Archive for June, 2005
Thursday, June 23rd, 2005Animal Therapy
Some weeks seem filled with challenges. Last week a friend of mine passed away unexpectedly. Then this week my dad went into the hospital. Yesterday a nurse friend of mine got a call saying her kids had been involved in a car accident; she was asked to ‘go to the scene.’ I spent three hours worrying until I got a call telling me that the kids were okay.
I drove out to Triple Creek Ranch yesterday to help with the weekly classes. I really just wanted to go home and go to bed. But as my car crept down the dirt driveway, I saw the horses and my spirits lifted. I parked, climbed out of my car and squeezed through the pasture fence. Ruby, the new baby mule, lifted her head and I called out to her. She trotted toward me, her ears flipping back and forth, her tail swishing. I wrapped my arms around her sun soaked neck and inhaled her mulish smell. My muscles relaxed, a sense of calm washed over me. Later, I climbed atop Dillon bareback and rode him out into the pasture. The gentle rhythm of his walk soothed me. Oaks shaded us from the hot afternoon sun. The only sounds were the steady clop of Dillon’s feet and the songs of the birds.
Back at the barn, our two new kittens (Larry and Mo) wrestled with each other. They batted at dust motes and scampered between the tack. I lifted Mo into my lap, felt the rumble of his purr and warmth of his tiny body. He stretched out and cupped my finger with his paws.
I left the ranch last night feeling lighter, the stress lifted from my shoulders, and glad for the therapy of animals.
A Miracle in Utah
The rugged Utah mountains reach into the sky with the beauty of a postcard. From a distance they look harmless. Yesterday an eleven year old boy, missing for four days, was found along a narrow ATV trail and joy replaced fear.
I watch the television news coverage: the repeated video of a child’s dazed, sunburned face; the grins of filthy, sweat stained searchers; the trembling voice of the search commander. I cannot seem to stop my throat from tightening This is the kind of story that too often goes the other way. I have been on those kinds of searches myself and perhaps that is why *this* search touches my heart so much. Or maybe it is because it is a reminder that sometimes things go right; sometimes there are miracles; sometimes a child comes home.
Me and Dad
Dad…A Poem in Honor of Father’s Day
My small hand in his,
Safe and secure throughout the years.
A lap to sit on at story time,
A kiss good night.
A shake awake before dawn broke the sky,
To see Lassie, a canine hero of childhood.
Never late to a high school basketball game,
Or a track meet.
Steady, loyal, always there.
A walk down the aisle.
A dance in a wedding gown.
Holding my hand in his,
My dad…always there.
Unexpected Weather
For the second day in a row, I woke up to rain pattering on the roof and fog sifting through the pine trees outside my window. I had to rub the sleep from my eyes and take a minute to remember that I was not living in New England any longer.
I believe that New Englanders coined the saying: If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute. Springtime in New Hampshire, or Maine, or Rhode Island is often characterized by unpredictable weather. It may be eighty degrees and sunny in the morning, only to hail later in the day. I remember many Easters where we had to brave several inches of snow in our patent leathers to make it to church services.
But here in sunny California we expect, well, sunshine. Typical years find the rains gone by mid-May. June is usually a month of increasingly warm days (bordering on hot) with perfect blue skies and not a cloud to be seen. The monotony of unblemished days lulls us into the belief that rain can only fall between October and May; the rest of the months are reserved to last minute picnics, trips to the beach, and long lazy days reading in the hammock.
I climbed from bed this morning and opened the French doors to put the dogs out for their morning potty break. They peeked out into the flat grayness of the backyard, then looked at me as if to say: What is this?
I shrugged “I have no idea. Perhaps we’re not in California anymore.”
The Cotton Picker
She picks cotton beneath a sky the color of cornflowers. The sun turns her brown skin shiny and slick.
He rides out from the plantation house to a sea of white bobbing in a summer breeze. She watches him trot by. Their eyes meet; only a second, but enough.
When the sun drops into the western sky, she leaves the fields; returns to the one room shack that is home.
She reaches to receive her baby from her mother’s arms.
“Yo’ daddy’s rich, and so be you one day.”
The baby gazes at her with eyes the color of cornflowers.
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Song lyrics which inspired this piece:
Summertime
And the livin’ is easy,
Fish are jumpin’
And the cotton is high.
Oh yo’ daddy’s rich
An’ yo’ ma is good lookin’
So hush, little baby,
Don’t you cry.
One of these mornin’s,
You’s gonna rise up singin’
Then you’ll spread yo’ wings
An’ you’ll take the sky.
But till that mornin’,
There’s aint’ nothin’ can harm you
With your Daddy an’ Mummy
Standin’ by.
In The Tub
When the weather gets hot, Argus sleeps in the tub!
Thursday, June 2nd, 2005Sign of Summer
A sure sign of summer in our household is dog “sign” in the bathtub: muddy paw prints, a bit of red fur. When Kip lived in Redding, he had a porcelain tub. Argus discovered that the porcelain stayed cool on hot days. He enjoyed climbing into the tub at night to sleep. (Personally, I think he was also motivated by the wish that the water would magically turn on and turn the tub into a swimming pool).
Our home in Shingletown lacks the coolness of porcelain. Instead, we have an ugly fiberglass tub. Even still, Argus puts himself to bed in the tub on hot nights; and lately, when I get home from work on sweltering days I discover that he has been in there.
On some evenings, Argus disappears from the living room.
“Where’s Argus?” I ask, and Caribou leaps to her feet and races to the bathroom where she noses away the shower curtain to find Argus curled in a ball. He lifts his head and blinks.
“Is it really cooler in there?” I ask him.
He lays his head back down and closes his eyes. I guess it is.