profession merge.

Today she is making decisions, some shared and some still unspoken, about her future.

Within the last six months my children have taken flight ~ away, all of them, away from me.

The woman in my mirror looks familiar, which is strange because inside I feel not at all the same.

My story is changing, as tears cleanse and sadness fades. Early-morning dreams and mid-day musings, when caught unaware, a glimmer of something new...then gone. Nothing left to hold onto but feelings that do not fit and patterns that no longer work. So let go....

Grasping at air and gasping for breath, I am reaching for what will fill the place left empty.

There is space where there was none. There is room for what comes next.

The journey continues....

This Is Our Life

Ken and I moved to Maine for the quality of life we found here. It is a good place to live and has been the best place for us to raise a family. Often times the best way to know about a place and the people who live there is to observe what they consider important and how they treat each other. The following video, to the song "This Is Our Life" by Mary Beth Maziarz, is a beautiful illustration of families in Maine. This is who we are ~



The issue of marriage equality is on the minds of many Mainers and the law will be subject to a people's referendum at the polls in November. In Maine, like so many places, we don't all live the same way or have the same opinion about every issue. We are an independent lot, and our laws represent the respect we have for all people. Though change is hard for some, fairness and equality are always the right answer. This is how we live ~



It helps for me to know that the people of Maine are not alone in their desire for fairness and equality for all. This video is for my daughter, who loves all things from Ireland ~

What Is That Noise?

For some weeks my 2001 Outback station wagon has been making a noise. The sound is a dull "thunk" beneath the driver's seat when I shift into reverse or accelerate from a stopped position. The noise is short-lived and disappears once I'm in motion.

I've been treating my car, I call her Lily May, gently because she was due to be inspected this month. I name my cars in hopes that the bond will prevent them from breaking down on some lone stretch of highway. So far, so good. Lily May is named for two of the characters in The Secret Life of Bees which I was reading when I bought the car.

I took her to the local garage Tuesday morning. I described the sound to the mechanic who said he'd see what he could find. Minutes later he returned to the waiting area with a stricken look that said she-is-going-to-think-I-broke-her-car.

"You have a broken u-joint."

The mechanic who works the desk was up and on his way to the work area in one fluid movement.

The two returned together and said in unison, "I've never seen a broken universal joint on a Subaru."

They ushered me to the bay where my car was up on a lift and showed me the broken joint on one end of the drive shaft, which joins the front and rear axles and makes it possible for the car to move. When the car would start moving the detached rod bounced up against the bottom of the car, hence the "thunk" sound. With enough momentum the rod could have busted through the floor of the car or taken out the front end or caused any amount of damage. But it didn't.

The guys said I could take the car home while they tried to find a used part, which would cost half the price of a new one, while me, who lives on a dirt road where potholes are year-round realities, felt like I had used up my portion of luck on this round and opted to leave my car at the garage.

Meanwhile, there was a small problem with our other car, a 1999 Legacy sedan called Loretta, named for her zippy get-up-and-go attitude. Last Friday she wouldn't shift out of park. Then hours later she would...but we didn't want any one of us to get stuck somewhere.

Loretta decided to shift Tuesday evening so off we went to leave her at the garage with the thought that it was something easy to fix, a sensor or casing between the shifter and the brake. I was hopeful.

Wednesday morning I called to ask if they had found the problem. Yes, they had. There was a mouse nest in the shifting assembly. The nest had been removed, the car was running fine, and the bill was $36.10.

That evening I told my son, who drives Loretta when he's home, what the problem was. He was philosophical. "It's because we live in the woods, isn't it?"

Well, yes. But it's also because we live here that we found a garage we can trust that has mechanics who will do all they can for the lowest price to keep our cars running.

It evens out I think.

Relative Normal

Ken had a follow-up doctor's appointment on Friday. He looks good, feels good, is back to work, and feels like his old self. The doctor wanted numbers and pictures for confirmation. The lab drew blood and radiology took a chest x-ray.

Yesterday the doctor called with the results: everything looks normal. Hallelujah.

So Ken is back to normal. Meanwhile, my context for normal has changed and I no longer have a reference point.

Normal is relative. If there is something to compare it to, then you know. If you're in new territory, then it's hard to tell where you are on the scale. Sometimes it's hard to know where to even begin.

In one of the last shows in the last season of the television show West Wing Timothy Busfield's character, Danny, is anxious to plan a future with Allison Janney's character, CJ. She has worked in the White House for eight years, and her life has been too full for a serious relationship. Danny, who was a reporter, has courted her for years and sees his chance to build a life with this woman he cares about deeply. CJ wants to plan it all out ahead of time, but that's not possible because life as she knows it is coming to an end and the future is uncertain. Danny knows this and is ready to make changes in his own life. What he says to CJ makes me weak in the knees: he says he wants to talk to her, he wants to hear her voice, he wants them to make decisions together about what their lives will be.

I know how CJ feels. She wants to know what the consequences of her decisions will be. She wants to play out each scenario and analyze it. She wants answers.

Danny wants to be with her regardless of where they are or what they decide to do.

I want to figure out what the future holds. I want charts and graphs and numbers. I want to list every option and talk about possible consequences and make decisions based on the odds of success.

Ken wants to make plans to go to dinner.

Ken and I haven't had practice with this. The last time we were alone together we were young, in our twenties. We didn't have a five-year plan, or a one-year plan for that matter...and it all worked out fine. We made decisions as needed, based on the information and resources we had at the time. We considered our options and made the best choice possible. Then we moved on. We made it work.

It felt like there would always be enough time.

Life is different now in some ways but not in the ways that matter. Ken and I are still together and we still like each other.

Time has passed. Time will continue to pass. It doesn't make sense to use time worrying about what might, or might not, happen.

It makes sense to start with plans for dinner. I am learning....