Threads of Love and Patches

He and Patches

Well-loved

I've spent a good portion of today picking up remnants throughout the house.

Patches is a part of our family and one of Zero's favorite playmates. Patches is truly living up to his name these days. He is missing several toes on one paw. Another paw is missing altogether and his stubby tail is split in numerous places. He has a busted nose, several missing whiskers, a limp leg, and lots of facial scars. It's real important that you speak up and very clearly when you talk to Patches because he's also missing an entire ear. Gone. What was at one time his lasso or a fancy adornment of some kind that he held with his right paw, now displays like some sort of major artery ribbon flowing out from his wrist. Yep, this is the arm that is totally missing a paw. Once again... gone.

A plus for Patches is that his squeaker still holds a great tune. Zero tests it often when he frequently and triumphantly runs throughout the house tooting continually his favorite song du jour like some master blues harmonica player. Zero's grand performance generally concludes with his big chest raised high while he tosses Patches from side to side with his climactic one-two, one-two high step big march finale. Epic pretty much sums it up.

Zero greeted me this morning as I toweled off from my shower. Just as quickly as he darted in to check on me, he hurriedly turned around and left. Before I was able to finish drying off and hang the towel, he raced back into the bathroom with his friend. Laying Patches at my feet, Zero then sat patiently with his big eyes staring straight at mine. With a quick toss of Patches to the next room, a flash of high-energy adrenaline and excitement followed the path of the airborne Patches.

Waiting Patches

I've picked up plenty of red threads today. This tells me that Patches' days may be numbered. We've had a who's who cast of lovable likes to Patches over the years. Some have had longer stays than others, but they have all been dearly loved. Once their stuffing makes an appearance though, Zero and I together say farewell as I tuck them deep into the trash can to avoid any miraculous escapes.

There's a far greater tale here than one of a pup and his worn out, thread shedding toy. The truer picture is what all of those single threads represent. Threads are like single strands of love that help to create the fabric. This pup loves happiness. He loves each day ....every day... and the entire day. He loves the simplest of moments, he loves smiles and laughter and pleasing others, he loves being loved AND more importantly than anything else... Zero loves, loves, loves to love back.

Perhaps we can all learn a little something from a few tattered threads. Peace, and goodness, and a life of days filled with loose threads and worn out Patches.

Threads of love

Swaying Hugs and a Road Song

Frost on the Windshield

The recent snowfall painted a serene backdrop for my lengthy road trip to offer a final goodbye to someone that I’ve known most of my adult life. It seems I’ve lost count, but I know that I’ve attended far more memorial services in the past few years than I have in my entire lifetime. “It’s that circle of life thing”, a friend reminded me. His reply seemed far too casual… maybe even a bit too basic. And as much as I would like to think differently, he was absolutely right.

The calm of the distant drive had a soundtrack, but with little volume. Sometimes there was no volume at all. Instead I tuned to the noises of the moment… the wind, the road, and my thoughts as mile markers passed by as if to keep time.

As mournful as expectations were, the day was instead a celebration. I rekindled with faces I’d not seen in years. Those reunions were often followed by hugs. Long ones. The ones that make you sway back and forth in one another’s arms for what seems like forever… those welcomed kind of forevers. The day was filled with plenty of shared words of comfort. Smiling strangers offered personal accounts, memories, and stories of a man that we each knew just a little bit differently than the other. I laughed far more than I cried. At times, laughing loud enough that people sitting in pews in front of me would look back with a smile. Seems everyone did.

The return home soundtrack was not much different than the one from hours earlier. Loosening my necktie, I turned south on the rural two-lane route. Smiling, I waved back to the oncoming driver with four raised fingers from the top of my steering wheel. My right hand reached for the dial on the dash to raise the volume on the stereo. A mile or so later, I raised it even more. Each of those familiar lyrics was a longtime friend of mine. I sang the words to every song while reflections of miles passed behind me in the mirror, each seemingly humming the very same song.

A Fifty Cents Blessing

Winter Light

Stepping away from my truck, I was approached by a man today. He was life-worn, middle-aged, and layered with clothing. Plenty of it, sheltering himself the best he could from the day’s wind chill of 0 degrees. “Sir,” he asked. “Could I bother you for 50 cents?” Carrying no money on me, my reply was honest. “Thank you anyway,” the man replied as he turned and walked away. A frigid wind gust blew as I pulled my scarf tighter around my body. Watching as the man moved further away from me, I yelled out, “Sir!” as I jogged toward him. “I don’t have any cash, but I’d be happy to buy you a sandwich.” He paused a moment before replying that that would be nice. “Maybe tuna fish would be good. I’d like that.” I invited him to follow me.

The two of us walked into the nearby restaurant. He was quiet and seemed a little uncomfortable as the two of us stood at the counter. “How about a large cup of coffee?” I asked. “And how about a hot bowl of soup to go with your sandwich?” He slightly smiled, accepted my offer, and told me he was homeless. “Yes sir” I replied as I patted him on the shoulder. He used the word “blessing” several times as we waited for his hot meal.

Our short time together came to an end as I handed him the large brown paper bag filled with a tuna salad sandwich, a large hot bowl of noodle and chicken soup, a bag of potato chips, and a large coffee. Both sides of our parting conversation included that blessing word again. He shared a casual life worn smile with me as he thanked me. “You’re certainly welcome,” I told him. “You take care of yourself.” Holding his bag firmly, he slowly walked out the door.

There was no overthinking the event of today. I just followed my heart. With the day now behind me, I remember my father helping families numerous times even when Dad himself was disabled and unable to work. My father’s ails or lack of extra funds didn’t matter. Helping someone in need solely for the sake of making his or her day a little better was the only thing that ever mattered. Lesson learned.

Perhaps not having two quarters in my pocket today was also a blessing.