life with the cats

Life continually changes. This I know. The most recent change for me and my dog has been the addition of two cats to our lives - and with only one night under our belts - I'm inclined to thing this one could be the biggie.

Moving to South Dakota was nothing for us. Pack up a truck, buy a map, and hit the road. The new house was a little daunting, with lots of work to do to make it livable, but that we managed rather well. The snow...now that was a bit more challenging, at least for Bailey. I adapted rather easily after buying a new parka and some gloves. And Bailey and Buddy (Steve's dog) were fast friends.

But now we're adding the cats to the mix.

Yesterday was bound to be difficult as I woke up thinking about how much I didn't want to get out of bed. This is uncommon for me, as the coffee is usually enough of an incentive. I faced a day with little to do, so napping seemed the best option. I took it. Didn't get into the shower until 3. When Steve arrived after work, he told me it was time to introduce the cats to the house and to Bailey - my heart rate soared. So this is the thing. The thought of the living with the cats was fine, the reality of it was a little scary. I like cats, and these two are particularly nice - both male, soft and declawed. My first thought wasn't for me, but for my dog, who has never lived with a cat, and who would prefer to catch them or chase them up trees.

And my fear was justified when Steve opened the kennel. Bailey sniffed his way to the kennel and grabbed a mouthful of orange fur. Thankfully there was no flesh involved. And the cat he chose to taunt remained surprisingly unconcerned with the situation. I pulled Bailey back by the collar, and started to sweat thinking, how is this going to work.

I pulled out the instruction sheet that I got at the pet store about introducing dogs and cats. And now the trial period begins. Bailey goes into the bedroom, and we let out the cats so they can get used to the place. Bailey barks from behind the door. One cat hides behind the sofa. The other seems quite happy to roam. I sit in the bedroom with Bailey for awhile, trying to calm him. He does okay after awhile. Then we introduce the cats to the upstairs, where they will live until the dog get used to their scent, and realizes that they are a part of the pack.

So in the meantime, I wonder how this is all going to work out. Worst case scenario, the cats live upstairs. I could do this, but don't think it's the optimal solution. Best case scenario, Bailey gets used to the cats, and they have safe places to get themselves out of his way should they piss him off.

What I hate is that, while I can adjust to all of these life changes, and feel quite happy about them, my dog just doesn't get it. And at his age, he shouldn't have to. After all, he is an old man, set in his ways, and I have totally busted up the little peaceful life we shared. Part of me knows that with the health problems he's experiencing, he won't be around much longer, but I want the rest of his life to be peaceful and good. And adjusting to the cats, I wonder if it's just too much to ask.

sunday morning

Friendships are weird things. Sometimes they serve us - sometimes they make us feel sad. I feel a close friendship slipping away, and I'm not sure that I've done anything to cause it, which leaves me feeling helpless and out of control. I'm sure the problem is that my location has changed, and I have healed, which leaves my friend in a strange position. She was accustomed to "taking care" of me. In fact, we met when I was most needy. Now that I am feeling myself again, and have taken back control of my life, I no longer need to be taken care of. Therefore, her role has changed. In addition, she was diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, and I am unable to be there for her. She expects that I should be, but I can't - or won't, due to my own current life changes.

I am hurt by her tone and her comments, but she doesn't see it. She feels abandoned, and I feel unable to do anything about it.

And what is the lesson in this? That the relationship was never truly balanced? That it served its purpose for the short term, and that it is meant to pass as our lives change? Still working that out. I suppose it will resolve itself in due time.

I have been thinking about how most of my friends are very happy for my happiness, and applaud my courage. And these friends, while they do offer their concerns, also share my joy. And no matter how many miles, or days we spend apart, they remain. It's comforting to know they will be there. And I will be there. Perhaps these friendships are not based on expectations, but on something else. Do these friends share my view of the world and relationships as ever-changing? Do they realize, as I do, that physical presence is not essential? and that caring can continue across miles and time? What makes these friendships work, and others fade away?

I do continue to care, but refuse to put myself into the line of fire. I learned this the long, hard way once. In fact, my friend helped me to learn this. Wonder if she thought it would ever apply to her?

hi

So it's been awhile. I guess this starting a new life thing has me busier than I expected. And then there's the sharing my space with other living things, including a man, which I promised myself I would never do. Though I still have had very few, "oh shit - what have I done" moments, I wonder how long that can possibly last. I spent so much of my life waiting for the ugly shoe to drop, that I continue to look for the mud.

Tonight is one of those rare occasions where I find myself alone. I am much better with it than the last time it happened. This makes me feel good. I am feeling more secure in my surroundings which is huge. I know that as the end of the month grows nearer, my roommate will become permanent, which gives me a lot to think about. I already keep his puppy, and will soon have his cats to think about. Other critters to share the space of a passionate dog person may muck things up a bit.

I remember thinking that I would only let a man leave a toothbrush and a clean pair of underwear at my house - but it didn't take long to break that rule. I now find myself surrounded by male "stuff." It is pervasive and bold. Products with names like "Red Zone" and "Spiderwire" - a whole new language. But I'm learning to speak it - always was a good student. Tonight we put fishing line on my new "rod" - a thoughtful gift...I think. I might have preferred tulips in another lifetime. But somehow enjoy this new foray into the world of fish and men.

And so I am making space - in closets and dressers and nightstands - for this "stuff". And my stuff isn't quite as organized as I hoped it would be by now. I know I've only been here three weeks and a couple of days, but it feels longer, and I wish I weren't on deadline, as I want to be doing other things.

So am I ready for this - I don't know. I'm just swept along in a current that I'll call love and comfort. I'm enjoying the ride, though like any good rollercoaster, sometimes it makes my stomach lurch.

I want to sleep now, but have work I should do. And it does call my name despite the hour.

Life is good.

mixed feelings

So I asked the Universe to let me feel again...and I do. Thanks...sort of.

Though I do like this feeling thing, I must say that there seem to be too many feelings running around inside of me today. I'm just not sure which ones to pay the most attention to.

Last night was a little difficult for me. It was Friday night, and I was home alone and not sure what to do with myself. The biggest problem I see right now with this move to a new city is that I have no friends. I could have used an adult beverage and a little intelligent conversation after spending the week with my computer and a couple of dogs who seem to have forgotten where to go potty. But there was no one to call. My new significant other was out doing his thing, which I think is healthy, but I had no "thing" to do. So the first thing I'm feeling is a little friendless.

To my friends who live other places, know that you are loved and treasured, but I sure wish I was close enough to meet you at Starbucks or this wonderful little coffee shop I found here called Black Sheep Coffee.

I am also feeling a little nervous as "his" parents are coming today and my place looks quite unfinished. It's not that I think they'll care, but I do. And wish it were a little more together.

I am also saddened, as my "sister" is going through treatment for breast cancer, and helpless, because I can't do anything to make it better.

I am also joyful because of how I am finding life here in Sioux Falls, but a little fearful that I'll have a hard time finding like minded friends in this "Red State." I'm sure they're out there, but how do I go about finding them. I am also a little pissed off that I moved to the first state in the Union to ban abortion unless the mother's life is in danger. Whew, I thought Texas was "red".

And I'm a little tired...of cleaning and arranging and accumulating boxes of trash. I'm tired of finding the right tool and going to the home improvement store when I'd rather have a pedicure. And I'm tired of spending money on necessities instead of frivolous things.

I haven't found a good card shop yet, and this might be a problem.

And my soon-to-be-ex has decided to be difficult, which makes me angry, but anything but surprised.

Oh, and I forgot the love part...yes, that remains, and it's cool.

So perhaps I will draw little faces in a notebook that represent all these feelings so I can have conversations with them. Since I have no friends, they may come in handy.

some things just feel right

Some things just feel right...living here in a different house in a city I'm getting to know just feels right.

I find myself in a little old house that needs a lot of care and repair, but it has real potential. Sometimes I feel as if it's a reflection of me. For so long I was just like this house - needing a lot of care and repair. Over the last year I finally broke down and gave into it, nurturing myself and fixing the broken parts. And some days were hard - the task overwhelming. Like cleaning the kitchen in this little house. A dark film covered all the walls and ceiling, but after just a couple of days of attention, some physical labor and a few screws and nails, it's clean and sparkling. I look at it and smile. I saw the potential when I first looked at it - knowing that underneath it all, it had the potential to smile again - just like me.

It's morning here...and the first time since I moved that I felt compelled to think about this move. I keep waiting for the voice in my head to scream, "what the hell was I thinking?". But I don't hear it. Instead my heart says, "this is right." And I am happy. The weather is a little foreign, and the streets unfamiliar. But something about it feels like home. Maybe it's the sidewalks on the tree-lined streets. Maybe it's the weather, which reminds me of Ohio. Maybe it's the people dropping by and bringing coffee or the kids running around the front room. Or maybe it's the way Steve makes me feel secure and protected. Or maybe it's all of that. I barely remember feeling as peaceful about a big life change.

Just last month I wondered how it would all go down. How could I possibly get everything done in time to be here by March 1st? And somehow it happened, and the only thing to do now is to settle in, make some new friends, find a few outside things to do, and take care of me. This I will love. There are no commitments or people pulling me in many directions. There is only what I want to do - where I want to go - what I want to have for dinner.

Of course the dog is having a couple of adjustment issues. He really hasn't figured out that I'm not going to leave him here, but he likes to sleep next to the bed on the floor by me, and when he wakes up I am there, and he sleeps again. The good thing is there have been no mornings where he woke me up really early. I think he's a little tired still - from the move and all. But he has a new little black and white companion named Buddy. Cute and puppyish, he keeps Bailey company when I run out for awhile. They seem to have hit it off nicely. And soon Bailey will know this is home, too. It will just feel right - the space under my desk hasn't changed at all, and it's still a comforting place for him. I did buy him some boots - okay, laugh. I didn't buy them for the cold, but his arthritis is acting up, making it difficult for him not to drag his back feet when he walks. His poor little claws were wearing down to the quick, so the boots protect his feet. If they keep him warm, too, so be it.

So here we are, in a place that feels just right. And I - I feel just right, too. And if this is change, change is good.

complications

It's early and the dog is back to waking me up early - real early. So I'm drinking coffee and thinking about how complicated things have seemed lately. My world is in the process of a huge change, and sometimes when I think about it too much it really makes my stomach hurt. But this morning, I realized that all of the really important things will stay the same. And so the changes are pretty much cosmetic - on the surface - and all the rest will be as it was, only better somehow.

I will still get up without an alarm clock, knowing that the earth has a built in way of waking me when the sun rises and the light spread across the grass and over the hills. I will enjoy my first cup of coffee, and start my day slowly. I will spend time writing, looking out a window from a comfortable spot. I will begin the day's work, talk on the phone, and meet deadlines. I will rinse out the dog's dish, and make myself something to eat when I get hungry. I will take an afternoon nap if I feel tired, read a book I want to read, and only eat popcorn with butter late in the evening. I will stay up late and think about things in the dark. And I will sleep. The better part of it is that I will love and be loved during and inbetween all the regular stuff.

This love has been a long time coming...and I've waited patiently, knowing it would happen again, but wondering how and when. And one day, when I wasn't expecting it - poof - it was there, reminding me that it's what we all really want, and that it changes things.

Getting up with the sun seems better when I open my eyes and feel the warmth of another body, who has picked me to love. The coffee tastes sweeter, when I sip it across the table from someone whose eyes smile at seeing me. Deadlines are less daunting and sleeping much more refreshing.

And the change is good. The complicated things that need to be done take only my attention for awhile, and the rest falls into place comfortably, as if nothing matters but the love. And this is good.

one week

In one week from tomorrow, I will be sitting in the passenger side of a 16' U-Haul, looking over at a man I barely know, well on my way to a new and exciting life. Most of the time, I smile about it. But once in awhile, my insides scream "what the hell are you doing?"

I like to think that many things will stay the same. I will meditate, do yoga, and consult with the angels and my heart when it comes to big decisions. I will drink coffee every morning and walk my dog every afternoon. I will read and write and make potato soup on cold days.

I like to think that many things will be different. I will live in a different space, with different surroundings. There will be more cold weather than hot. There will be more snow than rain. There will be new places to discover, and new spaces in which to write. And there will be love.

But so many questions remain. What will I do with this new love I've found? Will I go to bed earlier because he does? Will I want to feed him? Will I revert to the old me...too much sacrifice and no voice? Will I be able to cry? Or will I try to be strong and not let my feelings show. Will I like fishing? Will he like hikes and picnics? Will the conversation stay interesting? Or will we begin to talk about the weather too much? Will I be able to let him leave more than a toothbrush and clean underwear in my space? Will we laugh enough? Will he love me in the way I need to be loved? Will he stay gentle? kind? honorable? passionate? Will I stay happy? peaceful? creative?

I'm still trying to get my head around the fact that unaswered questions are simply the road to new discoveries and adventure. Uncharted territories are more difficult without a map. I suppose I am like an explorer. Instead of seeking out undiscovered land to settle, I simply seek undiscovered parts of me. What I will find remains a mystery. I think they will be grand. I think they will be honest. I think they will be lovely. And perhaps there will be a few dark spaces into which I will need to shine a light.

One week from tomorrow, I will sit in a faraway place and listen to the night sounds under the same moon that I've come to know. Next to a man I barely know, I will write about the journey to myself, knowing I made the only choice I could make - the choice to make the trip, continue on life's journey, map or no map.

time to go

I sat alone at the bar in Stetson's Nightclub Saturday night. The bartender, dressed in black and wearing a felt cowboy hat served me a vodka and tonic and mentioned that drinks were a buck fifty 'til 10, then drawled, "thank you, darlin," as I slid his tip across the bar. From my stool on the end, I watched as couples two-stepped across the dance floor. It was a scene as familiar to me as sticky summer nights and Houston traffic jams. I couldn't help but to think that in a few short weeks, all that is comfortable and familiar will be 1200 miles away. And everything around me will be new. Looking around, one fact was obvious. I was alone and it was time to go.

I'm ready, feeling a bit anxious, but ready. I have packed up many of my things to prepare for the move. The walls of my living room are white again, and the cupboards are practically empty. I've discarded so many things that I don't really love, thinking that I should become more choosy about the things with which I surround myself in the future. Along the way I'm realizing just how little I need to survive, or more specifically, thrive. It is freeing but a little bittersweet.

Texas was a friend, a safe place for me after living in my tiny hometown. Here I was anonymous for years, known only to those I choose to include in my life. It was exciting and big, with lots to discover. It allowed me to make choices unaffected by well-meaning friends and family. It allowed me to find my own path and grow strong and confident. Texas was untamed for me, a place to take risks and fall down and get up again, ready for the next challenge. I found home and family and love. Somewhere along the way, it fell apart. It's southerness lost some of the charm. Love went bad and family took advantage. My heart began to ache every hour and everyday. Friends left, seeking their own adventures - new lives in new places. And I stayed too long.

So I, too, am leaving you, dear Texas. Thank you for Big Bend, "yes ma'am," and tequila shots. Thank you for boots and rodeo and chicken-fried steak. Thank you for Galveston, humidity, honky-tonks, country music and sweet tea. I will take a bit of you with me. I'm afraid I'll never give up saying, "y'all." Memories of you will waltz through my mind when I hear George Strait on the radio on cold winter nights. And those 22-year-old Tony Lamas - I'll put new soles on them a fourth and fifth time if necessary. They've walked through many Texas towns and hold the memories of dust and heat and dragonflies over the river.

Standing on the edge of what is new, I am anxious, but comforted by the fact that the time is right. And that somewhere 1200 miles away a new life awaits me. There will be new friends, new discoveries and lots of space to make a place for the words to flow from my pen onto the blank pages of my notebook. The hills of South Dakota call me. Even in the bleak winter the sun reflects off of the snow and I am warmed by it, drawn to it, ready to explore new love, gentle, strong and passionate.

Will South Dakota be a friend, or just an acquaintance? Will I sit alone on a bar stool sipping a vodka and tonic some distant February evening feeling the pull of the familiar, yet ready to move on? I have so many questions without answers, risks yet to take, miles to put on my old brown boots. And while I'm leaving an old friend, it is a new beginning. I will take risks, fall down, and get up for the next challenge. I will live.

happy birthday bailey!

Today is Bailey's 12th birthday and I've been trying to decide how to celebrate. He's not big on party hats, or the silly bandanas they tie around his neck at the groomer. Not a big accessory guy. He has the market cornered on aging gracefully. I hope that I can learn from his quiet acceptance of his graying black spots and the way his back legs don't have the same strength they used to have. He seems quite happy to lounge around most of the day, enjoying afternoon naps in the sun, and loves to take long walks out on the hiking trail, even though they take more out of him than they used to.

For his friendship, I am grateful. He and I have had a loving relationship since he came to live with me when he was 10 weeks old. We've slept together on stormy nights. He's cuddled up close to me, offering comfort when I needed a good cry. He never offered unsolicited advice, just listened, ears perked, when I had things to work through. He's always happy when I come in the door, and spends most of the workday lying at my feet...a great thing when the weather is a little cold.

My friend Carol says he's a "philosopher" at heart, with soulful eyes and a harmonic demeanor. When we take walks and the smaller more vocal dogs greet him with lots of barking as they pull on their person's leash, he simply stops for a moment, takes note, and goes about sniffing at the grass and around the lamp post or tree stump. He is certain of who he is, and fearless when it comes to other canines. Torrential rain accompanied by thunder and lightning...now that's something he's a little more leery of.

As he ages, things just don't seem to be as easy for him as they used to be. He has an accident now and then, which makes him a little embarrased, and his diet seems to be getting a little complicated. The stairs seem a little more daunting, and sometimes his back legs just don't support him and he ends up on his bottom. But he just gets back up, shakes a little, and carries on with whatever it is he was doing.

Yes, I want to age as gracefully as my dog. Happy birthday, Bailey. Thanks for the love, the companionship and the smiles you've given me. You really are a good boy and you are very loved.

month end

The dog woke me at 3:30 this morning, and after a walk in the dark, I decided that I would stay awake. Sleep is difficult lately. A few hours here and there seem to be all I can manage. Don't know if it's the coffee, or the changes in my life that keep real rest at bay and unreachable. But it seems okay somehow, to sit here before the sun rises. I am not tired, and I write. And I think. Staying out of my head seems impossible now.

As this month ends, I make preparations to move away from here. The ties that bind me to this place slip away, one by one, as if the Universe is removing roadblocks to make relocating easier. The fact that I am not cautiously fearful scares me. Should I be shaking in my cowboy boots? Should I be thinking of all the worse-case scenarios? Should I be hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst? Fear seems the logical choice, and yet I am fearless.

I often say, "I lead a charmed life." Things just seem to always work out. I think that from the perspective of others, who are aware of the difficulties in my past, this may seem false, almost sarcastic. But the truth is that I feel that way. Though I have been through difficult times, I realize now that it was just part of the journey to where I am today. I look back without regrets, but with a sense that it was the path on which I needed to walk.

I think that maybe it may just be my perspective...always looking at the bright side, the candle flame in the darkness, finding the one beam of light that shines when everyone else is looking for a flashlight. For this I am thankful. I prefer it this way. Difficulty seems to me to be a state of mind, not a reality. Once the decision is made, you fill your boxes one at a time, rent a truck and drive away. It's just a matter of doing.

Looking at the future, I know a new path will open up and that I will know the way. There may be some brush that needs to be cut away, and even a few big rocks that need to be moved, but I've proven myself strong enough - moving a mountain over the last year - a task I once thought impossible.

Things just are as they are. One day comes and then it goes. We do things to get us where we're going. And at next month's end, the doing will be done, sleep will come and I will rest easily in a new city under the same sky.

new perspective

I took the plunge...at my age it's inevitable for most people. Things begin to get fuzzy when you look at them too closely. I've been on the ragged edge of wearing bifocals for a year or two, but as I get more comfortable with growing up, and trying to do everything I can to make my life simpler, admitting the need for new glasses was a easy choice.

So yesterday I walked into Sears optical, sat in front of a cheerful technician, and tried them for size. Looking at myself in the mirror, I saw little difference from my old glasses. I tilted my head up and down and noticed the difference. It was slight, but certainly made the tiny words the tech held in front of me much easier to read. Okay...this would work. And with progressive lenses, no one would be the wiser. My age would remain my secret.

I got out of the chair took my first steps. This was a little more interesting. As long as I didn't look down, things were okay, but peering through the lower portion of the lens made my feet want to do unusual things. I figured it was a good idea to take a walk through the mall before attempting to drive myself home - let my eyes adjust a bit.

It was an adventure, and at times, while I looked through racks of clothes I didn't buy, I had to remind myself that I could read the price tag without taking off my glasses. Huh - this might be a good thing.

The drive home was effortless, normal, no looming vehicles or blurry road signs. And when I walked the dog later, I realized that my feet no longer wanted to do unusual things. Funnier than that, I realized that I felt much taller when I looked down, as the lenses made the sidewalk seem a bit further away. At 5'3" - okay, 5'2 1/2" - this is a totally new feeling for me.

My new glasses fit perfectly in the life I am rediscovering. With or without them, I have a new perspective. The world seem clearer, the simple challenges of life are in focus now, and I'm walking much taller. Who'd of thought that growing up would look this way?

packing

What to take and what to leave behind? As I make my preparations for the big move out of the state, this question continues to pop into my head. When it comes to my physical possessions, the answers are relatively simple. Take the dog, the desk and my coffee pot. Leave the clothes I no longer wear, books I've read and will never open again, and wrapping paper scraps. My emotional possessions are a little harder to sort through. I leave the state of Texas, bound for South Dakota. But can I leave the mental state I've lived in for so long for a more blissful one?

I'd pack a box full of possibilities and suitcase full of joy. But no matter how hard I search for them, they are nowhere to be found. Clues are everywhere, that they are here somewhere. I feel them touch me now and again. But they seem to taunt me. And I think perhaps they have made their way north ahead of me, and are simply tugging at my heart to join them there.

And then, I put the dragonfly bracelet on my wrist, and bam, the coffee tastes better, the morning seems more promising, and the dog's warmth penetrates the palm of my hand reminding me that no matter where I am, these possessions will travel with me.

Mindfulness is the key. Today I will be mindful of the possibilities and the joy - Aha! thoughts and bliss. I will remember that they aren't simple baggage to be carted around, but instead are connected to my very soul, and I need only be mindful to find them at any given moment. They manifest before my eyes, and I need only pay attention.

Frustration, pain and unworthiness I will leave here. They seem to have become quite comfortable, but I refuse to wear a bracelet that pinches my wrist. And though they, like possibility and joy, have been connected to this me in this space, I choose them no more, disengage, release them to the universe. They no longer serve me. They are way too heavy to carry, and can find a new home in which to abide or simply disappear. And when they come to visit, I will send them back to Texas, where they were so comfortable.

And in the sorting, I find comfort and no regret. I look forward to living a life unencumbered by my "stuff". Getting rid of the not-so-useful will certainly lighten my load. I will breathe easier and step lighter. I will smile more and brood less. I will manifest love and light and joy, and resolve to keep the stuff that has no use, both physical and emotional, from cluttering my new space.

discovery

The rain falls this morning and I listen, thinking it's a good reason not to go. I'm good at that, trying to find excuses for not doing something that I know will please someone else. Today it's a birthday party for a two year old. His mom called and said, "it's been a long time since we've seen you." And she's right and I think it's better that way.

It's a strange relationship - me, her, him and the baby. And my role in it so nebulous. In my head, I try to figure out how she perceives me - the woman that her husband might choose if he were not committed. Be assured that it is not so. He chose you, and chooses you still. Again and again, and I am just the one who waited in the wings in case you couldn't go on - the understudy. You were always the star of his production, from the first time he saw you on the stage. And he such a proficient director - with props and scripts so perfectly managed and practiced that we all believed it real. I practiced my script, which was really yours, and tried to write my own lines. They played again and again in my head, just in case I got an opportunity to say them out loud in front of him. But I never got the chance and will not.

He is silent now, I went off script and exited stage right when he expected me to go left. I tried to explain but he doesn't hear and has no wise words to convince me not to leave the show. Or perhaps he has guessed, as I have, that I can no longer be the understudy, that there are other shows and one of them is mine.

It happened when I was practicing a one-woman show. I would write, direct and star with no one to edit my lines. It would be my voice that was heard, my face that was seen, and my internal critic who would judge its merit. And just when I thought I had it right, I was discovered by a man who sees the possibilities for a new production. It was one of those movie moments. A chance meeting really - serendipity, being at the right place at the right time. I recited lines unpracticed, and they fell perfectly into place. The plot thickened unrehearsed. Enough drama. A romantic comedy perhaps. He has named me co-creator and has given me top billing. In the months ahead we will talk and laugh and write a script that is ours alone. Act 2 is beginning to have form, but the ending remains a mystery. While we write, I'm trying not to get ahead of myself, to let the characters speak for themselves, and write their own truth - nothing contrived. Minutes become hours and days become weeks as time passes. Each of us shares our vision with the other, and wonder how it all will play out, how the characters will grow and change, and what sort of ending will take shape.

But for now, there is only an unfinished script, and the joy of the writing.

waiting

Dappled sun comes through the window and rests on the desk where I sit this morning. I watch it as it gets closer to me and wonder when the warmth will finally rest on my cold fingers or touch my face. And I wait for it.

Days are this way lately. They begin with the thoughtlessness of morning's first moments, when the mind hasn't had time to engage, and the nudge of the dog's wet nose. I reluctantly move from under the blanket, leaving behind the warmth that lingers there, and reach for my glasses. And slowly, the thoughts begin - plans for the day, appointments, phone calls to make, but first, the dog to feed and walk. The moment itself becomes lost somewhere in the waiting for the sun to come up and the day to begin, for the phone to ring, and to hear the voice that assures me the waiting will soon be over.

I think it has always been this way. There has always been something for which to wait - a change of heart, a change of career, more money, more time, more flexibility, a fighting chance. And now it is a change of location, a change of scenery, a chance at love. And I wait.

With the waiting comes the struggle to live and thrive in this moment, as I was gently reminded of this morning by a kindred spirit with lyrics from a song that showed up at just the right moment:

"No day but today. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss"

Seems a shame to wait for the next big thing when the sun's dappled light warms my fingers through the window above my desk, and the day is mine.

intimacy

Is intimacy possible without face time? When this long-distance romance began, I thought it was possible, in fact, quite a good thing. I get my space...he gets his, and when the stars are lined up just right, we'll meet here, or there, or somewhere in the middle and have a great adventure.

Reality has set in. My phone and I have become intimate. My space is empty. His space is far away. And we've only managed a single starlit encounter. Between finances, work obligations, and simple logistics...face time has come to mean me looking at his picture on my cell phone.

My friends warned...long distance romances never work...they're just too hard to maintain. I disagree. They're easy to maintain, if all you have to do is keep the phone charged. But maintenance is not what I had hoped for. I want a growing, evolving relationship not dependent on Sprint and Hallmark. I want intimacy. I'm afraid what I've done is repeat past mistakes by becoming involved with an unavailable voice on the phone. Only this time, I don't hold all the cards. He has half the deck, and is holding his cards at another table. I can't read his poker face.

So what's a girl to do? Hold or fold?

I think I prefer football, and if I were the referee I would definitely call a delay of game penalty, but I certainly don't want him to give up hard-earned yardage. Okay...what's it going to take to score? I get out the play book...time for a quarterback sneak? A hail Mary to the endzone? I could get sacked...but at least I'd get a little face time.

lessons from bailey

I'm tired of psychobabble. It has recently found a home in my head, and I find myself posing every possible question that could ever be asked about new relationships. Then, after asking all the questions, I list every possible and probable answer. The result is that I end up just where I began. So no more questions please, whoever you are, speaking to me from inside my skull. Stop with the constant what ifs. What if the sky were falling? What if the sea dried up? What if tomorrow my dog got stuck in the chair and couldn't get out?

It happened you know. This evening I went to dinner with a friend. When I got back home, the dog was barking...lodged in a chair too small to accommodate his large body. I'm sure it was scary for him, and I think eventually, he might have used his front legs to push himself back out of the chair and onto the floor. It wouldn't have been easy. But he could have managed. So I help him slide his butt around so his legs could reach the floor. Poor thing. I really think his back legs were asleep from being in the same position for so long. Freed from the soft cushions, he shook his whole body with more energy than I've seen him expend in quite some time. And those back legs were pretty useless for a couple of minutes. He was a little wobbly. Then I produced a leash and mentioned the word "walk." He was all about it. Made his way up the stairs to the front door and waited for me to clip the leash on his collar. We walked out to the street and after a short while he was himself again. After our walk, he was a little reluctant to go back up the steps into the apartment. And I don't blame him. But he trusted me and made the trip, and now he is asleep, under the desk, peaceful and happy.

Which brings me back to the psychobabble. I guess in many ways I am kind of like the dog. When I hopped up into that soft, cushy chair, it seemed like a good idea. But I stayed there way too long, and soon, parts of me were numb, asleep, and I couldn't get out. I needed a little help, and just in time, help arrived. And so I'm walking now. I was a little wobbly at first, but the feeling is coming back to the parts of me that were numb. I feel more energy and enthusiasm then I've felt in a while, and I'm feeling like myself again. I am a little reluctant, in some ways to try the stairs...not sure where they might lead, or the problems I may confront on the way up. But I think, like the dog, I'll trust the hand that has reached out to me and I'll make the trip.

Funny how when you get outside your head and walk the dog...the answers become much clearer. Thanks Bailey...for the lessons in trust and unconditional love.

distant voices

I really can't hear you anymore, dear soulmate. You promised you would always be there. Being busy isn't nearly enough of an excuse for your absence and lack of concern. And I was okay with that after I told you just how I felt about it. I could deal with it. Your smile has been replaced with one that is not nearly as difficult to secure. Easy in fact. And my smile is much more constant than it was when I wondered about you. And yet, after your long absence, you call as if you're thinking of me and wondering what I'm up to. Yet I knew, as always, you needed something from me. I accommodated you, and held my heart at bay. It's much easier these days you know. And I felt myself not at all connected with what you think or how you feel. And you asked the right questions so I might think you interested. It's that way with us.

Then I heard your VOICE OF CONCERN. The one that always makes me feel as if you really care. But I recognize it now, you see. And it, like all the empty words, is transparent. So I nod my head as I hold the phone, and give the right answers. It's that way with us.

And you say we need to see each other - maybe next week. And I said I look forward to it. But I know it won't happen. You'll be crazy busy, and I'll be here or there, doing what I do without you in my world. I'm very used to it and have become quite comfortable with it.

And so now I won't hear from you again, unless you need something. I will remember you fondly, but I can no longer ask, "What if?" It's a moot point. And I suggest you do the same. Without you tugging at my heart, I can focus now on "What is." And it's good. You won't believe it. Perhaps you can't or don't want to. But I know. And I'm off on an adventure without you, leaving "What if?" behind. And from my new place in the universe, I really can't hear you anymore.

tuesday morning

Gray and misty, this morning feels different. Not sure why, except to say that I have dealt with some of the things on my "to do" list that I had dreaded. And so despite the overcast sky, I feel energized. This is good.

The cloudy sky puts me in mind of denial - the way the clouds hide the light of the sun. If allowed to shine through the clear mind, light is shed on all things, bringing them into focus. But when the clouds of emotional baggage and fear block the light, nothing is easy to see or define. I think sometimes we all see the world through the clouds, bringing our own baggage to each situation - denying things that seem so clear in the light of day. For some of us, the clouds are light and somewhat transparent, and if we think and squint just a little, we are able to see through them to truth. For others, the clouds are heavy and opaque, blocking the view of the truth.

I wonder what my clouds today are made of, and if I am seeing clearly, or allowing them to block the view. And I wonder how to make them light enough for me to see through. The only answer that comes to mind is a cool steady rain. I think that those whose clouds are the darkest and heaviest could use a good cry - even a thunderstorm - to heal them, lighten the clouds and let the light shine through. In the clear light of morning, the world might look fresh and new. And the truth not nearly so daunting.

But today I am hopeful, and don't feel the need for tears or healing. I think my clouds beautiful and white as they float across the sky. I breathe the air in deeply and open my eyes to an amazing dawn.

in the silence

This is a hard time for me. I am somewhere between what was and what will be. And as much as I am trying to enjoy living in the "now" I'm finding it difficult.

The now isn't always great...but it is always. And I know that I can savor it or wish it would pass quickly. The eternal nature of the now is sometimes confounding. Can I sit in the silence and savor another re-run of Gray's Anatomy or smoke another cigarette, or make another list of things to do when I wake up "in the now" of the morning? When there is the expectaion that a future "now" will somehow be more fulfilling than this one, it's hard to appreciate the stars and the sunshine. They just don't seem to shine quite as brightly as I remember them in December's South Dakota sky.

And so I remind myself that this moment is perfect, just as it is. And I savor hope and my overflowing heart. And I know that this "now" will one day be remembered with a smile and a "remember when." That it will flow eternally into a dream realized. The stars I remember will be brighter than ever, and the sun will warm me on a May afternoon.

january something

Having a tough time keeping track of what day it is. One seems to roll right into the next, beginning just as the one before it, and ending as it usually does. When things are most chaotic, I seem to wish for a familiar routine, and when things are routine, something to break the tedium. Bailey gets his heartworm pills on the seventh. That's what my calendar says. That's tomorrow, one small change in our daily routine.

There is something to be said for small changes - those that don't rock your world. Ordering a cherry lemonade instead of the usual coke can put a whole new twist on your day.

This morning I drank my coffee on the step of my front porch in the sun instead of on the patio. Not a big deal, but I realized the world looks different from there. Heck, even Bailey noticed as he tried to sneak by me down the stairs and out into the world. I didn't need slippers, as the morning sun had been warming the wood for hours. Instead of looking through black fenceposts and jasmine, I saw the neighbor's front door, the cement sidewalk and the dormant heather surviving the winter tenuously. I wondered if it was as confused by the warmth of this January as I have been. Aside from the sound of the wind through the branches of the oak tree a few feet away, the world was quiet. A few birds, no air conditioners humming. And in that moment, I was able to stop and breathe - give thanks for the little nudge that urged me to open the front door instead of the porch door.

I think a break in the routine - one little change - gives us space to breathe and notice. While the jasmine on my patio is beautiful, I stopped looking at it one day. But my guess is that tomorrow I will see it, and be thankful for it, even if I do need to wear my slippers.