For more than a week after Woody died, it rained. A few hours after we buried him the clouds swooped in like a big, heavy curtain and then the wind picked up and whipped around with a whoosh! and buckets of wet sky came crashing down.
I am big now.
*
4 p.m.
Woody’s Usual Walk Time
I walk along his favorite path around the yard, actually hoping to step in an old piece of his poo. There’s a little tree over his gravesite, and the bougainvillea hugs it. His grave marker arrives next week. I miss Woody so much the pain is real – like a dull ice pick pressing on the center of my chest, an orange blocking my windpipe. I speak softly to him, like a crazy person, then trudge back to the empty house.
Three and a half pounds – he was huge to me.
*
Back in the house, I shuffle through “To Do” lists, and find one from just last week: “Get SENIOR treats for Woody.” Our calico cat, Rebecca, rubs against my leg and walks over to the spot where Woody and I laid just hours before. It’s empty now, but she sniffs it delicately. Then she darts over to the magazine rack and starts smacking around a little piece of Styrofoam. She licks her shoulder and gazes at Woody ’s empty spot; looks out at the yard, the sky. She plops down and looks back at his new spot in the yard, her tail switching to the song of a bird outside. She makes a funny little sound in the back of her throat, gets up and looks in the corner of the closet where Woody used to go when the thunder was too loud. All the while, she has not meowed once.
*
Woody is hiding from me, and I can’t find him anywhere. I’ve looked in closets, even in shoeboxes and pocketbooks on shelves he couldn’t possibly reach, let alone curl up into.
Someone – Jen? David? A stranger? – leads me outside into the far corner of the backyard and points to a small mound of dirt.
“He died,” this person says.
I turn around and go back inside, calling him, telling him to stop playing now because really, really, this game has gone on long enough.And then I wake up.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Uh-oh....
“Are we there yet?!”
We are on our way through Illinois farmland, en route to Michigan, David’s home state, from California, where we met. Convinced that the man I love couldn’t be from a bad place, I am moving there, sight unseen. In Mover’s Terms* this is what is known as a perfect Swan Dive.
“About another day and a half,” David says.
“Waaa.”
After awhile I say, “If I see one more farm, I’m going to scream.”
David eyes me sideways and says, “Uh, Dara?”
“What.”
“There are a lot of farms in northern Michigan.”
Uh-oh.
We are on our way through Illinois farmland, en route to Michigan, David’s home state, from California, where we met. Convinced that the man I love couldn’t be from a bad place, I am moving there, sight unseen. In Mover’s Terms* this is what is known as a perfect Swan Dive.
“About another day and a half,” David says.
“Waaa.”
After awhile I say, “If I see one more farm, I’m going to scream.”
David eyes me sideways and says, “Uh, Dara?”
“What.”
“There are a lot of farms in northern Michigan.”
Uh-oh.
Friday, August 21, 2009
ANOTHER BOOK ON THE WAY
Dear Readers and Fellow Pet Lovers,
Just wanted to give you the heads up - yay - that I have another book coming out in a couple of months for pet lovers of all ages - young, and not so young anymore....
The book is entitled WOODY'S GARDEN and it will be available through all the major channels (Amazon, Barnes and Noble, etc., along with the website of my publisher, Xlibris.com.
Best of all, it has pictures!!!
And I'll have special offers for you bloggers!
Will keep you posted.
As always, your comments are welcome.
Just wanted to give you the heads up - yay - that I have another book coming out in a couple of months for pet lovers of all ages - young, and not so young anymore....
The book is entitled WOODY'S GARDEN and it will be available through all the major channels (Amazon, Barnes and Noble, etc., along with the website of my publisher, Xlibris.com.
Best of all, it has pictures!!!
And I'll have special offers for you bloggers!
Will keep you posted.
As always, your comments are welcome.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Time Out
Okay, readers and bloggers, before we continue jacknifing * around the country with little Woody in tow (or, more precisely, under the driver seat on David's sweatshirt, alternately in my happily cramping arms) ...
What do think?
I'd love to hear from you- dog lovers, cat lovers, bird lovers, horse lovers; married, straight, single, gay - whoever you are! Share it here, before we really bin it*, rentaheffa*, and Walk With Woody everywhere we go....
*See: A Mover's Glossary
What do think?
I'd love to hear from you- dog lovers, cat lovers, bird lovers, horse lovers; married, straight, single, gay - whoever you are! Share it here, before we really bin it*, rentaheffa*, and Walk With Woody everywhere we go....
*See: A Mover's Glossary
Monday, July 13, 2009
TRAVELS WITH WOODY: A Mover's Glossary
A Mover’s Dictionary of Terms
Arizona Groovin’ -1. the ongoing intestinal coup that results from curiously inexpensive produce of unknown origin that one stupidly gives a quick rinse and consumes with the gusto of a “smart” shopper. [In the U.S., the FDA would require a “Fecal Matter Included” sticker]; 2. the limp/trot/twist one must perform on the way to the john in order to avoid the unthinkable (See Public Staining)
Beach Brains - impression that surfers and other frequent beachgoers on the West Coast give to the East of the Mississippi native, that they are either ever-so-slightly brain damaged, severely drunk, or impossibly high.
“Bin it” – to store all of one’s belongings in large Tupperware so as to make sudden moves cross-country easier and more spontaneous. Also referred to as a Tupperware party.
Bungee – Sell a house. Fast.
Cary [NC] – Concentrated Area of Relocated Yankees
Cesspool – 1. Home with a mortgage so high it induces persistent diarrhea; 2. Home with a mortgage so high it drowns you in debt.
In order to avoid sudden death or divorce, one must roto-root it (see Below).
Cramp – 1.Unintentionally staying in a Stopover State longer than desired due to purchase of a fixer upper from Hell that must be completely gutted when both time and money are available simultaneously, i.e., when Hell freezes over and after the capital gains tax won’t devour any and all profits 2. At least two years.
“Dar” – NOT my name, as one of my small town co-workers thought for, like, ever.
“EAT ‘M” – East of the Mississippi
Fudgie – Tourist in any given city who thinks things that bore the locals to tears are “Grrreat!”…Exciting!”…”Yummy…!” , e.g., Visitors to Traverse City, Michigan (Cherry Capital and Home of the Annual Cherry Festival) actually buy - and eat and enjoy – something called “cherry sausage”, which looks and tastes like something a North Carolinian would classify as “jest ain’t right.”
Housewife – NOT me, or any other woman who decides to stay home and help her self-employed husband run his business while simultaneously pursuing her dream of writing a book. SO GET THAT STRAIGHT.
“Jackknifing” – To relocate in a geographically rotating scissor fashion across the continental U.S. of A., at times living again in cities lived in before. Also known as, ‘Wet’M and Eat ‘M’
Mapholder – god-like sage; one who knows how far to the next home state, destination, or rest stop. syn. the dog.
Mover’s High – Ignoramus state of mind induced by overdose of Places Rated Almanac and Money magazine’s Annual Livable City Issue, in which one actually believes a new place to live can cause Happiness.
syn. 1.See“Beach Brains” 2. ant. See “Three Month Slump”
Nirvana – as in the spiritual sense, the state never arrived at; the unattainable State.
In the movaholic mind, it is suspected to be somehow “just missed” while jackknifing across the country.
Ol’ Randy – atlas; road map. A name affectionately coined by spending waaaay too many hours looking through a Rand Mc Nally.
Public Staining- soiling oneself in public due to lack of Arizona Groovin’.
Q-Tips- White-haired Florida drivers, normally spotted swerving in and out of lanes at a minimum of ten miles per hour under the speed limit, oblivious of the pile-up behind them. The term “Q-Tip” refers to the only visible sign of a driver: the tuft of white hair visible over the steering wheel.
Rattle and Roll – Fix up and sell.
“renta heffa” – rent a U-Haul. A BIG one.
“Rise and Shine” – Move. Again.
RoadSpeak – the abbreviated code language one adopts as a result of stress caused by jackknifing across the country, i.e., this glossary.
“Roto-root it” – see “the Three R’s”
“shat on” – hurricane damage. For e.g., “The roof ripped off. We were shat on.”
“Sleepover State” – state or city lived in for three months or less. In this case, that would be Arizona, Colorado, New York (for David only since I am from there), and California – the second time.
SomberTown – 1. a new hometown that, while visited, is sunny. While LIVED in, the sun actually hides itself, even while shining brightly one half hour away. 2. any locale where Wal-Mart is King and neither Barnes &Noble nor Starbuck’s will touch.
“Stopover State” - state or city lived in for two excruciating years or less
Swan Dive – Moving to a new city, state, or hemisphere sight unseen and/or stupidly; the feeling one is left with when grieving the loss of a loved one.
Arizona Groovin’ -1. the ongoing intestinal coup that results from curiously inexpensive produce of unknown origin that one stupidly gives a quick rinse and consumes with the gusto of a “smart” shopper. [In the U.S., the FDA would require a “Fecal Matter Included” sticker]; 2. the limp/trot/twist one must perform on the way to the john in order to avoid the unthinkable (See Public Staining)
Beach Brains - impression that surfers and other frequent beachgoers on the West Coast give to the East of the Mississippi native, that they are either ever-so-slightly brain damaged, severely drunk, or impossibly high.
“Bin it” – to store all of one’s belongings in large Tupperware so as to make sudden moves cross-country easier and more spontaneous. Also referred to as a Tupperware party.
Bungee – Sell a house. Fast.
Cary [NC] – Concentrated Area of Relocated Yankees
Cesspool – 1. Home with a mortgage so high it induces persistent diarrhea; 2. Home with a mortgage so high it drowns you in debt.
In order to avoid sudden death or divorce, one must roto-root it (see Below).
Cramp – 1.Unintentionally staying in a Stopover State longer than desired due to purchase of a fixer upper from Hell that must be completely gutted when both time and money are available simultaneously, i.e., when Hell freezes over and after the capital gains tax won’t devour any and all profits 2. At least two years.
“Dar” – NOT my name, as one of my small town co-workers thought for, like, ever.
“EAT ‘M” – East of the Mississippi
Fudgie – Tourist in any given city who thinks things that bore the locals to tears are “Grrreat!”…Exciting!”…”Yummy…!” , e.g., Visitors to Traverse City, Michigan (Cherry Capital and Home of the Annual Cherry Festival) actually buy - and eat and enjoy – something called “cherry sausage”, which looks and tastes like something a North Carolinian would classify as “jest ain’t right.”
Housewife – NOT me, or any other woman who decides to stay home and help her self-employed husband run his business while simultaneously pursuing her dream of writing a book. SO GET THAT STRAIGHT.
“Jackknifing” – To relocate in a geographically rotating scissor fashion across the continental U.S. of A., at times living again in cities lived in before. Also known as, ‘Wet’M and Eat ‘M’
Mapholder – god-like sage; one who knows how far to the next home state, destination, or rest stop. syn. the dog.
Mover’s High – Ignoramus state of mind induced by overdose of Places Rated Almanac and Money magazine’s Annual Livable City Issue, in which one actually believes a new place to live can cause Happiness.
syn. 1.See“Beach Brains” 2. ant. See “Three Month Slump”
Nirvana – as in the spiritual sense, the state never arrived at; the unattainable State.
In the movaholic mind, it is suspected to be somehow “just missed” while jackknifing across the country.
Ol’ Randy – atlas; road map. A name affectionately coined by spending waaaay too many hours looking through a Rand Mc Nally.
Public Staining- soiling oneself in public due to lack of Arizona Groovin’.
Q-Tips- White-haired Florida drivers, normally spotted swerving in and out of lanes at a minimum of ten miles per hour under the speed limit, oblivious of the pile-up behind them. The term “Q-Tip” refers to the only visible sign of a driver: the tuft of white hair visible over the steering wheel.
Rattle and Roll – Fix up and sell.
“renta heffa” – rent a U-Haul. A BIG one.
“Rise and Shine” – Move. Again.
RoadSpeak – the abbreviated code language one adopts as a result of stress caused by jackknifing across the country, i.e., this glossary.
“Roto-root it” – see “the Three R’s”
“shat on” – hurricane damage. For e.g., “The roof ripped off. We were shat on.”
“Sleepover State” – state or city lived in for three months or less. In this case, that would be Arizona, Colorado, New York (for David only since I am from there), and California – the second time.
SomberTown – 1. a new hometown that, while visited, is sunny. While LIVED in, the sun actually hides itself, even while shining brightly one half hour away. 2. any locale where Wal-Mart is King and neither Barnes &Noble nor Starbuck’s will touch.
“Stopover State” - state or city lived in for two excruciating years or less
Swan Dive – Moving to a new city, state, or hemisphere sight unseen and/or stupidly; the feeling one is left with when grieving the loss of a loved one.
THE LONG SEARCH
1985
Marist College
Poughkeepsie, NY
“Describe Hell.”
My five college roommates and I are lounging around one evening in our tiny apartment living room, in various stages of undress – Flash dance socks inside big, mangy bunny slippers, sweatpants with camisoles, and other weird collegiate loungewear. Our good friend, John, is asking us this question for a Philosophy assignment.
One by one my roomies answered:
“Burning hot.” Kelly.
“Everyone hates you in Hell!” Lea.
“You hate them!” Tammy.
“It is u-g-l-y.” Lynn.
“Country music blasting 24/7!” Courtney.
“Dara, how ‘bout you?” John asked.
“Hell…is a beautiful place,” I decided.
“Yeah?” he asked, pen poised. I saw Tammy roll her eyes and heard Kelly sigh, and Lea disappeared into the bathroom. I went on:
“Hell fools you. It has gorgeous scenery and people and there are buffets everywhere. But…Hell is a cruel place. You are truly damned if you do, or don’t. People are smiling and pleasant but they hate you; the flowers stink; the food gives you the runs.”
“Yeah!” yelled Lea from the bathroom.
“And?” John asked, scribbling.
“Cramps are even worse in Hell,” said Lynn thoughtfully.
“And men are even moodier,” added Kelly.
“And nothing you do in Hell pays or means a thing. It is, like, totally postal,” said Courtney.
“Even worse,” I added, “no matter how many degrees you have you will always be referred to as a ‘housewife.’
“No!”
“And… everyone calls you Ma’am in Hell!” Lynn, really on a roll now.
“Not only is Hell hot, but it is humid and sticky and filled with bugs you can’t see. But they bite – hard.” I went on:
“No matter how hard you try to fit in, in Hell, you don’t. Your fellow Hellions hate you. It is no use. Even worse, in Hell you get everything you ever wished for but realize it sucks.”
“Oo, this is good. Go on,” John ordered.
“In fact you realize in Hell that everything you ever believed to be true is wrong. Lying is King in Hell and Love is taken away.”
“She went to one of those Catholic schools,” Lynn whispered to Tammy, who nodded knowingly.
“Hell is NOISY. You are driven to distraction, no matter what you try to do. And, while it may look Rockwellian in Hell, everything is loaded with mouse dung.”
“Ew!” Collective disgust from the gallery.
“Anything else?” John asked.
“Hellions hate puppies.”
“Oh!” Group gasp.
There was a bit of a pregnant pause here. Finally, with wobbly pencil and saucer-like eyes, John asked,” What’s your vision of Heaven, then?”
“Heaven?” I asked.
Everyone nodded.
“Ask me if I get there.”
*
The following semester I took the b.s. – I mean, elective - course John had been doing this assignment for. It was aptly called The Long Search.
Basically, the Long Search is the frustrated attempt of all humanity to find nirvana: the ultimate self-peace. The professor who taught it must have found it because he kicked the almighty podium shortly after I finished the course.
In many ways the search for our Most Livable City was just that - a search for nirvana – with low property taxes and a nice front lawn. David and I were convinced on some level that Nirvana was actually a place, somewhere between San Diego and Weeki Wachee.
We just kept missing it, is all.
And Woody was always, always along for the ride.**
“The journey home is never a direct route; it is, in fact, always circuitous, and somewhere along the way, we discover that the journey is more significant than the destination, and that the people we meet along the way will be traveling companions of our memories forever.”
-NELSON DE MILLE
Up Country
Marist College
Poughkeepsie, NY
“Describe Hell.”
My five college roommates and I are lounging around one evening in our tiny apartment living room, in various stages of undress – Flash dance socks inside big, mangy bunny slippers, sweatpants with camisoles, and other weird collegiate loungewear. Our good friend, John, is asking us this question for a Philosophy assignment.
One by one my roomies answered:
“Burning hot.” Kelly.
“Everyone hates you in Hell!” Lea.
“You hate them!” Tammy.
“It is u-g-l-y.” Lynn.
“Country music blasting 24/7!” Courtney.
“Dara, how ‘bout you?” John asked.
“Hell…is a beautiful place,” I decided.
“Yeah?” he asked, pen poised. I saw Tammy roll her eyes and heard Kelly sigh, and Lea disappeared into the bathroom. I went on:
“Hell fools you. It has gorgeous scenery and people and there are buffets everywhere. But…Hell is a cruel place. You are truly damned if you do, or don’t. People are smiling and pleasant but they hate you; the flowers stink; the food gives you the runs.”
“Yeah!” yelled Lea from the bathroom.
“And?” John asked, scribbling.
“Cramps are even worse in Hell,” said Lynn thoughtfully.
“And men are even moodier,” added Kelly.
“And nothing you do in Hell pays or means a thing. It is, like, totally postal,” said Courtney.
“Even worse,” I added, “no matter how many degrees you have you will always be referred to as a ‘housewife.’
“No!”
“And… everyone calls you Ma’am in Hell!” Lynn, really on a roll now.
“Not only is Hell hot, but it is humid and sticky and filled with bugs you can’t see. But they bite – hard.” I went on:
“No matter how hard you try to fit in, in Hell, you don’t. Your fellow Hellions hate you. It is no use. Even worse, in Hell you get everything you ever wished for but realize it sucks.”
“Oo, this is good. Go on,” John ordered.
“In fact you realize in Hell that everything you ever believed to be true is wrong. Lying is King in Hell and Love is taken away.”
“She went to one of those Catholic schools,” Lynn whispered to Tammy, who nodded knowingly.
“Hell is NOISY. You are driven to distraction, no matter what you try to do. And, while it may look Rockwellian in Hell, everything is loaded with mouse dung.”
“Ew!” Collective disgust from the gallery.
“Anything else?” John asked.
“Hellions hate puppies.”
“Oh!” Group gasp.
There was a bit of a pregnant pause here. Finally, with wobbly pencil and saucer-like eyes, John asked,” What’s your vision of Heaven, then?”
“Heaven?” I asked.
Everyone nodded.
“Ask me if I get there.”
*
The following semester I took the b.s. – I mean, elective - course John had been doing this assignment for. It was aptly called The Long Search.
Basically, the Long Search is the frustrated attempt of all humanity to find nirvana: the ultimate self-peace. The professor who taught it must have found it because he kicked the almighty podium shortly after I finished the course.
In many ways the search for our Most Livable City was just that - a search for nirvana – with low property taxes and a nice front lawn. David and I were convinced on some level that Nirvana was actually a place, somewhere between San Diego and Weeki Wachee.
We just kept missing it, is all.
And Woody was always, always along for the ride.**
“The journey home is never a direct route; it is, in fact, always circuitous, and somewhere along the way, we discover that the journey is more significant than the destination, and that the people we meet along the way will be traveling companions of our memories forever.”
-NELSON DE MILLE
Up Country
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