Stirred not Shaken

There's a line from a Mary Oliver poem, School, that questions "How many summers does a little dog have?"  In the poem she is talking about the undisciplined nature of the dog in question, chastising

“You’re like a little wild thing that was never sent to school".  In the end she encourages the animal to embrace his life, freedom and vigor  because all these will end too soon.  I have thought of this line so many times since first reading it this past early Spring. I think of it in regard to my daughter, Maisie, who is six.  I think of it for myself as I feel the speed of life quickening. 

I am nursing my third "knee event" since last year.  No direct trauma, no known structural issue-simply overuse- the demand (basketball, Crossfit) is greater than the resource (healthy meniscus, joint lube). It is like I have a mirror- distorted I hope- where I take measure of my own physical changes of aging. On one side of this mirror is Abby, our Keeshound who died last November; the other is Maisie.  Maisie is youth personified- a hard little body of muscle and sinew, all flexible and corporeally confident.

Last night I dreamt of old dogs, young girls, grandmothers' homes, childhood into adulthood friends, rogue waves and sharks. I won't bore you with the details or the tedious drivel of interpreting this neuronal  processing of the day or metaphysical coded message As an aside, dreams, if they indeed are messages from somewhere or someone are frustratingly like all spiritual communication- there never appears to be clear didactic sharing of information. 

The knee, the way this summer is playing out weather-wise as I find it cool, wet and very unsummery, the nature of my work, my current readings of Adrift and Living with a Wild God, and the unfolding of our child from one developmental stage to the next has me stirred up.

Let it suffice to say,  I am a work in progress.