Wednesday, May 20, 2009

To her timid soul

The first thing that occurred to me this morning:

How beautiful the Wiegelia is right outside my bedroom window.

How the sun placed a ray right where the starlight had penetrated before through the fold of the batiked curtain.

How the Peacock has taken over rise-and-shine duties, crowing in his half scream half clearing throat way- since the coyotes ate the rooster.

How that scream jolts me out of bed, where as the cockle doodle doo seemed more soothing...

And finally the realization, today is the day. Black Dog gets to ride in her favorite spot, in the old Ford bed- she'll ride with glee, knowing she'll get a cheeseburger, knowing she's with someone she loves most. Not knowing hopefully, that this will be her last ride. My old friend needs me to do for her what is very difficult but most needed at this time. My old friend, a great dog who was adopted by us several years back- apparently the folks who had her did not appreciate a good dog. She was not treated well and did not trust for the longest time. Once she did...she's kind of been my right hand. My sunshine when it rained, my ever loving, ever constant companion, in the woods, out of the woods...just the sweetest girl you can ever imagine.
She hated storms and took such comfort in riding out the foul weather under my chair, (since I always found storms quite mesmerizing...)

Lightening streaks
across the furious sky
rattling the windows
and Black Dog,
holding close to me
so afraid
of booming
shutting her eyes
to it all
cowering under
my wobbly chair
silly dog-
believing I am
magical and strong,
able to hold
harsh weather at bay
together we are
joined under eaves
weathering storms-
To her timid soul
I reach out
gesturing comfort by
a glance of my hand
as the sky bellows
with thunderous laughter
shaking the clouds

Saturday, May 16, 2009

0-less me

I have come to love the questions...the unfolding comes when least expected, and generally provides more questions!
...sometimes one sets out to restore, but experiences instead- new ways, new life. That has been my personal experience, the moment of most profound doubt giving way to profound hope- though thoroughly hand in hand with suffering.

Rolled a plow, it had a mind of it's own- back on me it flipped. I have a bruise clear down to the bone that looks like an angry sky right before all hell breaks loose. And I am once again, grounded. Not much patience do I have...I am learning. And reading. And wondering...
(And Grandma is staying with her sister for awhile, this is very good. Thank you for all your well wishes and prayers, each one counted.)

Saturday, May 9, 2009

veers a little south...

I feel so blessed by the folks in my life...those I see, and those whom I'll never even meet. They stumble in, check my pulse by the words I write- I just want you to know that it means more than I can say, truly.

There is an old Bluegrass song that has always been one of my favorites

"I Want My Friends To Pray For Me".

I never gave it much thought the first time I heard it, the title seems a bit selfish, wanting a prayer said for you...but the song goes on to say how affirming it is to be able to hope, perhaps never truly asking- that someone might lift you up in prayer by speaking your name.

I think that just might be the beauty of blogging, perhaps it is the very thing that we all need, the net of amazing graces found here. Some vent, some wail, some seek, some find I suppose, a sympathetic ear...but I can't help but wonder if it is more than that. Perhaps it is like that old tin cup attached to a string that you ran from your garage as a kid, to your neighbors upstairs window and you spoke, "Hello!" The sound waves traveled through the string up and over and through the hedge to a listening ear that heard the voice or felt the vibe. It was exhilarating as a child to feel that- as if the wheel had just been invented by two knock-kneed kids with fruit cocktail cans held up to their ears.

"I hear you! I hear you!" And then we'd drop our cans and meet at the bushes and smile... beaming grins from ear to ear.

Hear I sit with my old rusty can, the string a bit tattered and worn, but...I hear you! I hear you!!!!

-how sweet the sound...

(Hoping upon hope that I get to bring Grandma home today, or- tomorrow. Home being the optimum word, she's in better spirits, accepting all and anything, took me a bit to get there. But, once again- she's taught me that some things might rob you, some things fulfill you and some things...just have to be. And some things, the best ...aren't really things at all.

She said (after all the indignity she has suffered, the pokes and guinea pig explorations),

" have to forget all that and just go on."

Oh grandma, I'm trying you-old-sweet-pain-in-the-rear-sometimes-always-grand-dame, I am trying.

(I may have to live as long as Grandma Mocko to get the lessons right...or wrong and "just go on", as she has advised. Darn it. She can come right out of the haziest fog, look me straight in the eye and be so damned righteous...ooohhhh, she goes right for my throat, veers a little south and pokes me in the heart.)

Mother's Day...tears and laughter, joy and pain-

this day will be the one that really brings it home...

What it means to be a mother,

to be mothered and to be... Grand.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

the beauty and the bones

Well friends, in case you haven't noticed...I haven't been up to much blogging lately. And this poor old blog here, the truest calling I've ever known that lets me lay bare the beauty and bones of life- has taken a back seat to all the goings on recently.

I have just driven home from the hospital, the one I took my grandma to this morning, this early AM. She called around 7:00 and was pretty shook up and bleeding. I raced over there as fast as I could, got her into the hospital, to the good hands people- and set to twist and wring my hands right along side her all day. She's about four years behind her actual age in the telling, so we'll just keep letting on like she's 88, that's what she'd want you to think. Anyway- we sat, I worried- not because she hasn't had a long life or a good one for that matter. She's a strong women, never was much of a loving sort, but I knew- yes indeed, I always knew. She's the independent type and I've tried my very best to keep her in her home, safe and secure. She's been feeling pretty feeble for quite some time now, the early morning call was one she did not want to make, especially to me because she thinks I've got my hands full and then some. After 12 long hours of laying, in pain, blood tests revealing internal hemorrhaging somewhere and no health care to speak of there in that hospital. Just false hopes...I didn't say a word, just carried on with her like everything was going to be OK. Finally, I made a mental note that if the IV, the blood transfusion, the promised hospital room wasn't employed in the final hour of 9:00 PM, I was going to talk to somebody, matter of fact my mental note was a zinger and somebody was going to listen and then act. I stood around the nurse's station, not wanting to vent- I could see with my own two eyes how busy every one seemed. But- I made a promise to my old girl that she could trust me, count on me when the chips were down. Again- no verbal promise from her lips to my ears ever in my 40 plus years was ever made- but I knew, I always knew she'd look out for me. So, finally I locked eyes with a sensible looking young nurse and I asked her this question-

"Do you have a grandma?"

"Yes" she said.

"What would you do if you found her bleeding, took her to the hospital and sat with her while she worried and wondered, after 10 hours- if someone in the medical profession was going to look after her. Could you sit by much longer and wonder if the transfusion was ever going to come, or wonder dreadfully, thinking what if this is it? Her life just slipping away in a hospital no less, and you're just standing by letting all that happen? Could you look her in the eye and tell her all will be well, when not even one nurse had peeped her head in just to say how are you doing? Could you just sit and take all that knowing the poor thing hasn't been able to eat or sleep for days, unable to keep anything down or anything in? And somehow found the courage to make a call that would take her to a hospital she might never come out of? I know she's old, I know maybe she's not top priority because of her age, maybe you folks feel she's a bit expendable, but she's my grandma. She's a good women, worked hard all her life, never asks anybody for anything. And the one time she does, she gets to lay in a bed that no one attends and slowly bleed from some unknown place in her belly because, well- that's what I need to know. Why aren't you doing anything for my grandma?"

I didn't get mad, I guess I got really sad, felt powerless, felt that there had to be some good reason that folks just like her get treatment like that because, well- because they don't whine, they don't whimper- they never even squeak. They just take it, like they have all their life- doing the best they know how to do and one day, they grow old and hell, doesn't anybody care anymore about the plain and simple people?

The nurse listened. (And thank goodness, acted.) That's all I wanted I guess, not to be right- at least to be heard. When I left the hospital, and believe me you- that was a very hard thing to do, leave her laying there- I guess I took about the longest quietest ride home I ever took. And I thought long and hard on how we don't notice one another anymore- how we don't really care to be bothered by the bonafide goodness of one soul, but we pull out all the stops for the ones who don't give two cents for anything of value, they demand the best and give the least. Time for me to head to bed...maybe say a little prayer for the whole wide world, somebody's got to say something for the lack of love in the all too many these days.

And one last note to my family, if you're reading or listening to a retelling of this story. Time to exchange the wishbone for a back bone. Grandma needs us all and I'm tired, and I'm spent and my back bone is getting pretty sore. You could learn something or two from this old lady who's done so much for so little.

Thanks for listening and giving a damn, take care-