Today was an incredibly beautiful day. Cool temperatures, low humidity, and crystal blue skies. Unfortunately, I spent the entire day working on a report. I did sit out on the front porch for a few hours working on the computer. Then I picked up and came inside. As I gathered all of my electronics I placed them on the chair just inside my door. I went to get something in the kitchen then returned to close the front door. Before I got there I made my mistake.
I looked at the spot of floor directly in front of the door. That's where I would put his bed on days like today. I would leave the door open and let him sit and watch as the world went by. Often he would bark a greeting as people and animals went by. Most of the time he just sat and watched.
I haven't really cried in a few days. I was rather proud of my achievement. I assure you that record was shot the moment I remembered him sitting in the doorway. All day I've wept on and off. My heart hurts so much I can't believe it's been weeks since he's been gone. The pain suddenly feels mere hours old.
Like some junky seeking a fix I search the internet and Craig's List for available dogs. I donated $50 to pug rescue. I find the saddest case scenarios and have to force myself not to contact them about adoption. Today's near miss was a pit bull used as "bait" for a fighting ring.
But the truth is I just want the pug. Nothing else is really going to cure my aching heart. I curse myself for making my decision so quickly. Though my head tells me I was right, my heart screams I was too hasty. And now I pay for that decision daily. I hate this, living without my boy. Please someone, tell me my heart is going to heal. Frankly, I just don't see it.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
The Boys
So if TBK (That Bitch Katrina) stole my voice, did losing the Pug return it to me? Suddenly, the endless noise in my head is gone. It's as though someone turned off the white noisemaker. Now all I can hear are my words. I ride my bike or walk the park and I write in my head. I drive the car and write endlessly. I do my work and long for a moment of peace to write. And life seems suddenly seems to be intent on bringing me an endless supply of material.
Yesterday I pulled several items from my freezer intent on making more room. I even went so far as to invite some friends over for dinner. My niece and 2 friends accepted. Problem is I didn't go into the kitchen to cook until after 5 and discovered my chicken had not defrosted. So I picked up the phone and ordered a rather unhealthy dinner of pizza. My guests arrived and we dined al fresco on my front porch, enjoying a rather spectacular evening.
Officer Friendly arrived home while we sat out and noted that we had the right idea. My guests pointed out how delightful he was and wondered if perhaps I had exaggerated my stories of his aloofness. "No," I assured them. "It makes me all that much angrier when I see how incredibly nice he is capable of being!" I then went on to tell them of my new plan.
A few years ago a friend and I spent a wonderful fall weekend in Ogunquit, Maine. Every evening we'd walk the Marginal Way, a lovely path along the harbor into town. "Watch," I told my friend. "Yankees hate talking to strangers." A couple neared us and I locked eyes with them, smiling broadly, "HI!" My friend laughed as the strangers looked startled and a bit frightened, but they did respond back with a hi. From that moment on, every evening we would walk saying hello to everyone we met. Most treated us like escaped lunatics. By the last night my friend declared, "I'm too tired to be friendly" and we walked alone not meeting glances.
This is what I planned to do with Officer Friendly. Get in his face and kill him with friendliness. They all laughed at my diabolical plan.
Later that evening as we watched "The Office" someone knocked at my door. A gentleman who is building a home directly behind mine had stopped to update me on some activity. Seems the construction sight and house has been broken into some 14 times. The most recent was the night before and the cops seemed to believe the perpetrators climbed the fence and ran through my yard. The guy kept telling me to take care, he worried as he knew I had a little dog. I gulped and everyone looked at each other. I let is pass. He went on to say how cute my little dog was and I needed to be careful. Finally I admitted my little dog was no longer with us. My friends rolled their eyes and looked around for a kleenex box, but I maintained composure. Finally the guy left leaving me a bit unsettled. There seemed too much information shared with perfect strangers.
Today is another unreal day in Houston. The weather is in the low 70's, no humidity and crystal blue skies. How can I possibly stay in? So I set up my computers outside and this morning I drank my coffee and answered emails and calls. As I worked Officer Friendly came out with his two German Shepherds. They turned away from me and proceeded to play fetch on the other side of his house. Work forgotten I sat and watched them play. Officer Friendly turned once, noted my staring and went back to their game. I could not stop staring. I was being rude, but with a heavy heart, I found myself unable to look away. I was a starving person staring at a juicy cooked steak.
Finally Officer Friendly turned and asked, "Is he out there with you?"
The pug was always sitting on the front porch with me. I know Officer Friendly's dogs are not good with other dogs.
Sadly, I shook my head. "I had to put him down last week. I'm sorry that's why I was watching y'all play. I miss him." Tears stream down my face. Officer Friendly walks my way and I get up rushing to meet the dogs. I pet their wonderful heads and struggle not to hug them. I try and maintain control and Officer Friendly is...well...friendly. He talks on about how he understands, when he went to Iraq he sat and bawled like a baby thinking he'd never see "his boys" again. "The guys at the precinct rode me, but they don't understand they are our children." I weep even more as he tells me the story of when he came home and how the dogs greeted him.
And right there in my front yard, I decided I like this guy. Maybe he was being rude to me, maybe he wasn't. Anyone who loves his dogs this much is ok in my book. Period.
I go on to ask him, (now what will I call him?) if the builder stopped in to speak with him last night. Did he know about the break in? He stares at me with cynical eyes and remarks the problem is the guy is taking a year to build the house, and he sounds a bit flaky to him. I admit that I had my concerns, it just didn't seem to fit. We wrap it up, he goes inside and I sit and work.
Minutes later a police car pulls up in front of the vacant house next to me. And then another pulls up and blocks my driveway. I smile and say hello as cops get out their vehicles and start walking around the vacant lot. Officer Friendly is out in a flash, greeting the police by name. They spend the next 15 or so minutes talking and walking around. Ok, there is no work for me as I watch a third car pull up. Finally, they all drive away but as Officer Friendly walks to me, the UPS guy stops with a package and they walk together to the neighbor across the street. UPS leaves and Officer Friendly and the neighbor stand outside talking. I decide to walk over and find out what's up. It's as I suspected, the builder reported the break in and they are checking out the vacant house for vandalism. Officer Friendly tells me the consensus is the guy is nuts. He told them he heard as much from me. (I'm not sure I was that certain.) We chat for a moment and I head back to work.
Hours later I'm back on the porch tyring to finish a report. A blue Ford Taurus pulls up in front of my house. A guy in his 50's or so, longish hair pulled back in a vest looking like perhaps an ex-hippie or biker sings out, "A glorious good afternoon to you!"
I smile and ask what can I do for him.
"Does the bag-pipe playing officer still live in the house next door?" I admit there is a police officer who lives there, "With 2 German Shepherds?" Yes, I admit that is him but I wasn't aware he played the bagpipes.
"Yes, he's in the color guard and he plays an "Amazing Grace" that makes tombstones weep." The guy tells me he used to live down the street with "Vicki" and now lives in West Texas. He's now in Houston for 6 months and was just checking in.
No - I don't know Vickie. Yes - this is all more information than I expected from a total stranger.
So now I know much more about Officer Friendly than I ever expected. And I am prepared to say I might have been wrong. And even if I wasn't wrong, what does it really matter? All I really want from him is for him to bring the boys my way.
Yesterday I pulled several items from my freezer intent on making more room. I even went so far as to invite some friends over for dinner. My niece and 2 friends accepted. Problem is I didn't go into the kitchen to cook until after 5 and discovered my chicken had not defrosted. So I picked up the phone and ordered a rather unhealthy dinner of pizza. My guests arrived and we dined al fresco on my front porch, enjoying a rather spectacular evening.
Officer Friendly arrived home while we sat out and noted that we had the right idea. My guests pointed out how delightful he was and wondered if perhaps I had exaggerated my stories of his aloofness. "No," I assured them. "It makes me all that much angrier when I see how incredibly nice he is capable of being!" I then went on to tell them of my new plan.
A few years ago a friend and I spent a wonderful fall weekend in Ogunquit, Maine. Every evening we'd walk the Marginal Way, a lovely path along the harbor into town. "Watch," I told my friend. "Yankees hate talking to strangers." A couple neared us and I locked eyes with them, smiling broadly, "HI!" My friend laughed as the strangers looked startled and a bit frightened, but they did respond back with a hi. From that moment on, every evening we would walk saying hello to everyone we met. Most treated us like escaped lunatics. By the last night my friend declared, "I'm too tired to be friendly" and we walked alone not meeting glances.
This is what I planned to do with Officer Friendly. Get in his face and kill him with friendliness. They all laughed at my diabolical plan.
Later that evening as we watched "The Office" someone knocked at my door. A gentleman who is building a home directly behind mine had stopped to update me on some activity. Seems the construction sight and house has been broken into some 14 times. The most recent was the night before and the cops seemed to believe the perpetrators climbed the fence and ran through my yard. The guy kept telling me to take care, he worried as he knew I had a little dog. I gulped and everyone looked at each other. I let is pass. He went on to say how cute my little dog was and I needed to be careful. Finally I admitted my little dog was no longer with us. My friends rolled their eyes and looked around for a kleenex box, but I maintained composure. Finally the guy left leaving me a bit unsettled. There seemed too much information shared with perfect strangers.
Today is another unreal day in Houston. The weather is in the low 70's, no humidity and crystal blue skies. How can I possibly stay in? So I set up my computers outside and this morning I drank my coffee and answered emails and calls. As I worked Officer Friendly came out with his two German Shepherds. They turned away from me and proceeded to play fetch on the other side of his house. Work forgotten I sat and watched them play. Officer Friendly turned once, noted my staring and went back to their game. I could not stop staring. I was being rude, but with a heavy heart, I found myself unable to look away. I was a starving person staring at a juicy cooked steak.
Finally Officer Friendly turned and asked, "Is he out there with you?"
The pug was always sitting on the front porch with me. I know Officer Friendly's dogs are not good with other dogs.
Sadly, I shook my head. "I had to put him down last week. I'm sorry that's why I was watching y'all play. I miss him." Tears stream down my face. Officer Friendly walks my way and I get up rushing to meet the dogs. I pet their wonderful heads and struggle not to hug them. I try and maintain control and Officer Friendly is...well...friendly. He talks on about how he understands, when he went to Iraq he sat and bawled like a baby thinking he'd never see "his boys" again. "The guys at the precinct rode me, but they don't understand they are our children." I weep even more as he tells me the story of when he came home and how the dogs greeted him.
And right there in my front yard, I decided I like this guy. Maybe he was being rude to me, maybe he wasn't. Anyone who loves his dogs this much is ok in my book. Period.
I go on to ask him, (now what will I call him?) if the builder stopped in to speak with him last night. Did he know about the break in? He stares at me with cynical eyes and remarks the problem is the guy is taking a year to build the house, and he sounds a bit flaky to him. I admit that I had my concerns, it just didn't seem to fit. We wrap it up, he goes inside and I sit and work.
Minutes later a police car pulls up in front of the vacant house next to me. And then another pulls up and blocks my driveway. I smile and say hello as cops get out their vehicles and start walking around the vacant lot. Officer Friendly is out in a flash, greeting the police by name. They spend the next 15 or so minutes talking and walking around. Ok, there is no work for me as I watch a third car pull up. Finally, they all drive away but as Officer Friendly walks to me, the UPS guy stops with a package and they walk together to the neighbor across the street. UPS leaves and Officer Friendly and the neighbor stand outside talking. I decide to walk over and find out what's up. It's as I suspected, the builder reported the break in and they are checking out the vacant house for vandalism. Officer Friendly tells me the consensus is the guy is nuts. He told them he heard as much from me. (I'm not sure I was that certain.) We chat for a moment and I head back to work.
Hours later I'm back on the porch tyring to finish a report. A blue Ford Taurus pulls up in front of my house. A guy in his 50's or so, longish hair pulled back in a vest looking like perhaps an ex-hippie or biker sings out, "A glorious good afternoon to you!"
I smile and ask what can I do for him.
"Does the bag-pipe playing officer still live in the house next door?" I admit there is a police officer who lives there, "With 2 German Shepherds?" Yes, I admit that is him but I wasn't aware he played the bagpipes.
"Yes, he's in the color guard and he plays an "Amazing Grace" that makes tombstones weep." The guy tells me he used to live down the street with "Vicki" and now lives in West Texas. He's now in Houston for 6 months and was just checking in.
No - I don't know Vickie. Yes - this is all more information than I expected from a total stranger.
So now I know much more about Officer Friendly than I ever expected. And I am prepared to say I might have been wrong. And even if I wasn't wrong, what does it really matter? All I really want from him is for him to bring the boys my way.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Living the Positive Life!
The blue and red lights flashed behind me as I desperately searched the pile of rubble on the passenger's seat. Finally, I located a napkin and wiped my streaming face. The napkin left grains of paper all over my face as I sobbed into it. The state trooper waited a few minutes, I'm sure waiting to safely escort me back to the freeway. He started this sobfest, he could either move on or just wait till it was over.
I left my bedroom on Monday morning determined to live a healthy and positive lifestyle. And there I was less than 48 hours later ready to chuck it all for a Pink's Pizza, a dozen cupcakes and a pitcher of martinis served in my bed with the tv on mindless sitcoms.
I had to go visit a client just southwest of San Antonio yesterday. At 6 am I locked the door of my house and jumped into the rental car - a black Dodge, some type of cool looking wagon. I decide to forgo McDonald's coffee because I deserve Starbucks. I rush to the drive through and order a Venti coffee and a lowfat cinnamon cake. The line barely inches forward. I watch the clock, getting antsy. I've a LONG drive and I want to be early. It gets so ridiculous the car in front of me rushes out when it finally gets to the window. They are so frustrated, they don't wait for their drinks and merely drive off. This is a classic move for me, and I'm somewhat angry they stole my move. But I tell myself to calm down, everyone has an off day and there is no reason to be stressed. I finally get my breakfast, thank the employee and tell her to have a great day. I drive off pleased with my attitude.
I make it to my meeting early and it goes well. They are happy with our service and I'm feeling very motivated and positive. A friend of mines son is in a hospital in San Antonio so I call her to see if we can meet for 5 minutes. I want to check on her and make sure she's taking care of herself. We are soul sisters in many ways and I know she's likely to toss herself away and devote everything to the care of others. As I suspect, she tells me to go home and we'll try and hook up some other time. Frustrated, I start to leave San Antonio.
The gas light comes on in the car and I start to look for a gas station. There is nothing near and I follow signs to some Shell Station. The ancient pumps are nearly impossible to read. I fill my tank and sure enough, the pump doesn't print the receipt I need for my expense report. I sigh in frustration and go inside to get one. I HATE TO GO INSIDE. I don't know why, laziness, whatever, I will drive looking for a pump that takes cards to ensure I don't have to go in. Sure enough the clerk is stocking and takes her time to come and give me my receipt. I breathe in and say "Thanks! Have a great day!" with surprising warmth. I am truly into my new positive energy.
As I drive out of the city I start to think of my friend. I stop and decide to get lunch. It's some 6 hours since that sad little breakfast. I will be kind to myself, so I spy a huge truckstop with a Subway, so I pull off the interstate. It is PACKED. Construction workers are in line getting sodas and sandwiches. I convince myself that it's ok to stand in line. There are 2 employees working the Subway counter. The first takes your order, stops and repeats it. Then she turns, sighs and stares at the bread bins. She slowly walks over, peruses, pauses and then opens it up. She takes the bread loaf out as though it were a baby, walks to the counter, carefully slices it in half, turns and returns one side to the tray with great care. She then walks up, repeats your order and then proceeds to ask if you would like cheese, etc. I watch her routine and clinch my teeth. This will take forever. Finally I get my veggie sandwhich on honey oat (more fiber) and stand in line for the drink dispenser. I watch the 8 men in front of me fill cups the size of a bath. Finally I get to the machine and pour my Diet Coke. Just as it finishes I note a red syrup pour into my cup. I taste the drink and struggle not to spit it out. I turn and an employee restocking cups tells me it's ok to pour it out and start again. The huge machine which resembles a slot machine has options to add cherry, lime and some other vile flavor. If a flavor light is flashing when you press your soda choice, then you get more than you bargained for. I literally perch waiting for the lights to stop flashing and rush to press my button at the proper time. Who knew you had to have such hand to eye coordination and lightening reflexes to get a Diet Coke?
I turn with my lunch and sigh as the check out lines at the 2 cashiers are 5-6 men deep. Finally I pay and return to my car. I make it a few miles down the road, start thinking of my friend and call another. She agrees, it is ludicrous for me to leave town without checking in. So I turn around and head back to San Antonio. I finally reach my friend and after a misunderstanding which has me crossing the city TWICE I finally find her. We spend a great hour shopping and having coffee. I listen to her story without judgement not having a clue what I would do in her position. The only advice I offer is to take care of herself. We hug and I finally leave her to return to Houston. It's now 5:00 and the traffic is horrendous. I listen to Punkin thinking of my day and feeling glad that I let my positive self rule my day. As traffic inches on I breathe and remind myself I only have an empty house to return to so why be stressed. Take it in stride, you've done good work today.
During my drive I speak with both of my sisters. Both are struggling with issues and we commiserate. I struggle with my desperate desire to want to fix everything and tell myself we'll all be fine. I breathe in thinking of the woes and strive to find inner peace. At 6:30 I am driving through Schulenberg, Texas when I pass a state trooper parked on the side of the freeway. I look down and note I'm going 80. I slow down but know he's caught me. I pull over and wait for him. I lean over to get my license and insurance then get out the car. My first thought is the trooper is in some sort of neck brace. His shoulders are hunched and his head is oddly erect as though he's in pain. As he nears me I realize he has no neck. Seriously, it's extremely odd, his neck could not possibly be longer than 2 inches. I'm 5'3" and in 2 inch heels and I'm looking down on his Texas Trooper hat. I gulp, instinctively knowing this will not be good.
I apologize and explain that it is a rental car and there is no cruise control. He asks for the rental agreement. I rush to get it. As I return to him someone announces my name on his radio, "That's an all clear on her driving" the voice tells the trooper. He asks who I work for and I mention educational non-profit. He grimaces. Then he begins to study the rental agreement as though I'm about to administer a pop quiz on it. Finally he jerks his head and in a "A-Ha" fashion says, "You picked up this car yesterday." Clearly, one day is enough to grow accustomed to the car. He then opens his ticket book.
It is then I realize that nothing is going to talk Officer No Neck out of giving me a ticket. In my heart I know he stopped me thinking I was some teenager or guy in a flashy cool car. I know he wasn't happy to find I was a woman, working for a non-profit who offered a good excuse of a non-familiar rental car. I also know that he struggled to not see these things and just do his job, give a ticket.
And suddenly a tear drops down my face. Horrified, I turn to face the freeway. Dear God, are you kidding me? I will not cry in front of Officer No Neck! Desperately I turn away struggling for control. Officer No Neck instructs me to "Please step away from the freeway and off of the road." Did he think I was going to throw myself into the speeding traffic? I step off the road and keep my body turned from him. I wipe the tears away and gain a bit of control. Maybe he didn't really notice. He hands me his clipboard speaking words I can't hear except for something about signing. I stare at the ticket and can barely see a thing.
"Where?" I mumble and a tear hits the clipboard. I refuse to look up. I see a finger cross the ticket and point to a line. I sign it and say not one more word as Officer No Neck thanks me for my courtesy (honest to God.) I slide into my car and desperately search for a napkin. And then the wrenching sobs start. I'm talking wailing. Officer No-Neck finally leaves after a few minutes and I sit on the side of the freeway crying my eyes out.
At 8:30 I stop in Katy to get gas. I punch the shiny new pump for a receipt but nothing comes out. I sigh and walk into building. The clerk looks at me funny as she hands me the paper. I decide to visit the Ladies room. As I'm washing my hands I look in the mirror. Mascara is smeared under my eyes and there are still bits of napkin in my lashes. I lean my head on mirror and sigh.
Is it really so bad to want to live in one's bedroom with Hostess and a DVR?
I left my bedroom on Monday morning determined to live a healthy and positive lifestyle. And there I was less than 48 hours later ready to chuck it all for a Pink's Pizza, a dozen cupcakes and a pitcher of martinis served in my bed with the tv on mindless sitcoms.
I had to go visit a client just southwest of San Antonio yesterday. At 6 am I locked the door of my house and jumped into the rental car - a black Dodge, some type of cool looking wagon. I decide to forgo McDonald's coffee because I deserve Starbucks. I rush to the drive through and order a Venti coffee and a lowfat cinnamon cake. The line barely inches forward. I watch the clock, getting antsy. I've a LONG drive and I want to be early. It gets so ridiculous the car in front of me rushes out when it finally gets to the window. They are so frustrated, they don't wait for their drinks and merely drive off. This is a classic move for me, and I'm somewhat angry they stole my move. But I tell myself to calm down, everyone has an off day and there is no reason to be stressed. I finally get my breakfast, thank the employee and tell her to have a great day. I drive off pleased with my attitude.
I make it to my meeting early and it goes well. They are happy with our service and I'm feeling very motivated and positive. A friend of mines son is in a hospital in San Antonio so I call her to see if we can meet for 5 minutes. I want to check on her and make sure she's taking care of herself. We are soul sisters in many ways and I know she's likely to toss herself away and devote everything to the care of others. As I suspect, she tells me to go home and we'll try and hook up some other time. Frustrated, I start to leave San Antonio.
The gas light comes on in the car and I start to look for a gas station. There is nothing near and I follow signs to some Shell Station. The ancient pumps are nearly impossible to read. I fill my tank and sure enough, the pump doesn't print the receipt I need for my expense report. I sigh in frustration and go inside to get one. I HATE TO GO INSIDE. I don't know why, laziness, whatever, I will drive looking for a pump that takes cards to ensure I don't have to go in. Sure enough the clerk is stocking and takes her time to come and give me my receipt. I breathe in and say "Thanks! Have a great day!" with surprising warmth. I am truly into my new positive energy.
As I drive out of the city I start to think of my friend. I stop and decide to get lunch. It's some 6 hours since that sad little breakfast. I will be kind to myself, so I spy a huge truckstop with a Subway, so I pull off the interstate. It is PACKED. Construction workers are in line getting sodas and sandwiches. I convince myself that it's ok to stand in line. There are 2 employees working the Subway counter. The first takes your order, stops and repeats it. Then she turns, sighs and stares at the bread bins. She slowly walks over, peruses, pauses and then opens it up. She takes the bread loaf out as though it were a baby, walks to the counter, carefully slices it in half, turns and returns one side to the tray with great care. She then walks up, repeats your order and then proceeds to ask if you would like cheese, etc. I watch her routine and clinch my teeth. This will take forever. Finally I get my veggie sandwhich on honey oat (more fiber) and stand in line for the drink dispenser. I watch the 8 men in front of me fill cups the size of a bath. Finally I get to the machine and pour my Diet Coke. Just as it finishes I note a red syrup pour into my cup. I taste the drink and struggle not to spit it out. I turn and an employee restocking cups tells me it's ok to pour it out and start again. The huge machine which resembles a slot machine has options to add cherry, lime and some other vile flavor. If a flavor light is flashing when you press your soda choice, then you get more than you bargained for. I literally perch waiting for the lights to stop flashing and rush to press my button at the proper time. Who knew you had to have such hand to eye coordination and lightening reflexes to get a Diet Coke?
I turn with my lunch and sigh as the check out lines at the 2 cashiers are 5-6 men deep. Finally I pay and return to my car. I make it a few miles down the road, start thinking of my friend and call another. She agrees, it is ludicrous for me to leave town without checking in. So I turn around and head back to San Antonio. I finally reach my friend and after a misunderstanding which has me crossing the city TWICE I finally find her. We spend a great hour shopping and having coffee. I listen to her story without judgement not having a clue what I would do in her position. The only advice I offer is to take care of herself. We hug and I finally leave her to return to Houston. It's now 5:00 and the traffic is horrendous. I listen to Punkin thinking of my day and feeling glad that I let my positive self rule my day. As traffic inches on I breathe and remind myself I only have an empty house to return to so why be stressed. Take it in stride, you've done good work today.
During my drive I speak with both of my sisters. Both are struggling with issues and we commiserate. I struggle with my desperate desire to want to fix everything and tell myself we'll all be fine. I breathe in thinking of the woes and strive to find inner peace. At 6:30 I am driving through Schulenberg, Texas when I pass a state trooper parked on the side of the freeway. I look down and note I'm going 80. I slow down but know he's caught me. I pull over and wait for him. I lean over to get my license and insurance then get out the car. My first thought is the trooper is in some sort of neck brace. His shoulders are hunched and his head is oddly erect as though he's in pain. As he nears me I realize he has no neck. Seriously, it's extremely odd, his neck could not possibly be longer than 2 inches. I'm 5'3" and in 2 inch heels and I'm looking down on his Texas Trooper hat. I gulp, instinctively knowing this will not be good.
I apologize and explain that it is a rental car and there is no cruise control. He asks for the rental agreement. I rush to get it. As I return to him someone announces my name on his radio, "That's an all clear on her driving" the voice tells the trooper. He asks who I work for and I mention educational non-profit. He grimaces. Then he begins to study the rental agreement as though I'm about to administer a pop quiz on it. Finally he jerks his head and in a "A-Ha" fashion says, "You picked up this car yesterday." Clearly, one day is enough to grow accustomed to the car. He then opens his ticket book.
It is then I realize that nothing is going to talk Officer No Neck out of giving me a ticket. In my heart I know he stopped me thinking I was some teenager or guy in a flashy cool car. I know he wasn't happy to find I was a woman, working for a non-profit who offered a good excuse of a non-familiar rental car. I also know that he struggled to not see these things and just do his job, give a ticket.
And suddenly a tear drops down my face. Horrified, I turn to face the freeway. Dear God, are you kidding me? I will not cry in front of Officer No Neck! Desperately I turn away struggling for control. Officer No Neck instructs me to "Please step away from the freeway and off of the road." Did he think I was going to throw myself into the speeding traffic? I step off the road and keep my body turned from him. I wipe the tears away and gain a bit of control. Maybe he didn't really notice. He hands me his clipboard speaking words I can't hear except for something about signing. I stare at the ticket and can barely see a thing.
"Where?" I mumble and a tear hits the clipboard. I refuse to look up. I see a finger cross the ticket and point to a line. I sign it and say not one more word as Officer No Neck thanks me for my courtesy (honest to God.) I slide into my car and desperately search for a napkin. And then the wrenching sobs start. I'm talking wailing. Officer No-Neck finally leaves after a few minutes and I sit on the side of the freeway crying my eyes out.
At 8:30 I stop in Katy to get gas. I punch the shiny new pump for a receipt but nothing comes out. I sigh and walk into building. The clerk looks at me funny as she hands me the paper. I decide to visit the Ladies room. As I'm washing my hands I look in the mirror. Mascara is smeared under my eyes and there are still bits of napkin in my lashes. I lean my head on mirror and sigh.
Is it really so bad to want to live in one's bedroom with Hostess and a DVR?
Monday, October 08, 2007
The End of the Party
The Pity Party is over. I officially ended it at midnight. This morning I rolled the tv out of my bedroom. I've started to clean my house and get ready for work. The new Springsteen CD is playing on my iPod Punkin. (It's FAB-U-LOUS!) I'm preparing to dye my gray roots so I can shower and dress for the day. It's going to take a while to clean the disaster I've wreaked in this house. One step at a time.
As I'm picking up I spot a quilt lying in the corner of the office. I accidentally caught it on fire with a candle a couple of weeks ago. There is a 8 inch hole burnt into it. I held it trying to decide if I should toss it. It was made by an elderly friend of mine who died a year ago. She was a character whom I still miss. As I head to the laundry I walk through my kitchen and it hits me. The pug is really and truly gone. He is not coming back. This isn't some nightmare. This is real. My life is well and truly changed.
I don't know what to do. I can cry and I can wail, but it doesn't change anything. The Pity Party is over. It's time to start this new chapter in my life. I will always miss the pug. I am grateful my love for him is still and forever a part of me. I am so glad my friend didn't listen to me and made me get him that day some 14 years ago. I am glad I suffered through the ABC's (already been chewed) with him. I am glad I cared for him.
The pug is gone. And I am going to honor him by taking care of someone he loved very much.
As I'm picking up I spot a quilt lying in the corner of the office. I accidentally caught it on fire with a candle a couple of weeks ago. There is a 8 inch hole burnt into it. I held it trying to decide if I should toss it. It was made by an elderly friend of mine who died a year ago. She was a character whom I still miss. As I head to the laundry I walk through my kitchen and it hits me. The pug is really and truly gone. He is not coming back. This isn't some nightmare. This is real. My life is well and truly changed.
I don't know what to do. I can cry and I can wail, but it doesn't change anything. The Pity Party is over. It's time to start this new chapter in my life. I will always miss the pug. I am grateful my love for him is still and forever a part of me. I am so glad my friend didn't listen to me and made me get him that day some 14 years ago. I am glad I suffered through the ABC's (already been chewed) with him. I am glad I cared for him.
The pug is gone. And I am going to honor him by taking care of someone he loved very much.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Resetting the Clock
The vet's office called yesterday to tell me that the pug's ashes are available for pick up. I opted to have him cremated. There was an option to have them spread his ashes, but not quite understanding I chose to have him returned to me.
Why?
I am not the type of person who believes in markers and God Forbid you suggest I keep someone around in an urn. I just wanted to be sure he wasn't thrown in a landfill. So I call a friend to drive me so I could get the pug's remains and say my goodbye to the staff who I saw nearly 2-4 times a month. I barely managed to say 10 words. I started crying pretty much as I entered the door. My two favorites were behind the desk. Frankly, they looked only a couple of notches better than I. They both expressed their shock that things went so quickly. They had no idea he was getting that bad. God, did I make a rash decision? Would he have bounced back? Sobbing, my friend and I leave.
In the car I check in the bag. There is a white box with the pug's name on it and an envelope. Crying I open the envelope. There is a certificate of cremation and some brochure on urns and resting places. A picture of a small boy kneeling on the side of the bed with a dog at his side highlights the brochure. I smash it all together and shove it back in the envelope. I don't have any desire to see any of it.
"This is all I have left of my boy." I sob at my friend. He grimaces, and nods in understanding as he drives me home.
The ashes now sit in a closet in my office. I think and think - what do I want to do with them? Where were his favorite places? He so loved going for walks. Granted the last ones were rides in his walker, but he did love them.
This morning it's raining. I've been up for hours, but I just put on the coffee. I'm sitting outside on my patio drinking my first cup and writing. It's warmer than is really comfortable, but there is something about the rain that is comforting. Perhaps because it so perfectly showcases my mood. Tonight I'm supposed to go watch my niece and nephew perform with their high school band. If this keeps up I wonder if the show will go on.
I sit, drink my coffee and try to figure out what to do with myself. I wish I had a reset button. One I could just press and reset my internal clock. This would stop me from feeling like I'm forgetting or should be doing something. I don't have to feed or walk the dog, but that doesn't stop me from feeling like I should be. After 14 years, it was routine.
What will I do with his ashes?
Why?
I am not the type of person who believes in markers and God Forbid you suggest I keep someone around in an urn. I just wanted to be sure he wasn't thrown in a landfill. So I call a friend to drive me so I could get the pug's remains and say my goodbye to the staff who I saw nearly 2-4 times a month. I barely managed to say 10 words. I started crying pretty much as I entered the door. My two favorites were behind the desk. Frankly, they looked only a couple of notches better than I. They both expressed their shock that things went so quickly. They had no idea he was getting that bad. God, did I make a rash decision? Would he have bounced back? Sobbing, my friend and I leave.
In the car I check in the bag. There is a white box with the pug's name on it and an envelope. Crying I open the envelope. There is a certificate of cremation and some brochure on urns and resting places. A picture of a small boy kneeling on the side of the bed with a dog at his side highlights the brochure. I smash it all together and shove it back in the envelope. I don't have any desire to see any of it.
"This is all I have left of my boy." I sob at my friend. He grimaces, and nods in understanding as he drives me home.
The ashes now sit in a closet in my office. I think and think - what do I want to do with them? Where were his favorite places? He so loved going for walks. Granted the last ones were rides in his walker, but he did love them.
This morning it's raining. I've been up for hours, but I just put on the coffee. I'm sitting outside on my patio drinking my first cup and writing. It's warmer than is really comfortable, but there is something about the rain that is comforting. Perhaps because it so perfectly showcases my mood. Tonight I'm supposed to go watch my niece and nephew perform with their high school band. If this keeps up I wonder if the show will go on.
I sit, drink my coffee and try to figure out what to do with myself. I wish I had a reset button. One I could just press and reset my internal clock. This would stop me from feeling like I'm forgetting or should be doing something. I don't have to feed or walk the dog, but that doesn't stop me from feeling like I should be. After 14 years, it was routine.
What will I do with his ashes?
Monday, October 01, 2007
The Pug is Gone
Today it was an advertisement in Gourmet that reopened my grief. A pug sat on a stool in the corner of the room. I looked at it with tear-filled eyes, breathing slow and steady to maintain control. I was on a Southwest Airlines flight to Corpus Christi. It didn't seem like the right place to sob my heart out.
Sure the ad took me by surprise, but if I'm completely honest, I've been prodding at my sadness on a regular basis. Like touching your tongue to a chipped tooth, I keep poking at it to ensure it's still there. And just like the chipped tooth, sometimes it seems just a minor flaw. And then there are times it feels like I am going to need dentures.
I had to put the pug down last Tuesday.
My days are now filled with freedom and "lasts." I can come and go as I please. I can go all day and night and never stop by my house if I so choose. I don't have to worry about getting a sitter for my weekend when I'll meet some friends on a houseboat in the Atchafalya Basin at the end of the month. I've vacuumed the last hair from my car and the rug. Yesterday I moved the rolling wine rack and swept up the last of the kibble. My floors are no longer a minefield of accidents.
So many things I often wished for (or wished for the absence of) and yet all I can think of is "The pug is gone." I walk through the front door and instead of calling out "Hey lambchop!" I look at the spot where his bed used to be and register the emptiness of my home.
My cousin came by Sunday. Fresh with inspiration from Church services she offered condolences and understanding. In a particular low moment when I was honest about my grief, she tried to help by saying "He did not define you."
I beg to differ. My love and care for him certainly did define me in many ways. Sure, there is a lot more to me. But I have lost a significant part of my life. For 14 years he and I were family. Now I have to adjust to being single.
Friends and family have been great, trying hard to be there for me. But the truth is, I have to adjust to handling this alone. For I am alone for the first time in so many years.
My friends used to say the best part of the Bubala was his ears. They were velvety and softer than soft. I loved rubbing his ears. But that wasn't his best part by far. To me, it was his heart. When I would leave the house, he would lay inches from the front door simply waiting for my return. I learned to slowly inch the front door open when coming in for fear of smacking him in the face. When I was in the shower he would walk up to the door and peak in to ensure I was still there. I had dog beds in every room to accomodate his need to be near me at all times.
The pug is gone. His velvet ears and magnificent heart now live only in my memory. And I am painfully having to redefine myself.
Sure the ad took me by surprise, but if I'm completely honest, I've been prodding at my sadness on a regular basis. Like touching your tongue to a chipped tooth, I keep poking at it to ensure it's still there. And just like the chipped tooth, sometimes it seems just a minor flaw. And then there are times it feels like I am going to need dentures.
I had to put the pug down last Tuesday.
My days are now filled with freedom and "lasts." I can come and go as I please. I can go all day and night and never stop by my house if I so choose. I don't have to worry about getting a sitter for my weekend when I'll meet some friends on a houseboat in the Atchafalya Basin at the end of the month. I've vacuumed the last hair from my car and the rug. Yesterday I moved the rolling wine rack and swept up the last of the kibble. My floors are no longer a minefield of accidents.
So many things I often wished for (or wished for the absence of) and yet all I can think of is "The pug is gone." I walk through the front door and instead of calling out "Hey lambchop!" I look at the spot where his bed used to be and register the emptiness of my home.
My cousin came by Sunday. Fresh with inspiration from Church services she offered condolences and understanding. In a particular low moment when I was honest about my grief, she tried to help by saying "He did not define you."
I beg to differ. My love and care for him certainly did define me in many ways. Sure, there is a lot more to me. But I have lost a significant part of my life. For 14 years he and I were family. Now I have to adjust to being single.
Friends and family have been great, trying hard to be there for me. But the truth is, I have to adjust to handling this alone. For I am alone for the first time in so many years.
My friends used to say the best part of the Bubala was his ears. They were velvety and softer than soft. I loved rubbing his ears. But that wasn't his best part by far. To me, it was his heart. When I would leave the house, he would lay inches from the front door simply waiting for my return. I learned to slowly inch the front door open when coming in for fear of smacking him in the face. When I was in the shower he would walk up to the door and peak in to ensure I was still there. I had dog beds in every room to accomodate his need to be near me at all times.
The pug is gone. His velvet ears and magnificent heart now live only in my memory. And I am painfully having to redefine myself.
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