The Presence of Her Absence is Strong

I knew I would miss her, but I had no idea this much.  It would have been worse, perhaps, if she had died suddenly a few years ago when she had more vigor and faculties and was a constant- at my side, in the car...always touching, leaning, prodding to be touched. In the past two years or so  she had been fading away- did not like to be touched, slept more, rode less, everything slower...only leaning on Maisie.  I know,  by my own experience, it is easy to shut out the world when you can't hear it, see it or move fluidly in it.

She was my parent's dog.  She was picked up as a stray and taken in by the animal shelter. A purebred Keeshond. My folks had her about 5 years, then my father died unexpectedly.  Her little world lost it's rhythm of car rides and chores like feeding the chickens. No more nightly drives around the lake to see the cows, get ice cream and eat french fries with abandon. We bonded, during my monthly visits to help my mother figure out what she was going to do moving forward.  We would ride, walk, cuddle...then my mother died nine months after my father. During the month from the time of my mothers lung cancer diagnosis until her death, Abby and I were inseparable.  I couched it as my mother's need to see her, but really it was me who wanted and needed her companionship.  She was welcomed at the hospice house where my mother lived out her last days and was put to work visiting patients and their families.

She came to Maine to live with us in February, but we were living in a condo and could not have dogs, so she lived with some good friends, Paulette (and Betsy).  They had two dogs of their own- a big malamute mix, a chunky Springer and another canine boarder, a large lab mix.   After a brief, but fierce bout of colitis, Abby ruled as  queen of the pack even though she could easily walk underneath two of the boys.  She finally was able to live with us in August.  She had to learn to negotiate a large, mean green tabby who had never been around dogs and then, in January, Maisie was born.  Now she had a baby to contend with as well.  But, for her, as long as she got to put her bum in a car and go for a ride, everything else was cake.

 A few years ago she was diagnosed with Lyme, liver and kidney disease.  Her hearing and eyesight were diminished and she had a touch of the "old-timers".  Her mobility was compromised as she lost muscle tone and feeling in her hind quarters.  This was the most difficult as it was what we could see the most readily.

The night before she died, I held her tight to my heart and "told" her I was ready to let go if she was.  She did not need to be stoic just to make me happy.  She had been the very best dog and companion.  She leaned into my embrace and sighed.

I often joked that she was not only my inheritance but my "sister" too, as she was the only other living thing that knew what it was like to live with my parents.  I hope they are happy with the care and love Abby received from us.

I also hope they are having one hell of a reunion with  Notorious D-O-G.

Love and miss you Abbinator.  Thank you.

What's Been On My Mind

• content marketing
• transgenderedness
• fashion
• got legally married
• prepping a marriage service for some clients
• losing weight
• old dogs
• hiring new teachers
• mainstreaming
• $      *
• creativity
• wood
• garden
• chickens
• travel
• snow
• Unitarian Universalism  *
• sex    *
• youth/aging

* themes throughout my life

Another Dip Net Sample from my time at Wildbranch

A small triangular piece of white material like a tiny SOS signal peeked out of the closet door.  I tugged and more was exposed.  The door popped open, This was not surprising to me-nothing was off limits at this place. Disappointingly the paper read only"Caution-Wet Floor".  Emboldened, I began opening the other doors,  their wooden grain and hard won patina reminded me of a Victorian Curiosities display case.  Behind the second bank of doors was more cleaning supplies, but the third revealed several boxes with glued seams bulging and broken. I intuitively knew what I would discover in these containers-the smell, dusty, gritty and old gave it away.  It was a rock collection.  I stuck my hand into the closest box. I felt something smooth like a mirror with a layer of dried sea water on it. It felt like a table top thick and large. It was dark in the cupboard as I groped the slab. Without question I knew it was mica. I took it  out and exposed it daylight, maybe for the first time in years or even decades.  I peaked into the neighboring box and touched a rectangular piece of soft powdery feeling material-hard yet soft- again I identified it in my minds eye before bringing it into sight. I continued through a few more sample boxes. Pleased yet surprised with my extrasensory skills.  It seems a cruel irony I can remember things from 45 years ago as  though they they are part of my cellular make up, but ask me for this level of savant recall of current information and all bets are off.  My friend, an avid birder, always attributes her encyclopedic recall of all things ornithological to "time at task".  My rock collecting and enthusiasm for all things geological in my childhood was central to my experience. It was supported by my parents and extended family.  My grandmother had an extensive exotic collection-very black light friendly. Mine was a home grown collection of specimens indigenous to  upstate NY garnet, mica, horn blend-the crown jewels. Marble, granite, gypsum more the the bedrock of the collection.

I  happened into a field near my grandmother's house of several layers of marine fossils.  One sits in my bird bath today inviting bathers in to the water. I still have every one of my rocks from my youth,  I feel bad shutting the cupboard door on these rocks, the neighbors and family to my own.

Wildbranch Dip Net Sample 1

I see improvement in my writing from my week at Wildbranch. I hope the reader just sees good writing.

     I idolized my cousin, Laurie, and worshipped the ground she walked on-usually barefoot.  She was almost exclusively barefoot from the earliest days of summer through the last waning of the season.  She was a connoisseur of that great summertime freedom of going barefoot. I vividly recall her freckled calves terminating at stubby feet pocked with rankling blisters: poison oak, sumac and ivy grew abundantly in the southern Adirondacks where we lived. The soles of Laurie’s feet were calloused from her sojourns and approximated the shade of tar used on the road in front of our grandmother’s house.     

    Going barefoot is often associated with poverty, a paucity of manners and hygiene. Relegated to an indulgence of youth.  As a species we embarked on the road to bi-pedalism around 6 million years ago, completing the transition to full upright mobility about 4 million years later.  Distinct advantages to this new- fangled posture included appearing physically larger and more intimidating, more freedom to use hands to pick fruit and to carry babies, weapons and tools, economy of energy and ease of movement. Two million more years would pass before a hominoid foot would be shod.

Upright locomotion generates physiological issues.  Backs, hips, knees and feet are the most common sites of affliction. To this I can attest.  I am a Crossfitter:  A sometimes skeptical, but committed member of a growing fanatical fringe espousing all things innately functional, natural and paleo from diet and exercise to work and sleep. Function became dysfunctional as my knees rebelled, cried out and succumbed to the price paid for the luxury of being a two -legged animal. Sitting, driving, standing, lying in bed became agonizing.  The Crossfit remedy for my suffering includes going barefoot (for the foot phobic- minimalist footwear). A Crossfit promise is:  We will teach you to walk like a human being.  A very, very old human being I’ll point out. Paleo’s party line states: natural movement patterns improve the quality of everyday life.  Twenty- six bones encouraged to go naked.

     I hear my mother chortle seismically from her grave. My family raised and raced sled dogs, Siberian Huskies.  At one point we had upwards of twenty dogs. On occasion, I’d venture barefoot into the dog yard.  Being discovered shoeless by my mother brought a lecture, complete with graphic illustrations from the 1976 World Book Encyclopedia of the atrocities instigated by Necator americanus-hookworm.  If she were in a rarified storm of parasitic doom, she would also use my father’s veterinary books to augment my lesson.  My mortality was more at risk using the two-seater outhouse because it was not a long drop of four feet, a depth recommended by the Rockefeller Sanitary Commission for the Eradication of Hookworm Disease of 1910.   Yet she had probably ingested Cestoda, as tapeworm was a rumored ingredient in several diet aids of the day.

     My mother would be quite surprised to learn that going barefoot now has it’s own term: earthing.  Although my mother fretted, scientific studies are unearthing many health benefits associated with bare- footedness, such as increases in antioxidants, reduced inflammation, and improved sleep. It seems the electrons in the earth and our bodies play off one another to our benefit. Grounding to the earth may change the electrical activity in the brain, reduce blood viscosity, improve skin conductivity, moderate heart rate, and regulate glucose, the endocrine and nervous systems.

     I would relish the opportunity to tread the old familiar game trails and dirt roads with my cousin, shovel a wheel barrow load of dog dung, endure my mother’s hygiene madness and sit in the blessedly cool, cobwebbed confines of the old outhouse. Regrettably, my cousin was not rewarded with longevity.  She died, mysteriously, in her 40s. My mother succumbed to lung cancer.  The dogs went the way of all good animals and the new owners of my childhood home tore down the outhouse.

     I still like to hang ten terrestrially speaking. And now, climbing down from the family tree, come new members in need of introduction to the freedom of two bare feet unrepentantly caressing the earth.

My Infographic Resume

My Infographic Resume: Check out my infographic resume created via Vizualize.me. Create yours with one click.



I have some more information to add, but overall I like it very much.

My Current Guilty Pleasure...Frederick Ecklund

I confess, I LOVE Bravo's Million Dollar Listing, NYC.  All the realtors are over the top in their lifestyles and presentation.  It is addictive.  Luis is like a modern day Puerto Rican Prince.  Ryan is just plain weird.  Fredrik is a flaming, histrionic, egomaniac.  But...Fredrik works his butt off.  Perhaps it is the editing of the material, but Fredrik is creative and dramatic and a consummate professional in the approaches he takes to sell his units at top $$$.  The other two  get involved in various stunts in trying to sell their units (a music video or a Roaring Twenties open house). Freddie seems to actually love and desire to show each unit in it's full glory and beauty.  He does his share of ass kissing, but ultimately treats his customers and other brokers with respect and holds them to an elevated level of honesty and  professionalism (except for the unfortunate episode when he was mentoring Luis).

The Everly Brothers-Who Knew?!

We went to a very nice wedding in a beautiful location this weekend, the Country Club Inn in Rangeley, Maine.  My partner's coworker got married (Third times the charm, fingers crossed. Six times if you add in the bride's previous marriages as well).

They had the band Aztec Two Step perform a private, intimate concert for us.  I had heard of the group before but never "heard" them.  They did a rendition of The Everly Brothers' "Let It Be Me".  I was near sobbing about halfway into the first stanza.  I am still perplexed as to why.  I was just overcome with this pang of nostalgia...my folks, simpler times, true love and devotion. The sky was awash with the setting sun, we were all in this great Maine lodge, the ceremony had been simple, but honest, and the location was, in a word- stunning.

Oh, yeah...it had been open bar for about three hours.

Whale Songs

I am reading Peter Matthiessen's Blue Meridian: The Search for the Great White Shark. 

There is a paragraph about whale sounds and songs in which he writes:  It is now believed, from preliminary evidence, that the deepest and most sonorous notes of a humpback whale can and may be heard by another humpback anywhere in the same ocean basin, and may even resound around the world.  That is simply astounding.

No word conveys the eeriness of whale song, tuned by the ages to a purity beyond refining, a sound that man should hear each morning to remind him of the morning of the world.

I thought this seemed like a great idea.  I downloaded a recording of humpback whale songs and have been listening to it every morning while I drive to work. It is grounding, comforting and inspiring.

Give it a try and let me know how it goes for you.

Wildbranch

I applied to Orion's Wildbranch Writing Workshop at Sterling College  and was selected to the wait list-better than an outright "No" but not as good as as an outright "Yes".

Here is the essay I sent for the application process.  I hope you enjoy it.

Legacy

In a few hours it will be my fiftieth birthday.  I’ve made peace-or at least détente with this fact. On the surface, I don’t have anything against aging.  However, the insidious physical effects are hard to deny: the need to coax the synovial fluid into the joints after ever short periods of inactivity; the plot by our electricity supplier to dim the lights at precisely the moment I am to read; the insistence of others on softly murmuring when addressing me… I imagine the shock my body and psyche would experience if I woke up tomorrow morning in my 17 year old body.

On the eve of this milestone birthday, I reminisce about my parents who have been dead nearly 7 years, dying just nine months apart. I imagine what they might say about my life as it has evolved since last we were together.  I have a tendency to reflect and compare my station in life with theirs at any given age.  When they were 50, I was 20 (taking my young, nubile body for granted).

My memory takes me back even further.  I am in junior high and my life revolves around dogsled racing. While my contemporaries are reading Teen Beat and Young Miss, I am pouring through issues of Team and Trail. My weekends are spent loading and unloading excited dogs into the homemade dog boxes atop the old orange GMC pick up my father kept running with creative mechanics.  We drive north, pulling off the main road onto a dirt road that runs along a small river. The excitement of the dogs begins to rise and there erupts a cacophony of howls and yelps from the back of the truck. The snow banks along the edges of the road are taller than the truck.  The depth of the snow in the woods is hard to judge because of the slope of the mountain meeting the road on the left and the ice choked water on the right. This is the 1970’s though and there is not ever a real worry about snow conditions or depth in winter.  We arrive at the end of the plowed road where a massive plow comb blocks vehicular progress, however it is packed down and accessible on the left side by a well-traveled snow mobile trail.

We go about the preparations of getting the dog teams ready: lay out the gang lines; get the sleds off the truck; attach them to the front of the truck with snap lines; get the harnesses out.  We take the dogs out of their boxes, shivering and shaking, they howl with excitement.  Everyone knows the routine.  After the dogs are in their harnesses, we assemble the teams- lead dogs first, ending with the wheel dogs.  The sleds are bouncing up and down, side to side, as the dogs pull against their lines, eager to go. Frost forms on their whiskers and eye lashes. The breath of anticipation is in the air.  Next comes my favorite part. I stand astride the runners on the sled, sensing the barely contained restraint of the team. The vibration of the energy in the lines is telegraphed into the curved bow of the sled and my heartbeat echoes the enthusiastic cadence.  The snap line is removed and for a millisecond there is the sound of the runners on the paved road followed by a moment of weightlessness, as the sled and I are air born, flying over the plow comb. The sled settles onto the trail with a dampened thud.  Then just the sound of the dogs breathing, the soft swoosh of the runners on the snow and the solitude of the woods.

When my folks died, they had only one dog, standing a seven-year-old Keeshond, Abby.  She lives with us now, linking me to my past.  She and I know what living with my parents was like.  This is our bond.  Every night, when we return from our walk, as I release her from her leash and she sometimes successfully, but more frequently not, bounds up the stairs onto the porch, my heartbeat quickens and I relive the rush of disengaging my team from that jerry-rigged GMC and taking flight.

As part of my fiftieth birthday celebration, my partner assembled a photomontage of my life and times.  There is a black and white shot of me at about five years old with my parent’s, and mine, first dog, Mike.  He is old by dog standards in this photo.  He is sitting attentively next to me while I play.  It is obvious we enjoy each other’s company. We have a five-year-old daughter, Maisie.   A few photos later, Abby, my parent’s last dog and Maisie’s first, sits attentively, loyally next to her. 

Mexico Days 4 and 5

Day 4

This was probably Maisie's favorite day.  We basically stayed at the resort.  We did take a mid morning sojourn down the street past several resorts to go to a sister resort to ours as we were on the hunt for Spider, and especially, Howler monkeys. By the time we arrived to the Riu Yucatan, Maisie was a hot sweaty mess. Once away from the shore the humidity and heat was slightly oppressive. We strolled the grounds and saw lots of signs of the monkeys, but they were not to be found. We did see Agoti and Maisie got to cool off in a cave for a few moments.  We then went to the pool  and sat at the bar.  Because we were guests at a Riu resorts we were able to drink for free.  So, 11 am we all had strawberry daiquiris-one sans alcohol. This set the tempo for the day.  We took a taxi back to the hotel and spent the rest of the day at the beach/pool drinking pina coladas and having a beach bbq. We finally discovered that the pool with the swim up bar was only three feet deep so Maisie could easily go in that one...how convenient! Maisie made some friends, did the resort kid group activities including the mini disco at night and generally we all relaxed.  The one blight on the day was a near altercation with one of the overzealous and socially rude parents at the mini disco, but even that has become a good story.

Day 5

We went home. We did enjoy our outdoor breakfast and a last walk to the beach and around the grounds before we hopped on the van for Cancun.  We rode on the van to the airport with a very cheery marine biology student from Missouri.  The airports were more hectic to navigate coming back into the states and the flight personnel were less friendly and helpful.  The nicest people we met were in Newark if that indicates anything.  We got off the plan in Portland at 11p.m. into freezing cold temps and a foot of snow. It was good to be home though.

Agoti

bar on the beach at sister resort

cave dweller (yes, that is sweat)

Mini Disco

Mexico Day 3

We were up very early as we were to catch a van to go to Chichen Itza.  It was a three hour ride to the site, located in the heart of the Yucatan and the jungle.  Our guide Julio, was fantastic in conveying information about the Maya, the flora and fauna of the jungle and the history of the area.  On the way there we stopped at a coop where we bought cartouches with our intials on them in the Mayan language. We had a tour of the ruins and then were left to our devices for a bit of site seeing. It was very, very hot and dry and the paths were lined with vendors who were rather pushy.  They all were selling these clay whistles that sounded like jaguars. We met up with the group to eat lunch at a restaurant on the grounds.  There were men and women who danced with beer and trays on their heads.  Maisie seemed to really get a kick out of this.  Again, like everywhere in Mexico the restaurant was open air and surrounded by exotic birds and lizards.

Once back on the van we made a stop at a cenote, which is a water-filled cave where the roof has collapse.  The one we stopped in was 15 meters deep except where the roof had fallen in the middle so we did not go in because Maisie does not know how to swim yet.  We sat on the edge and had guppies nibble the dead skin off our feet-this is a Mexican spa treatment when getting a pedicure.  there were also some larger algae eating fish in the pool, but they seemed to just be curious and not interactive.  I twas a relief from the heat to be sure.

From here we went to one of the oldest Spanish cities in Mexico, Vallodolid. It was beautiful.  We visited an colonial mission church and some shops.  We bough vanilla and chocolate, two important products for the region.

We arrived back to the hotel around 12 hours after we left.  We had our usual al fresco dining experience, enjoyed the kid's mini disco in the "saloon" and off to bed.  I for one was grateful we had nothing but sun and surf planned for the next day.

Mexico Travelogue Day Two

On the second day, the first full day for us in Mexico, Maisie and I got up with the sun and to the exotic caws and calls of Yucatan grackles and maybe a Spider Monkey or two and headed to the beach.  It was still windy and the surf was big and present, but the air was warm and the sun golden.

  Maisie had found a drink glass on the beach and was entertaining herself with filling it with the white sand and then rinsing it in the Sapphire gin colored sea.

I turned and faced the resort and there were two VERY large birds soaring across the lightening sky- a pelican and a wood stork.  They were striking mostly due to the pterodactyl-like appearance in the cloudless sky.

After a wonderful al fresco breakfast buffet, we were in a taxi and off to Playacar, the town center to catch the ferry to Cozumel and to our planned excursion, the Atlantis Submarine and a look at the MesoAmerican reef and Yucatan Trench.

Some of the crew on Atlantis

On board the sub

Our little Ichtyologist

In town, we saw a lion cub, which was very exciting even while being sad, knowing this was not a natural life for such a majestic creature.

After the submersion on The Atlantis, we had lunch at a restaurant and had time to do a little shopping.

Waiting for the ferry to Cozumel

on the boat to the sub

inside the restaurant

After another lovely dining experience on the veranda, an hour of The Simpson's in Spanish and still feeling the time change and the effects of leaving home at 4 am we were in bed early, leaving the sliders open to the warm night air and jungle sounds.