Love and Words for Trudy

Trudy, AKA Bluedy, True Blue, Boo, Old Girl, Tater, Tate, 15, of Midlothian, passed away July 25, 2016 with her faithful walking partner and friend by her side.

Trudy was 12 weeks old, when her family found her jumping up and down in a fenced cage in the Ukrops parking lot. She was one of many dogs up for adoption that day, but she was the hands down winner for the Crean boys. She came to her life in Midlothian with a chewed up squeaky toy and mange. She left this world surrounded by love and a belly full of French Fries and a Cheeseburger. She leaves behind her hip issues, fatty tumors, cataracts, deafness and wood floor phobias, as well as many fond memories.

She is survived by her human parents and their 2 sons, whom she helped grow from Elementary School to Adulthood. She also leaves behind many squirrels and baby bunnies for her friends Brodie, Lucy, Ginger and Sparky to chase.

Trudy loved to eat. She loved to walk. She was frequently seen riding shotgun with her head and chest  out the window. Besides eating, her absolute favorite activity was her "freedom walk" where she explored creeks and woods off leash. In her younger years she enjoyed tug of war, chasing squirrels and barking at big trucks. She was not a "ball" dog. If a ball was thrown, the game was over.

Her gastronomic exploits were renowned and included eating part of all the desserts she
could reach on a buffet table, while a party was in progress in the other room. In her lifetime she also consumed a rainbow of plastic colored toys, 2 quarts of blueberries, a few pans of brownies, a steel wool grill brush head and part of a strand of Christmas lights.

She was fiercely independent, putting herself to bed at night and sitting in front of the pantry door when she felt the need for  a treat. She also dictated the direction and duration of her daily walks.

Those wishing to honor Trudy's memory can allow a dog to take them for a walk in nature. I miss you greatly my sweet, stubborn girl. Godspeed Trudy. RIP.

Finding Magic

I love finding things. I rarely return from a walk without something in my hand or my pocket. I have a basket full of sticks in my dining room. The table on my deck is covered with odd shaped rocks. My favorite find, though, is feathers. I have a vase full of them. Finch, Blue Jay, Hawk, Owl, Goose, and one very red Cardinal feather, that looks garishly fake against the earth tones of the others. I'm always surprised when I find a feather. What a gift. So soft, but yet so strong. Capable of flight. Freedom. Magic.

On today's stroll through the woods, there were no feathers. Instead I found a potato chip, a heart shaped dog tag, its blue paint worn off, with only part of the letters and numbers visible, and an 8 of spades playing  card. Random? Perhaps. But I pondered each item, wondering their purpose on my path today.

Trudy ate the potato chip before I could discern who's silhouette it resembled. It hadn't been on the path too long, as it crunched when her sharp canines devoured it.

I picked up the worn dog tag. I tried to decipher what letters I could, while rubbing its slickness between my fingers. I couldn't make out any name or number, but I'm sure its owner was older, to be wearing such a piece of faded collar bling. Obviously, he came before us on this journey. Maybe he was clearing the path of danger for me and my pup. I placed his tag on the bridge railing, hoping for another walk for him to find it and claim it.

The eight of spades. A playing card. Or, maybe a working card, belonging to a magician. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. The number 8 represents infinity. No limits. Endless.  Rather quickly, my thoughts turned from potato chips, old dogs and magic tricks, to "infinity and beyond." The circle of life.

I have to trust that I am on the right path. I'm so grateful my friend Trudy is still by my side. Keeping the path clear of chips, so I can ponder the important things like dog tags and playing cards.

As we came out of the woods this morning, I looked up and saw a beautiful cloud shaped like a feather. A wispy, whiteness against a blue jay colored sky. Magic. Now...for just a little while.

The Between Time

The days grow by seconds, reaching for the light. Longing for length. Crocus color the snow as daffodils sneak in, waiting patiently for their turn.  The calendar has a tulip in the square, denoting spring. But winter is putting up a good fight. The vernal season looks well on a white background. I admire its determination. The between time. Not winter. Not spring. The best of both worlds.

I love frosty nights. Brisk  morning walks where the sun urges me to doff my sweatshirt, but instead I pull up my hood to block the wind. I spy things breaking through in my garden. Unsure of their identity, I long to dig in the dirt. To turn over handfuls of cold, wet soil. Plant seeds.  Despite the sun's tease, I know it's not time. This is the season to clear the cobwebs. Reflect. Renew. Refresh.

The trees are beginning to bud, but they too are waiting. Patient. Stoic. I see beyond their nakedness, deep into the woods. The birds are busy, picking through the leaves looking for food and nesting materials Their chorus sings me awake each morning. On warm nights, the spring frogs pierce the dark. Their peeps echo through the bare trees alerting us that the time for warmth is close. The loamy, rich scent from the thawing earth teases my nose. The woods are fertile for new growth.

I'll miss winter. Fires, soups, and fuzzy sweaters. But as nature gears up for spring, it's time to pause. Sit back and enjoy the between time. I'm grateful for another season. New beginnings. Now...for just a little while.

Snow Day

Snowcation: A day or two away from routine, preceded by (at least in Central Virginia) anxious anticipation, accompanied by hoarding of bread, milk, toilet paper, and 24 hour Weather Channel watching. The two  "cation" days are spent mostly warding off Cabin Fever. This malady is characterized by an intense need to rid driveways and walkways of every single snowflake so that one can drive somewhere, anywhere for.....something.

I do not comply with the Central Virginia protocol for snow days. I guess that makes me a snow rebel. For this last storm, I did pre-shop for chocolate, wine and beef stew fixings. I inventoried and readied candles, matches, and flashlights....just in case. Secretly hoping we might lose power for just a few hours for some real slowed down ambiance.

No cabin fever here. I love nature's winter pageant. The Overture starts as fine snow sifts from the clouds, clinging to the trees, just to make sure we see it. Then the fat, fluffy flakes fall. The Best in Show. I love watching them dance, twirl and swirl, creating surreal landscapes on the deck and the ground. For the observer this is the time to get lost in winter solitude. Abandon the normal routine. Eat more, read more, nap more. The final act of accumulation adds a Crescendo of wind, a Coda of snow mixed with sleet and then it's done. All is quiet.

A beautiful silence. My favorite time to walk. Me making footprints in powder while dogs dance on drifts. Snow....Now for just a little while.

Peace on Earth

There is a small, white porcelain plate on my windowsill that reminds me daily, in a beautiful burgundy scroll, to "follow after the things which make for peace." I see this every morning as I rinse out my coffee cup. Many days I say out loud, "You lead. I'll follow."

Why is peace so hard to find? We just finished a season full of Peace on Earth cards, blessings, and wishes. It appears to be something we are all longing for. The answer seems obvious. Make peace in your own corner. If everyone did this, wouldn't it add up to Peace on Earth?

I've always needed, searched for peace in my life. I guess that makes me a Peacemaker.  I avoid arguments and judgements. I can't stand bullies or anyone being left out. It's a burden being a Peacemaker. Those of us with this malady are very sensitive. We want calm and harmony. When my boys were young,  normal  disagreements and fights happened. I would step between them, without taking sides and tell them to "take it outside." They would, most times finding sticks, bugs, or a tree to climb, quickly forgetting the argument. I'm not sure if this was the right parenting technique, but it brought peace. I just hope it taught them to follow after peace, rather than swallow their angst.

I seek peace in nature. That's where the sharp edges are softened. Walking. Noticing. A deer untangling his antlers from the honeysuckle that smells so sweet. Gazing at the soft greenness of  moss under a tree. Listening. Leaves rustling. Woodpeckers knocking. Birds singing. This is what I follow. I try to be mindful. I don't have all the answers. Just a longing for tolerance, accepatance, inclusion.

Wishing you peace for 2016. Namaste. Now...for just a little while.

Doubt

I'm back. Try as I might to go astray, this blog haunts me. Its callings have been ignored for other fancies. Cooking classes, cleaning closets, walking and wondering. I've been writing in my head all along. But, that doesn't count.

This is my practice place. A venue that just asks me to show up. Polished words and perfect grammar are not required. Blogging holds me accountable to my writing commitments. It's time to chase the shadows looking over the page, trying their best to hold me back.

A Virgin Notebook Full of Promise

By Anita Crean

 

Doubt follows me to the writing table

pulls up the grey upholstered chair.

Doesn't want coffee,

but comments on how the Dark Brazilian roast might have been a better choice.

 

I take out my tools.

My favorite fat pen with the padded grip

that skates across the page.

A virgin notebook full of promise.

Just waiting.

Doubt creeps in:

Put the pen down,

scrub the toilet,

brush the dog,

sweep the porch.

 

I turn on soft instrumental music.

Doubt turns it up and adds lyrics.

I begin.

Words flow

connected by adverbs, adjectives, punctuation

chugging across the page.

I think I can.

The sun rays slant across the paper

encouraging,

illuminating the way.

Then Doubt casts its shadow.

Puts a slash through all my words.

I thought I could.

 

Doubt, you suck.

My ideas hide behind you.

My inspirations are lost in your vastness,

beacons searching through the fog,

that try as I might, I can't reach.

There will be no saving today.

Words strangled by doubt.

 

Promise to self. Show up. Write a few more sentences. I know I can. Unless my words get tangled in turkey and tinsel.  Now....for just a little while.

 

 





Freedom Walk

If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.     African Proverb


I never taught Trudy how to heel. She had to learn so much as a pup. Heeling seemed a little too rigid for her.Trudy's a smart, spirited dog. Stubborn to a fault. I wanted her to have some sense of control. At first there was lots of pulling on the leash. I even had to use a gentle leader (which I called the "nose thing") for awhile. I reigned her in just enough so that she was ahead, but not jerking me forward. I allowed her to lead me. I felt it gave her a sense of freedom. Dogness.

She was my personal trainer those first years, pawing me during breakfast, anxious to get to her work of clearing the neighborhood of squirrels, chipmunks, and geese. So I'd slurp down my coffee, clip the retractable leash to her red leather, bone studded collar and off we would go. In the beginning I watched her paws. She was jogging, I was power walking, with her occasional pauses to sniff or potty. We'd go at least 2 miles, many times more. We had different routes, and each day I would let her pick the direction at the forks in the paths. Some days she knew exactly which way to go, others, she would point her snout to the air, twitch her nose and pause before deciding. To this day, if I don't choose to go the way she wants, she pulls on the leash. I love this tug of war game. It shows her feisty independence.

She and I developed a strong bond, walking pretty much every day through heat, rain, snow, ice, and fog. It was my nature time. I discovered my peace on a path with my dog. I found bird's nests, drift wood, feathers and rocks that would "follow me home." I saw dew kissed spiderwebs dotting the soccer field like miniature circus tents. I witnessed herons spearing fish, turtles laying eggs and an owl studying me from a hollow in a tree. Every walk was a gift.

Trudy is 14 now. She still leads me. We go at a snail's pace and most days we don't even make it a mile. She stills looks over her shoulder to be sure of me. After our walk I give her a treat and head back out, dogless, to get  more exercise. I feel naked, vulnerable, without her lead. My morning walk takes much longer now. But I will walk that 40 minute mile with her for as long as she wants to. It's the least I can do. Thank you Trudy for sharing the wonders of nature with me. You can always be sure of me. Together we go far. Now...for just a little while.