Waiting Windows

With frost on my windshield for the second time this season, I headed out. It was a few minutes after 7 a.m. – a bit earlier than normal for this guy, but not for the early, double-caramel person I was meeting. We agreed upon the “Black Dog” for a pre-dawn sip and possible bagel consuming chit-chat. This eatery has been a local favorite for friendly, delicious smooshes … so, my beat-up Honda crunched its way from a wet driveway, over a mile of cold leafy sideroads, to a parking spot three spaces away from this latte-lighthouse.

I’m not one for the fancy drinks. To that end, not even a basic cup of hot coffee warms my soul. Chill it, or steam it … no latte or frappe will ever drape over the sill known as my lower lip. A simple mug of hot chocolate topped with a small dollop of whipped cream (or, perhaps a few small marshmallows) always, and forever, is my huggable winter-season drink of choice.

I’ve known Andy, the owner of the “Black Dog”, a long time. He works hard. Along the path of our friendship however, his hard work would never recognize my finicky taste in hot beverages. It’s not his job to pay attention to my weird ways. After all, a high percentage of his pre-dawn sippage sales IS most likely all the fancy, dancy grande cups and mugs ordered every day – not the marginal hot chocolate orders.

So, when I walked through the doors yesterday morning, a hot chocolate order was out of his norm, but graciously prepared. I sat alone for a few minutes at a table for four … recognizing how wonderful it was to wait for Andy to steam up a warm cup of hot chocolate. Wait for my company to arrive. Wait for the sun to come up through the windows of a very familiar cafe. Just sit, and wait.

After only a few ticks on the clock, two ladies arrived to order breakfast and then Andy’s “front of the house” day began. Although from what I gather, the soups for lunch were already started hours before and happily stewing away on the stove in the back. My company arrived shortly thereafter and we had a charmingly small visit.

During any normal day, I wouldn’t arrive until after 8:00, possibly 9:15, to meet friends for breakfast depending upon the day’s schedule. This was rare. The “Black Dog” is a common stop for lunches and late breakfasts in daily drive-abouts if I am floating around. Andy and his staff are wonderfully packed full of energy and engaged in everyone’s life which is why I try to get there when I can.

Yes, my friends are there, too. This is important. There’s a round table – not as significant as King Arthur’s – but one where compression of souls happens on a regular basis. Short folks, tall frames, skinny sorts, and sometimes well-suited suitors sit comfortably at this table enjoying the day’s news and, of course, one of five selected lunch choices. Andy prepares five diverse lunch choices, a variety of soups, and dessert items. Each day is different, … but only five per day. Simple. Most patrons, if not all over the years, prefer it this way. No surprises. Always delicious. Always fun and affordable, too.

It’s just a local cafe if you look at the “Black Dog” as a building. As a place to wait for a few minutes and think about what life is … it’s more than half-fogged up windows resting above a leaf-blown sidewalk. It’s about those very windows waiting for the sun to rise.

I walked through the doors thinking about those windows. The time was too early for me. I knew there was hot chocolate waiting inside, however. The few minutes once inside – waiting for Andy to brew up the mug’s warm interior liquidy goodness – gave me pause to consider the hour ahead. A sun would rise to evaporate the moisture off those windows. Pretty basic stuff. A day would start for so many, including me.

With all that’s been going on with my life, I forgot that days do have a beginning. The sun comes up. Good, predictable things happen every day. Waiting for them to happen – being patient – was a nice reminder yesterday.

If it’s good enough for the windows at the “Black Dog”, I can be patient, too.

Hand Held Reflection

We have to remember that life comes around only once. So many songs, poems, and books have been written about the progression of minutes and hours we experience, right? Some good, some difficult.

.. “… I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills,’Til the landslide brought me down”, as time moves forward according to Fleetwood Mac.

One month ago, an earthly relationship ended. The end of a beautiful time together came when death visited someone I loved. She faced rare, terminal cancer with confidence. Her ability to look at dying with open eyes amazed me. When her eyes closed that final time, the end arrived. There would be no more side-by-side hand holding. Singing, laughing, and words between two souls drew to a close.

At once, the veil of death draped over that picture I took of our hands a mere four weeks prior.

We sat alone on the back patio during a mid-afternoon break from regularly scheduled medicine drops and difficult eating push throughs. Those sit beside, smile times were precious few moments for us. She was weak, but managed to give me smiles … and I gladly accepted the gift of those happy, accepting grins so rare in the midst of her struggling facial frame.

Our short time together was picture perfect – save the weathered rips and dimples in each of our personalities. She had strong opinions and a dedication to all the colors and hues in her life. I felt a deep connection to every stroke of our brushed experiences together – especially the music we had a chance to create. What we did, when we did – and, if not alone, who we were with at the time – created a special magic for us. A connection. Emotional hand-held moments we cherished.

I saw my reflection in her. Greta’s death brought me down. A landslide of emotions came over me as that picture above appeared among many of us in my gallery. Faces and hands of the Doug and Greta story are plentiful inside this little electronic box full of memories.

Yet, there is an upside.

In many ways, our short story will have a longer life than what we had in time. Ten months was too short. We lived an “every day was special – no sad days” togetherness because time here on this earth wasn’t guaranteed. Calendar pages will never make the flip to 2022 with her fingers assisting. A significant birthday will not be celebrated. Her favorite holiday, Halloween, will mask silently in her memory. Fate released her hand.

As destiny closed its chapter for Greta, it left open possibilities for all of us to consider what time has for us. Specifically, what are we holding on to that has value, purpose, and meaning beyond our circumstances today?

Nothing we are holding onto today is ever guaranteed. The gift from Greta is my knowing this fact – and it is a fact. I often say I am a changed man because of my closeness to her. This is why. Realizing, finally, life is better holding on to what is true rather than wasting time – spinning emotional wheels in the mud. Since there are no guarantees anyway, why not hold hands with something, or someone, adding sweetness to our breaths?

The loss in her death is real, of course. The music. The laughing. Her depth of artistic talent to our community. All of it I was drawn to initially … and the picture finally completed ten months later – I will cherish forever.

We had a special time together. Holding hands was such a small part of a larger experience, however, we knew life together – from the start – was limited. How limited? Well, let’s just say I think she was a bit surprised by how fast the cancer progressed.

From my perspective, forever would have been too short.

Even during some frustrating moments, she managed a few smiles. Those will continue with me as I remember her longer lesson of perseverance and dedication to life. In the course of “no bad days”, we held each other, supported our individual and collective causes, and tested the waters of fate.

A month removed, yet so close it seems only moments ago. Time has a funny way of skewing itself when loss is handed over.

I’m so glad, for me, Greta’s energy is holding my hand now because this would be so difficult to handle alone.

Pictures in galleries are priceless. Find yours and let time be suspended for a moment. Future moments aren’t guaranteed, so make sure what you’re holding onto is what brings you joy.

I had it once in person. Something to be cherished and valued … When it happens, it’s beautiful.

“Hey, What You Did There”

What happened didn’t cause an outcry from the pews, nor a dismissal from a position I’ve found solace in lately. It was a error in judgement; rather, an excitable few minutes I like to have back. Tension, apprehension, and overall buzziness in my brain overtook situational awareness when I arose from the resting chair beside the organ located in the upper right corner of the sanctuary. Yes, a comfortable, cushioned chair wasn’t good enough for sitting during a time in a service when all others were reverently focused on prayer and supplication.

Pacing around the organ seemed to be a better emotional lotion to sooth my nerves. All the music to come was prepared and organized, of course. Notes well positioned and in place had no requirement for my attention at that moment. Minimal to no dust, air, and small flames from the altar candles barely moved. Congregational members in attendance listened with focused, faithful calm as prayers were read by our pastor.

I, however, flittered about with no intention except to get through the moments. Honestly, had this not been brought to my attention after the service, the day’s hours would have gone on without my consideration. Pastor D. was kind enough to mention his peripheral uncomfortableness with my maniacal motion. I’m glad he did. “May I ask a favor…?, he asked after the service. “Could you not move around during the prayers … and possibly not so much at all?”.

These past few months have been crazy. No need for details. Certainly you’ve had stretches of time where life just sucks. I’ve had a lot of loss lately. The heart-hurt from these losses will take time to heal and I’m ok with the process. Along the way though, situational awareness gets lost at times. All of us think we’re doing ok until someone we respect pulls us aside and says, “Hey, about what you just did there … we need to talk.”

My nerves expressed themselves by telling me to get up and saunter about the organ. Granted, I was in the midst of doing what I love to do – playing the piano and organ – which calms my nerves, but something inside this, now, broken system of synapses said, “Uh, time to move.”, as I sat down on that resting chair. An anxiety reaction, not a healthy response to stress? … for sure!

As I talked this over briefly again today with our pastor, we came up with some practical solutions. Again, it is a process of grief for me, compassion from a church body, and musical selections that must be heard every week.

Taking extra time, as I process grief, is the hardest block to place on my situational awareness wall right now. The wall breaks down so easily. If you’ve been through it, focusing on anything other than the loss seems to be almost impossible – “situations” not excluded. Even a few seconds to stop and be aware of surroundings outside of this bubble are difficult to pick up. I’ve had “Aha!” moments when the minute prior passed by and I questioned if it even happened.

Good news here? It’s probably very normal and will likely pass with time.

I am so grateful to have folks around who do say, “Hey, about what you did there …”. Especially now. Loss is horrible. Three different kinds of losses within the past month for me. All of those will be folded into many diverse situations as my life begins to explore new possibilities.

Along the way, having buddy-buffers help the steps stay calmer and will certainly be one of life’s protections.

I hope you can find help and comfort if loss and heart-hurt comes your way. It isn’t easy. Staying comfortable in a chair may not seem the best option for a few minutes, but try it. That chair doesn’t have to be in one of the most beautiful sanctuaries in Blair County. It can be a beat up old La-Z-Boy or beanbag chair from the 70’s. What’s important, too, is if you need to get up … send me a short message. I know the feeling.

I’ll simply reply, “Hey, what you did there … I get it. I really do. Let’s talk.”

Traffic Noise

Since awakening before sunshine slid across a kind breakfast table, my day is full of sticky noises. Trumpeting television commentaries, conversational corneting groups, strings of screeching birds, and unidentifyable thumping sounds from afar are sounds that have remained orchestrally mixed on my inner sound stage. One after another, these are being added to create a symphonic score as of yet complete.

… Aaand, not done because I have yet to add one final instrument staff: traffic noise. All day, everywhere, car clamor has been present in all its forms. To finish off my overuse of alliteration, hubcap hubbub can’t be bumped to the burm of any road on which I find myself today. While on pedestrian footpaths or drive-on pavements, trucks and autos are exhausting so much racket, my composition is deteriorating at the moment.

There are a lot of vehicles on the roads. Big and small. Wide and narrow. Pick any fun “Sesame Street” song with happy adjectives, and I bet any combination of two would describe a desputt-puffer I am seeing today. For some reason, most have either some loud, objectionable horn that must be heard .003 seconds after the turning of a green light, or muffler disguised as ten invisible tubas. The noises are, well, disruptive and irritating.

I hear creaky car doors opening, blaring radio music from unstationary cars whizzing by, and stationary – but active – jack hammers beside dump trucks moving earth around small orange cones. There are yell-able drivers two feet away from, apparently, non-interested passengers, revving engines from bouncy cars, tires grovelling humbly over small shale in parking lots, and “spatch” curb sounds from a red Ford truck tire too close when parallel parking.

Yep, traffic noise. A non-harmonious grouping of sounds in my brain gathered not all at once, but over a few short hours. Minutes, on the positive side, I should appreciate.

People are out doing “them”. Their “thing”, whatever that is for today. Heck, I am. How boring it would be as the lone driver on an abandoned highway? The people and places I see are interesting and engaging. My hope would be they find conversation with me equally enjoyable and productive.

The go-about humans driving around are headed somewhere, coming from a place, too. Presumably, the vehicle they are in is a safe zone for thoughts and feelings, regardless of what’s going on around them. Vehicles are, in a lot of ways, second homes. Mine is. I have food, music, pen and paper, boxes, money, some clothes🙄, extra medicine for emergencies, bottled water, and blankets.

Oh, and a busted up lower front bumper that, er, makes one hell of a racket when making a hard right turn.

So, I guess there’s no immunity for me when traffic noise is discussed. Today, all the loco-commotion bothers me, however. Around every turn: traffic noise in some form. Ugh.

Did you ever have a day like this when some specific irk got to you? Fortunately, I found a quiet corner in which to sit and tap in my thoughts.

Oh, wait.

Of course, I’ll just finish this up now. My luck was short lived. Time to add another instrumental line to an ever increasing orchestral load. A tumbler just blumbled up the street! I may not be able to conduct myself properly if this continues.

Let’s assume he’s headed somewhere to rehearse his part. Yeah, that’s it.

Reasons for Unanswered Prayers

With the opportunity to read a friend’s blog post on Facebook last night, I affirmed what was already known: all of us have life stories unique to us.

She’s one who’s been emotionally in and out of both a tragic, untimely loss and a questioning faith life. Personal struggles, by her own public admission, were difficult to push through at times, but being here – today – is evidence of her ability to overcome. Her story. Unique to her.

Is it, though?

After reading the post last night, I sent her the following in support (and I don’t think she’d mind me sharing):

“Your journey is interesting. Read it last night. Keep pen to paper. People need to know what must be said – from all of us who live life surviving in the lanes they do … and need to understand “being alone” there doesn’t exist. Well done!”

Awkwardly written, of course, because my mind and hands were semi-preoccupied with a half-peeled banana, 3 chips-ahoys, ham and tomato sandwich, and diet pepsi surrounding this phone as I typed with two less-then agile fingers. She needed the support, regardless of the uneasiness of the prose. When someone bares their past like she did publicly with class, the pupils in the room eyeballing the effort must applaud in return…

… Not insincerely by many means. Her words were effective.

Questioning a God is no small task. In the midst of silence, it’s fair to ask, “Where are you?”. Asking for connections to a specific relative – when none was possible – was a daunting query in the midst of that elusive emotion called, “love”. Unexpected life situations being dumped into her lap causing plans to change immediately when a path forward, “just yesterday”, was the right thing to do.

All of these written in a shared blog to highlight a life, now, on the right path. A story being told with the following beginning:

“SUPER LONG POST WARNING“
“On October 26, 2020, I sat down to write my next post for my new Blog. I intended to write about my unique and incredible relationship with my dad, but at the last minute I decided to write about my journey to, from and back …”

Ending with:

“…And I do believe there are reasons for unanswered prayers.”

It is her story. She survived in a lane others are driving in now. This is why her story, and others, need to be shared.

Stories are important. Non-fiction, and fiction for sure. Both help us think our way through what we are living through at the moment and, perhaps, solve life’s little buggers … and, maybe, some of the bigger problems.

I don’t know a lot of things. However, it was nice for me to read her “Super Long Post” even after the fair warning 😉😊. Struggles, sadness, and loss are all parts of this spinny planet and we have to find our way across the rough water in front of us at times.

Having word bridges to walk over together – built by friends – makes the journey a bit easier.

Thanks, ASW. Keep on writing!

Piecing Life Together

Thirty-two pasted up on seven walls. Vertical paneled partitions holding up thousands of glued pieces – each a part of individual displays. Pictures attached not only to wood paneling, but also to memories a mother left for her family.

She enjoyed this hobby. “Puzzle assembly”, simply stated. Somewhat simply understood from my viewpoint; however, I couldn’t put together hours with the shifting around of little pieces of cardboard – while figuring out which nub goes into which notch. If involved, once the straight-edge borders and four corners were set, I could very easy call the puzzle, “done”, and walk away.

Anyone who is an enigmatologist – as you may be – is certainly welcome to engage in puzzling. My mom did. Crosswords, word games, Trivial Pursuit, Pinochle, Games Magazines, etc … all of those (+) were, … err, fair game in her world. I could join in with her – except these oodles of pieces, boxed-up picture puzzle games aren’t my thing at all. And, yes, picture puzzles are games. Dump, sort, and sit for hours games.

I didn’t care for the huge, hand-sized, biggie, six-piece alphabet puzzles in first grade. The plastic, round, straight, or oblong “learn your shapes” jam into holes matching games didn’t impress me, either. Anything early in my life that suggested, “fit this into that”, I kinda told to hit the road.

So, Thirty-two puzzles. There were more, but they fell off. Mom’s interest never fell off, however. I can see her sitting in her dining room chair, hours at a time, during times when her mind needed to focus on a thousand little things other than one, or two, bigger problems. Diversionary, of sorts. Those thousand little pieces – working toward one large picture – was better than starting with the one large problem then breaking it down into smaller pieces. Her process, I guess.

It worked for her. During a five year cancer journey, this worked. She never complained that I saw. Privately, probably. Tears never flowed that I saw. Privately? Again, probably. These puzzles represent her life before, and during, cancer. Of all, the Mozart one is my favorite. Most are Charles Wysocki prints, as she was enamored by his style and class.

I don’t spend a lot of my time wandering through this room looking around this familial gallery. I should, though. One per day would give me a month of reflection upon a mom who would still be here if cancer wouldn’t have ended her life too early. It did, and that’s the way all her pieces finally came together.

At some point, these puzzles will need to be removed. Just when, is anyone’s guess. Mom used industrial strength glue on the backing and the double-stick tape to the wall is ridiculously tight. It’s gonna take some mighty panel-bending and puzzle fandangery to get these unfastened.

Seems like mom left us the biggest puzzler of all. For now, there’s no need to rush.

I never liked to do puzzles in the first place. I did, and do, love my mom. So, I’ll enjoy these while I still can. They’re pieced together and just as beautiful as she was. Memories and all.

Golly, Dolly

What a face! Dolly the Shepherd lookin’ at me with the same expression most folks find available when seeing me scamper about in my crazy shoes. She was pretty sure my zany ways – jamming buns, frozen raw meat, and coolers into a van across the street from her – matched what ideas she had about me in her astute, shepherd brain. The crooked smile. Those arched eye brows. I’ve seen it all before … many times from folks’ faces, too.

Not to say it’s a bad thing. I like to think, “wonderment”, or perhaps, “fascination”, just to keep my wits intact. Dolly, on the other paw, may have thought, “What the hell is he doing?… I’m across the street, looking all cute and adorable, yet, he’s unsuccessfully attempting to maniacally run around – doing that van-jam thing … Not really paying attention to me.”

True ‘dat. I was busy. Life in the prep-lane for a 530 student, out-of-town, (what turned out to be a literal stuck-in-the-mud) event took a lot of mental energy out of already stagnant, slow steps. Focus had to be forward, not so much sideways toward that leashed bundle of spunk across a happy path of asphalt.

All she had to do was sit there and make sense of it all. After looking at the picture hastily snapped, I started to understand why her particular expression easily appeared. Her life is simple: sit there and look delightful. My life is complicatingly unlovely at times. Our roads intersected at that moment.

“He’s not over here petting me! I am the giver of joyful moments … That silly seller of delicious delicacies is rushing around too much and needs to get over here – like now – and rub down some fur, itch a little ear fuzz, skritch some nozzle neck whiskers, and talk some lovin’ to me! .”

She’s not wrong. After getting home at 11:35 p.m. from a mud-soaked, less-then stellar event, I should have – hours earlier – drained more captivating canine time out of my reserves than frenetic beef frank foolishness. Golly, Dolly … I didn’t know. You were right.

A few minutes would not have changed a thing.

Isn’t this a lesson for all of us? “Too busy doing the big to appreciate the small.”

My “big” was stuffing a van full of product – something I can do backwards, blindfolded, and with a medium-size monkey tied to my back, playing Czardas on the harmonica. The “small” could have been taking a few moments to walk across the street and pet a kind, wonderfully propped up, goofy smiling, german shepherd …

Moments, right?

These may not be four paws in your life. For pause, look carefully. They may not be deliciously grinning dogs that cause you to stop what you’re doing and appreciate a “small”. Your “bigs” are really consuming. Mine are. I’m almost always ridiculously ahead of myself. Takes work to see these smalls AND act upon them.

Find some smalls. Appreciate them. The bigs will always be around for you to fret over, with, and among.

If peoplefolk I see continue to fuzzy eyeball me, chances are excellent that won’t be a small moment for me to scratch under their chin. Although that confused look is common, it is guaranteed to only work when dispatched from dogs.

Whatever you decide to do is your business for sure. I like dogs, words, music, and thingies crossing my path making life just a little bit more ease-able.

Dolly would be open to a pet, or two, if you’re free sometime. I doubt you’d get the look I got; however, you may be as crazy as I. In that case, she’ll be cuter than ever. Hope you can handle the overload of delightfulness.

11’s Speak Volumes

So many movies have flickered across my eyeball. From cinema popcorn butter dripping down a whisker-less “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” chin … through my awkward, “Yo, Adrian!” years … to the most recent ( a DVD viewing of “Somewhere in Time” I finally got to🙄) …, over 1,000 movies had to carve out some comfortable sofa and squeaky cinema seat entertainment time. At LEAST 1,000 – if not more.

In-theater viewing, VHS, DVD, streaming service … All forms of delivery and ranges of interest – with or without exceptional acting – held hostage a percentage of time in my life I will never get back. Some, I do regret. Most, not. At the risk of offending anyone, I won’t mention dislikes or fascinations. There were only two I can recall where I walked my disappointed ticket stub out the door after only a half-hour. No regrets at all with VHS’s or DVD’s, however. Those were only one stop click away from a refrigerator snack visit that didn’t require a quick, snarky comment to a teenager behind the counter on the way through.

Yep, a ton of movies. Very similar to your experience, I am quite sure. This is where we part ways, … Probably. Why? Because if I took a poll of my blog readers, a large percentage of you had a certain movie flicker across YOUR eyeballs at some point that did not appear in my couldn’t-be-anymore-less-interested pupils. I was barely aware this movie existed. Vaguely, I remember 1984 as a year … let alone a year when a movie, I didn’t care much about anyway, was released.

It came up in passing during a conversation today.

“Herbie, the Love Bug”? ✔️, “Star Wars” Trilogy”? ✔️, “Mary Poppins”?✔️, “The Matrix”?✔️, “Fatal Attraction”?✔️, “American President”✔️, “When Harry Met Sally”?✔️, “Godfather” Trilogy?✔️… We could continue to check all the boxes together with most of those iconic movies over the years, right? This one in the projector today? I don’t believe we’re cine-patico.

Today, as I alluded, the following question was asked of me: “You’ve never seen ______?” Now, before I insert the actual movie title, understand it IS a movie I should have watched at some point in my life. It was assumed, correctly so, that I should have known a popular idiom from the movie – seeing as how I claim to be some kind of musician.

I should know some things. Movie quotes chief among them. In conversation, these provide wisdom, insight, understanding, humor, and levity when all else fails. All of us know some, right? Who doesn’t throw in a, “Stella!!, once in a while, or a, “Go ahead, make my day!”, when provoked by a good-natured, friendly pal-poke? Add it all up, and I certainly wasn’t in Kansas anymore when the query was presented.

I’ll get to the actual idiom in a minute. Before I do, there’s a certain amount of dirty laundry I need to tumble into this recounting of events.

After the late morning convo which included a two minute education on the cinematic value of volume control as a 10% notch over the norm (I’ve come to understand), I dialed up a load of laundry. What appeared, coincidentally so, in the dryer bin – as man-delicates and other fabricated items were pulled from their toasty, warm cocoon? – These crispy critters:

Eleven of them! Well, a $5 plus 6 $1 bills ,… $11 total, to be exact. Not enough to get into a movie house these days, but plenty to tap into a sense of needing to check my pockets more often … and a significantly higher awareness that something odd was strangely sticky in the aisle of a numerical talkie universe.

Spoken randomly in conversation, “Have you heard turn it up to eleven?”, this double-one stilted into my late morning, then again in tangible, barterable currency.

“THIS is Spinal Tap”, and for future reference, my financial lifeline amp should frequently, “Go up to 11”, for no other reason than the mere mention seems to produce money out of thin, warm air.

Of course, it is entirely possible a correlation, or causation, between the two 11’s doesn’t exist, or does and I don’t understand the underlying principles at play. Based on my exhaustive research 😉, I do believe Nigel would agree with this conclusion.

Ah, heck. Maybe everything is going to remain pretty much the same, anyway? Another workaround of the quote is, “Things are essentially the same, but seen as different (due to) because of mislabeling”.

I did some Rhodes research (google) on the number 11. Numerology says eleven is inspiring, artistic and spiritual. Makes sense to me, although, no amount of advertising 37 years ago inspired me to nestle into crunchy, used, fake velvety seats to watch a Rob Reiner film. My mind, at the time, was too far into other issues and events to consider tapping into a metal band’s problems.

Call me one needing a small urge on the backbone? Ok, that’s fair. I do know that $11 in today’s world will buy me at least 20 more used DVD’s of movies I have yet to watch – and must. I feel this is necessary in the event a conversation comes up again where cinematic quotes are a necessary, affirmative tie-in.

… Especially if I can yank some Washingtons from the dryer a few hours later. If only I knew this was the secret to riches earlier in my life.

Bump and Stop

Yeah, I felt like looking away, too. At the very bottom edge, Murphy had enough of the bumps and stops in life as well. Experiences – especially those four letter words ahead – have been too prevalent in both our lives lately.

I had to stop my normal, everyday maneuvers a while ago and do tiring, but satisfying activities for multiple weeks on end. I also rode over legions of unexpected bumps until my human, emotional underside wore through a pretty thick pair of wrangled genes. Murphy? Well, he did have some feeding times that were off a bit.

A medical crisis set life aside as care for a loved one took precedence over all other labors, hobbies, and toils.

Thing is, there were no warning signs for months during that difficult drive … on challenging roads. Every experience was an unexpected turn of events.

During our pleasant walk this evening, however, Murphy and I had at least two signs. We knew to sidestep the slight tar implosion to our left and walk cautiously on the sidewalk to the right. Watching for traffic at the four-way ahead was easy-peasy – even without that red octagonal, familiar sign – because this is what responsible dog walkers do who don’t want to bring harm to themselves or their leash-alongs.

I can do without unexpected bumps and stops for now. My limit has been reached and, possibly, breached.

The everyday expected is ok. Any obvious, conventional, everyday sign alerting my living, vehicular being to an anticipated knot in a string of roads ahead is fine. Similarly, if I must put the brakes on to avoid risk, so be it.

We can go for so long before there’s a break down along the side of the road, right? The stops and starts after each bump in the road – while caring for someone – is really difficult. It is what’s done, though, because love is involved … and we’ll do whatever, whenever, for as long as necessary. I am not the first, certainly not the last, and claim no expertise in the matter of care-taking of a loved one.

I also know it takes a partnership with family members and professionals to make it work, too. With all the struggle along the road that was, a specific, dedicated, small group of us never gave up.

With all that was, the end came and I am tired.

Bump and stop signs – better yet, the actual unexpected pesky projections and nettlesome negations that could veer this body off-road -should park themselves in a garage for a few months. I’d appreciate it until life returns back to more normal road conditions … If that’s even possible.

As for Murphy, he just needs to take a walk with his fuzzy brother-buddy and not think too much, anyway.

You … take a walk. Watch out for signs that should keep you safe. They may not be bumps or stops, but at least you’re headed in the right direction. Deep breaths, friendly hellos or waves from a neighbor, crackling, crisp water over rocks in a stream, or breezes through bendy tree limbs … to name a few.

Or, helping a loved one through the most challenging times of her life. This can be the most unexpectedly challenging, tiring, incredibly difficult things to do … and also something that resets life, overall, in the right direction.

I’d do what I did all over again, but wouldn’t wish the pain to return to a body whose fight couldn’t overcome cancer’s eventual outcome. You bet I am tired and don’t need any more surprises right now.

… Now, unless that surprise is a Powerball win of a few million. That’s an unexpected bump in the road I could tolerate and drive a long distance without stopping.

Guess Murphy would need a ride, though.

Last Daisies

Angelic music from her voice, as I accompanied her, moved me to tears at times. Familiarity with the grace in every Greta-graphite picture I witnessed etched a memory into my soul. Through her patience, she loved, admired, and respected all that surrounded my life. With strength, she fought through until her body could no longer handle what appendiceal cancer threw at her.

Tuesday evening, Greta died. A very significant part of my life slipped away from me, … from us.

I miss her. Those three words have been repeating over and over in my head since Tuesday evening. No amount of distracting sunshine walks or meals with friends these past 24 hours seem to ease the pain. Brain tears have been happening behind my mask of pushing through the “need to be dones” in my life.

This is what death looks like. I don’t appreciate not having Greta to take care of today, or tomorrow, or … ever again. It’s painful to know there’s no more of that beautiful voice in front of my piano. Loss of this breadth is almost incomprehensible.

I’ve had loss, but not like this. It’s surreal. I’m on an unending carousel of memories with Greta. On this ride, we’ve been experiencing fun, exciting things together. Lunches at SAMA, picnics, Doug’s Dawgs events, pizza with my dad, … Seems like if we weren’t rehearsing, food was a major contributor to our experiences?🤔.

Life with her was an unending, somewhat unpredictable, fascinating twist of energy, love, compassion, heart, and fun.

Without her, it seemed as though that mix was no longer possible when I sat alone late Tuesday night on a dark patio.

Then, a few hours ago, I walked by where Greta made her graceful last curtain call from this world. Over on stage left stood the last vase of daisies I bought for her. She loved daisies. There in that vase, supporting cast members stood applauding a life filled with what she loved: her dogs, Rex and Murphy, music, art, her immediate family, close friends … and me.

Yes, me. That piano guy she decided to fold into her life with, maybe, two years to live. We got less together. But, overall, I got significantly more.

In a nutshell, I have a better understanding of who I am. My personal growth, with Greta’s tugs and halts, found a path forward. As a few stubborn rocks took some time to navigate around, she waited (somewhat) patiently for my opinions and behaviors to change. Some did, others didn’t. There are live-alongs in my life that will be with me forever.

In the end, I am a changed man because Greta took the time to love me.

We were all changed if Greta smiled in our direction. Our lives will not be the same without her here. Tuesday evening, the world lost a beautiful person. Our community lost a gifted singer and artist. Her family lost a daughter, aunt, and sister.

I lost a connection. A partner in that magical, mysterious, musical world where a pianist and vocalist could live without fear, anxiety, and judgement. A lunch date who helped me laugh at myself … and at her. She was a lover of my life and one who accepted my love of her life.

Yes, absolutely incomprehensible right now. I loved Greta. Her contribution to my life will never be forgotten.

If reading this as a friend of Greta’s, may your memories be wonderfully fulfilling as mine … and may her love for you extend far beyond the horizon of every daisy patch you see.

Greta, we miss you. Spread your energy to the world – be that guiding light to others as you were to me. Sing. Echo your songs across the cosmos. Paint the skies your favorite shade of purple for us sometime.

You were, simply the best – and still are. “Smile, though your heart is aching. Smile, even though it’s breaking.”

I will every time I think of you, Greta. I most certainly will 🎙️🎹💕