A Pup Story. One More Time.

It was one year ago today when she and I took a long ride through the countryside, just for the sake of one more time. I added several more miles to our usual route and also drove a bit slower, all to add a few more minutes of just one more time. She was weak from her years-long battle with cancer, but sat tall with stature and presence as she stared out the open window at every passing tree, signpost, and cloud. Unlike all of our many previous road trips, she took in every moment on that chilly morning. Everyone.

We slowly drove up the lane to our home, where her veterinarian met us.

I cried this morning. Not because today reminds me of a morning drive that we shared a year ago, but because I’m thankful for all of the unselfish strength Pita offered me. Like me, Pita expected order in our home. Her home... and she was dedicated to always keeping her siblings in line. After deciding I wanted to return to school, she sat with me in the quiet light of my home office during long hours and years of study. She had so much patience, helping me through not just one degree, but three. During those years, she was also the one closest to my side when I decided that sobriety was a necessity for me. She never once wavered. She was always there. Always.

That girl also had an impeccable taste in music, too. Or maybe it was her tolerance for my deep appreciation of the eclectic. We were always listening to music. Classic rock, jazz, cocktail lounge, country, not to mention all of those out-of-tune nights of guitar practice. She was good with all of it. Every moment. It was our time together, and we shared plenty of it.

I rescued Pita when she was a puppy, just a few weeks old. Her Dumbo sized, pointy ears outlined and framed her bright eyes. Those ears pointed straight up to the sky. In time, she would finally grow into those pretty ears. Rescuing her and placing her small, round puppy belly on the truck seat on that hot, dusty August afternoon is one of the best things I have ever done.

Life’s path always provides a remarkable way of healing. I recently committed to donating my skills to assist with a non-profit dog rescue organization. This coming weekend, I'm jumping back in my truck to volunteer time and miles for a transportation run to drive a rescued senior pup from a kennel in Georgia to his loving Forever Home in northern Virginia. I have always been a believer in second chances, and I do not doubt that Pita would graciously approve of this weekend's road trip. One more time.

Keep running, pretty girl. I am.

It's Christmastime

That time of the year is here again. And with it, I look forward to seeing those I love in the next week. I'm counting on those days being filled with plenty of soul-filling goodness: puppy kisses and wagging tails, teary-eyed laughter, reading, studying, loads of fab music backed by a tad more groovy tunes, and a dinner and movie date (heck, maybe even two). It's Christmastime.

As another year passes, another one of promise and dreams will begin just behind it. Seems I'm still the same kid that would loudly sing along to his favorite song as it played through the single mono speaker on that lime green portable AM radio.... the one with the matching lime green wrist strap and the retractable chrome antenna. I still dream. I still laugh to myself ...and frequently laugh at myself. I'm still curious about life and sometimes wonder what if? ...what happened? ...where are they? …and often just a simple why? Why?

Through it all, it seems that I'm still defining me. Why would I ever stop? Each day is a gift, a lesson, an opportunity to smile at someone; not that plastic smile.... but the real eye-to-eye contact kind of smile. Those are the ones that count and the ones that really make a difference. I don't want to search or define reasons to create something new.... I just want to create with the hope of maybe leaving something of value, purpose, and good behind. It doesn't need to be extravagant or epic or life-changing either. Just make it real. That promises to make all the difference.

Looking back, I love the simple dirt under my fingernails, blue-collar, work-hard-every-day upbringing that I came from. It was genuine and provided me with the perfect starting point for my unusual, let's take this turn, roundabout, where the hell are you headed path that has brought me to where I am today. Five years ago, along that very path, I gifted myself with sobriety. It was the most humbling and honest soul-searching I have ever experienced. I awake blessed, thankful, and alive each morning. I dig this place.

I really loved that spark and spirited, song singing, love everyone, always smiling, creative kid that I used to be. I hope he's still the same and never loses that.

Love and stuff... It's Christmastime.

imperfectly beautiful

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I believe in second chances far more than abandonment.

Fewer days thrill me more than those where I can take something that’s been discarded, breathe new life in it, and have it resuscitate the same in me. I’m constantly surrounded by hand me downs, throwaways, secondhand left behinds, and rescues… each by choice. With their used to be past, their visibly less than perfect flaws, and their distinctive individualities, each mirror my own life perfectly.

Popularity is generally temporary fluff. The combination of uniqueness, imperfection, and originality however, will always display a sincere timeless genuine beauty.

I believe in believing.

beneath a blue sky and a green canopy

Moving Forward ©2012

Yesterday marked the end of the first week of 2012. The weather and the day were nearly identical to the week before. Almost to the minute from a week earlier, I drove past a cemetery yesterday that I'd driven by on the afternoon of New Years Eve. On a date generally known for celebrating great hopes and new beginnings, a funeral was taking place. Beneath the largest blue sky was a green temporary canopy providing shade for family, friends, and loved ones who instead were spending this final day of 2011 by saying farewell. There was no champagne, no confetti, and no loud countdown to a brilliant display of lights or fireworks. There was only sunshine, silence, and goodbyes.

I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking quite a bit about those things that I control; and more importantly, those that I don’t. I’m not generally one that’s big on making annual resolutions. A good idea is a good idea. Whether you begin it on January 1 or May 5th is really unimportant. The importance comes from making a healthy decision, committing to the right people, and being honest with myself.

I’ve happily committed to a number of those in recent years. On December 30, I celebrated my second year of sobriety. It certainly would have been far easier for me to wait until January 1. Then I could have bookmarked it as one of those happy, new beginning, resolution kind of things. It couldn’t wait though and neither could I.

I owe it to myself to be surrounded by the right people; to learn how to forgive; to wake in the morning and live the entire day until I lay my head on my pillow at nighttime for a few hours sleep; to smile because I truly mean it; and to move with a forward momentum. I'd like to dance everyday to the music in my head and sing the lyrics ...whether I know all the words or not. I need to leave any random aches from my past where they are and move with one step in front of the other.

I'm responsible for me, so if a large blue sky plans to shine on my day, I refuse to be invisible.