Strawberry's Mountain

Last weekend was a trip into the mountains of North Carolina for a puppy reunion; ten sixteen-month-old collies from an iconic line which happens to be in the middle of a big fugly lawsuit. It's sad that the people who did all the work and trained generations of dogs that people fell in love with have had the end result; the pride and the legacy, torn out of their hands by a 'corporate' entity that is only concerned about the money and the marketing.

The reunion was just awesome. The pedigreed dogs you might expect to have pedigreed owners to match, and while a few of the humans could pass, most were down to earth and just really pleased to have the opportunity to own one of these pups.


We stayed at a lodge at the top of a mountain, the only rental property on a private road with year-round residents.


For me, the best part was finding a kindred spirit up there, a small black Lab/Irish Setter mix named Strawberry who attached herself to me and my friend for pretty much the whole time we were there.


Strawberry belongs to a nearby family who is dealing with some issues, and it's apparent the dog is not a priority for them. The delicate feathering on her ears, legs, and tail was clotted with burs and mats.


She spent most of her time there at the lodge and no one came looking for her or called her home that we could hear. She greeted guest's vehicles at the top of the last twisted hill in the road and escorted them onto the property. She welcomed humans and dogs alike, romped with the pups, lazed with us when she found us outside and idle, insinuated herself into the puppy pictures, and approached everyone with a smile on her face. There is nothing in the world as happy as a dog's smile.


I fell in love with her completely and achingly. I had myself convinced that she would be better off with me when we left. My girlfriend agreed, however I wasn't about to steal somebody's dog. We discussed finding her owner and offering to buy her.


I honestly felt that I could not leave that mountain without her.


Our last night there, her and I sat outside under a full moon for hours. She stayed at my feet or in my lap, letting me work out some of the burs and mats with my fingers. When coyotes howled not too far away she just lifted her head and listened. She wasn't disturbed by the night noises and rustlings around us, I'm sure they were as commonplace to her as her own heartbeat.


Then it hit me. This was her mountain. Strawberry's Mountain, where she lived, and where people loved her and would miss her if she left.


I think the mountain would miss her if she left.


I knew I was not the first one to want to take her home, the owner of the lodge said everyone falls in love with her.


There may come a day when somebody does steal her, but I hope that day never comes. I can't imagine her anywhere else.


Her family loves her, she's well fed and does go home at night. She has the freedom to do as she pleases on the mountain, and it wasn't my place to take that away from her.


I left a little bit of me up there with her, wishing her safe from reckless travelers and moonstruck coyotes.


I wished that at the end of her days she goes home to loving hands and voices that are music to her ears.


That the children she grew up with can appreciate her calmness, her loyalty and nobility, and take solace in it as they deal with their private fears and griefs.


That she can be a quiet reciprocating presence for them as she was for me, accepting love for what it is, and not questioning it.

The only thing better than a 4th of July party....

Is one at someone else's house.

The kids had a blast.

Eating

Playing;

And being cute.


I am too old for fireworks. As soon as Jim left for work I closed up the house and turned the a/c on so myself and the animals didn't have to put up with the noise. They set them off a few blocks away from us, and people park and walk from here.

I could see them from my patio if I didn't have so many trees.

Weddings and Things

Yesterday my husband and I had the honor of attending one of my best friend's weddings. (Not one of his weddings. One of my best friends. Well technically it was his second wedding, but my husband and I didn't attend his first.)

Yesterday! We went to a wedding! And there was the most deliscious cupcakes in the world!

And a ring bearer!

And sparklers! And it was a beautiful wedding, held right there in their own back yard, completely informal except for the wedding party who changed pretty quickly afterwards.

It was such a heartwarming thing to see the look on his face when she came down the 'aisle'. They are good for each other. It was awesome.

Long time comin'

Jesus, look at the cobwebs around here.

I have (obviously) been elsewhere, doing otherthings, but now it's time to reconnect. With myself.

It's been an uneventful 8 months or so, and I am okay with that. Turk has been armored with an IEP for school and a combination of medications is in place that seems to be helping immensely. After winter break, he started a new class with a smaller student/teacher ratio which has already been an improvement.

He sat yesterday and did a 100 piece jigsaw puzzle with just a few prompts from me. I can't remember the last time he sat still long enough to accomplish any sort of activity, much less one that requires so much concentration. No frustration, no outbursts, just a great weekend on Planetgramma.

We've been taking turns with Turk and Beans, rather than having them both together, as it seems to give them a break from each other. Those are two intense little children, who seem to really play off of each other in negative ways. Similar to how my brother and I were, I'm sure.

We had a return visit to Dad's in October, and the only thing on his bucket list was McDonald's this time. He doesn't get it very often. They have began the process of looking into assisted living, and have a place in mind right in Hudson, so if they can sell the house in the spring, that'll be the plan.

As I said, a quiet time in our lives, and we both appreciate that. We managed to get to Sturgis this year (we missed last year due to Jim's back surgery) and it was an adventure as always. Normally we meet with a group of people out there, but we were all alone this year. It gave us a chance to meet some great new people, both local to SD and visitors for the rally.

I know Jim would like to give up the tent camping, but to me that's the whole charm. Wet sleeping bags and all.

The Taj Mahal, yo. We didn't even bother packing it up to bring it home, we left it behind in all it's duct-taped glory.

I've summed our trip up for posterity:
Day one: Drive 800 miles while constantly checking bed of pick up to make sure nothing blows out.

Day two: Drive 500 miles, arrive, set up tent, explore downtown, have steak tips for dinner.

Day three: Leave in mid-morning for ride through Vonacker Canyon. Get south of Deadwood and notice horrendous storm-clouds. We turned to Deadwood and stopped for lunch at a small restaurant. Ten minutes after arriving the skies opened up and Armageddon ensued. It hailed for 45 minutes. Lawn chairs and bike windshields floated by outside. The ceiling tiles started falling in because the roof could not handle the amount of stuff that was coming down. Locals were awed and terrified, claiming to never have seen anything like it. Someone said "Don't worry, it's headed towards Sturgis." We rode back to Sturgis in the pouring rain, arrived at our campsite to find our tent destroyed and everything in it soaked...pillows, sleeping bags, clothes, etc.

Day four: Tent repaired with buckeye chrome and ingenuity. All camping peripherals dry and usable.

(Mood: resigned, but improving.)

Day four-evening: 50 mile an hour wind with lots of rain blows in from fucking nowhere. Tent lists alarmingly. Water leaks on bed. I may or may not have screamed SCREW YOU SOUTH DAKOTA. Slept in clothes.

(Mood: FML.)

Day five: Tent repaired again. Neighbors start arriving. Concerts begin. Mood: much improved.

Day six: Tesla is playing on-stage. 60 mile an hour winds hammer us out of nowhere. Lead singer freaks out and runs off stage.

(Mood: who cares, pass me a beer.)

Day seven through eleven: Repeat.

Day twelve: Leave Sturgis. Crap blows out of the back of the truck. We do not care.

So I think that catches me up for awhile. I'll try and keep up with the cobwebs though.

Hudson, NY

Hudson


Despite my childhood memories, I love going back to Hudson. As a kid, I always got in trouble with my paternal Grandma, every visit. Once I fell asleep on her embroidered pillowcase with gum in my mouth, which…ew, and the very first time I used the F word was in the alley behind their house playing with the kids ‘downstreet’, at the top of my lungs, and guess who heard me? Another time we jumped a fence and raided the orchards of a very miserly farmer who had a reputation of shooting children, possibly roasting and eating them after he dragged their lifeless bodies back to his old barn. . So my childhood adventures in Hudson stayed with me most of my life.

But I’ve outgrown the alley on Worth Avenue, and our forays take us out into the more beautiful areas of the Hudson valley, and up through the Catskills. The view of the castle (Olana) still greets me as we come across the Rip Van Winkle Bridge, but I no longer fantasize that I will live there someday. I try to remember which view of the mountains looked like Rip Van Winkle asleep on his back, nose and toes pointed up to the sky.

I’m learning and appreciating more of the history of the area thanks to my Dad and my stepmother who is actively involved in everything, everywhere. The DAR, the Hudson Historical Society, and the Historian for a church that was founded in 1727 in nearby Claverack. The list of her involvements goes on exponentially.

I find the mountains almost spiritual, awe-inspiring. To me it’s like visiting the tomb of an icon, or wandering through an archeological find. The very bones of the earth, the flesh fallen away to reveal it’s age and grace.

South Dakota is all granite and limestone, whereas the Hudson valley and the Catskills are a darker, richer stone. They hold more secrets and hide more ghosts. There’s an older history there, and a larger footprint on the world. The veins and arteries of these relics still flow with springs, streams, and kills, to the veritable heart, the Hudson River.


We asked Dad to make a list while we were there, of things he’s like to do. He picked: new shoes, visiting Union College where his major was physics (to be switched to Psychology because the college didn’t think it would be a good idea for a blind student to use the physics lab. Chicken shits.), and picking up an exercise bike.

He’s turning 80 this fall, and with his health issues regular exercise is a must. He felt a bike would be best, since tread mills are a little tricky for blind people.

The other reason was he has very fond memories of riding his bike before he lost his sight. Like most boys he had a paper route, and that was the mode of transportation.

We took him to Sears and let him try a few; he picked one out on some very logical merits; cheap, small and simple. He could barely contain himself while we were putting it together. He couldn’t sit down, he paced and fretted and ran for tools. We got it together and Jim customized it with a hook to hold his digital reader, so he can listen to books while he’s exercising.

We teased him about putting a fan in front to simulate movement, and adding a soundtrack of car horns and shouts of “Watch where you’re going!” and “What are you, BLIND?”

We finished it up and he hopped on, securing his feet in the pedal straps. He started grinning as he pedaled, and pretty soon he was standing up on the pedals, hell bent for leather and you could almost see him as a kid; darting in and out of driveways and alleys with his paper bag across his chest, grubby sneakers, and a baseball cap on.

Backwards, of course.

I hope he rides the HELL out of that bike.

Wonderland

We saw Alice in Wonderland (in 3D!), and while it's very true to form there were a few new story twists. I wont spoil it for you.

After we left the theater, I started thinking how I used to equate Mom's physical decline with Alice falling down the rabbit hole; her dementia with Going Through the Looking Glass; and how sometimes a visit with her was eerily similar to High Tea with the March Hare and the Mad Hatter.

All those things I blogged about, spewed into the internet in an effort to rationalize, or find some sort of comfort zone around them-within them, and anybody that knew her would tell you; she WAS the Red Queen ("I'll chop your head off with a HOE" she would scream at us). And I was Alice, sometimes too small, sometimes too big, and never just right.

I walked myself through the whole grief process, told myself that I had done a lot of pre-grieving (which is a hospice term for "your emotions are running rampant, dude"), hell I even wrote a piece which was a pretty good depiction of grief for having been written six weeks before the actual (similar, as in: death of a loved one) experience.

Similar, but not the same, as we knew it was coming, and after two bad strokes, the final one leaving her unable to speak, eat, or drink for 11 days, we spent a lot of time waiting for relief. For her, and for those of us on death-watch. For the whole gut-wrenching nightmare to be over.

Waiting for the Jabberwocky.

This movie got to me. On the one year anniversary of my Mother's death, it really got to me.

Me, who hasn't grieved since overly much, who handled everything pretty well (except for the, you know, NOT grieving, and the NOT dealing with certain executor type things because that would be...the end.)

I've had one end. I'm not ready for another. So if I don't grieve, and I don't finish up the silly un-pressing details, then...life just goes on, right? Right.

Pass the tea, please, and I'd like another scone.

A quick look over my shoulder

This is the first picture posted on my 360 blog in 2006. It was taken in Daytona Beach, where we had our official honeymoon several months after we were married. And it just so happens it was during bike week.

We had a good time, and stayed beach-side in an efficiency which was pretty cool.

The next year we went, we camped. In a tent.

Hmmph.

Honeymoon's over.

Well, but we continue to try new things and explore, and while we're at it figure out what our likes and dislikes are. We are pretty compatible in a lot of areas, which is good since we didn't take time to 'grow' the relationship in a traditional manner.


One of his marketing points was that we had both tried the 'normal' route, and it hadn't worked out. So what did we have to lose?

Nothing apparently, it's been a win-win all the way.

I will miss going to Sturgis this year, but other things must take precedence, and you can't argue with that.


That's my look back, no regrets, no do-overs...like 360, just gone into the ether.