I'm sure he's there now

When I was a young girl of five or six, I had distinct musical preference. Two albums, or 8-tracks, if you will, and only two were on my rotation list. The soundtracks to The Sound of Music, and Camelot. I recall when the family drove to our house in the hill country for summer vacation, I would sit in the front seat of our station wagon, between my father driving and my mother wishing I was not sitting in the front seat. Right between them, and right in front of the car stereo. I'd put The Sound of Music 8-track into the deck and when that was over, I'd pull it out and replace it with Camelot. When that was over, in went The Sound of Music again. I liked Julie Andrew's voice, I still do. And I liked Richard Burton. But I really liked Robert Goulet. I really liked Robert Goulet's voice. I had a bit of a crush on his voice, and Sir Lancelot, and Camelot in general was a place I wanted to visit one day.

Camelot came through Houston years ago and I took my mother to see the musical. Goulet had by then moved from his role of Lancelot to very successfully fill Burton's role of King Arthur. It was thrilling to watch him up there on the stage, absolutely thrilling. My face hurt from smiling for so long and my hands hurt from the long applause and standing ovation after the show. Afterwards, we milled about in a Meet the Stars area but I was too awe-struck to approach him. He was Lancelot and King Arthur rolled into one, after all.

Robert Goulet died yesterday. When I read the news in the paper this morning, I was struck with the musical memories and happiness this man provided me through my years. But I wasn't struck with the feeling of loss. I have no doubt where he is, where to find him.

In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot.

What would you do?

Silly to write that for the post title. I know what most of, if not all, my friends would do. For their dog's birthday. Probably not much. Because most of my friends are normal line-separating people.

What I did was take Cheyenne to the park for a long time this evening. We stayed until she bored of every furry bottom available to her nose, and had sniffed out every scented message left behind for her on fallen leaf, barrier post, table leg. We stayed until I threw the ball to her and she watched it arc in the sky and fall beside her foot, then looked at me as if throwing the ball for her was so yesterday and didn't I know that she was into food for pleasure these days?

After she cooled down, I fixed her birthday dinner. This is where I'm pretty sure I crossed the line from healthy pet owner to over-the-top. Her birthday dinner consisted of the following:

~ Normal amount of her dog food
~ Two broccoli florets
~ Large spoonful of beef stew
~ Large splash of low sodium chicken broth
~ Quarter cup of water

And then...

I stirred it all together and put it in the microwave for 30 seconds to give it a nice warm temperature.

While she danced in excited circles around my feet.

In the grand scheme of things, I figure that spoiling a dog is a tiny thing, the likes of which no one will keep track and which causes no damage, but giving happiness, even over-the-top happiness, to an animal who depends on me and gives me so very much in return? The spoiling and the wag of her tail tonight, they make my small world a very happy place to be.

Seven years old today

In my memory this morning, a morning years ago. At the cabin, cup of coffee in hand, standing on the back porch, throwing the ball to Cheyenne. As the normal tireless insanity of her breed, she chased it down the hill, ran back the hill and up the stairs, dropped it at my feet and ran back down the stairs again, excitedly waiting for me to throw it again. My father stepped out onto the porch, cup of coffee in hand, and smiled at her eagerness and play.

You've got a good dog there, Alison.

Yes, yes I do.

Snippet

A gorgeous afternoon. One table outside. Two friends. Me.

The conversation relaxed and pleasantly unspectacular until this:

Friend One: Yeah, that'd be like a bull in a china cabinet.

Friend Two and Me: ???

Friend Two: Shop.

Friend One: ???

Friend Two: China shop. The bull isn't in a china cabinet, he's in a china shop.

The three of us then laugh. Just a laugh over something silly imagined, just a moment spent in mental simplicity. Our laughter takes rise on the air, through the trees, is picked up and carried away on the breeze. It's easy, this afternoon is. Unless, of course, that poor china cabinet is yours.

Sunshine through the blinds

One word on the card was World

Sunday morning, going through the tall pile of mail I'd brought in and put on the dining table Saturday afternoon. Half the mail belonged next door, which turned out to be a lucky turn of events for me since in order for me to deliver the neighbor's mail, I had to walk out my front door, something I don't usually do since I park in the garage and use the garage entry to my house. There on my red brick doorstep was a complete surprise in the form of a tall and bright arrangement of flowers. I checked the card and, unlike the neighbor's mail, these were delivered to the correct address. Lilies and Gerber Daisies, Daisies and Sunflowers, all of deep yellows and Fall reds.

All day Sunday, those flowers were a big part of the smile on my face.

Four words

I sit beside her while she eats the fresh strawberries, blackberries and grapes I've brought her. It's peaceful here, pure, quiet, our own space, own time. Something is on the television, something in the background, filler we both ignore. I hold the plate, attentive to her needs, wipe her mouth. She turns her head to me, opens her mouth round. I lean in. She says in a voice just above a whisper, I love you, Alison.

My world, it's full of plans and details and what next. But it snaps clear, it gets perfectly clear, when she speaks.

I remember who I am when I hear her. I know what's important when I hear her. To hear her voice again!

Might be my favorite email this year

Received this afternoon from my friend in San Diego.

We have, as a society, absolutely lost our minds. Accessory lap-dogs, ten-year olds with cell phones, sixty dollar trucker hats, two-thousand dollar purses, reality television, daytime television, prime time television, "Music" Television, heck, all television; our decline into utter mindlessness has been swift and steady. But the capper, what has convinced me that we truly are without brains, that my impression of the universal idiocy of mankind is not merely a product of my admittedly limited patience is today's announcement of the release of the Spice Girls greatest hits album.

Between the two of us

At the end of the hall, rounding the corner of Room 417, I see her. In bed, immobile. Her head turns my way, eyes take a moment to focus, then a grin tears across her face like the sun splitting the clouds.

Hi Mom!

Her smile widens.

I sit beside her, hold her hand, kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.

She gently but purposefully pushes me away, eyes the fruit containers I've placed on the buffet.

What Mom? I tease her, Would you like some berries?

She brightens, widens her eyes a bit, shakes her head up and down.

We are learning how to communicate, she and I.

She hungrily grabs handful after handful from the plate. I hold the plate, waiting for her hand to reach for more, move the plate each time like a target for her reach, so that she always succeeds.

She looks at me, focuses on me, says Thank you. Out loud, her voice thanks me. Her words! Her voice! I smile at her, lean down and kiss her. Anything Mom, anything you need. I love you.

After the feast, I rest my feet on her bed, tell her about the day, the world, my dreams. She smiles at me like she holds a secret, moves her hand along the top of my foot, my ankle. At this moment, she is giving, rubbing, loving. More than feeling the heart-joy of her hand on my foot, I am thrilled to observe her, watch her hands move along my skin. Watch her alive and loving, listening.

Mom? I love you.

Welcoming the Lazy

This past weekend, rolled up with this morning, are rolled out in my mind like a carpet of Fall leaves, shared laughter, comfortable places. For the past four days, I have been able to make my decisions on how to fill my time based on what I felt like doing, what I wanted, no demands, no schedule, no obligations. Beyond the normal and the necessary, I mean to say. I have no problem with those two demands and obligations. All the details and scheduling and here-we-go-again-hold-on-tight emotional upheaval that comes with monumental change, those are gone from me now. This past weekend was filled with little things, simplistic things, most joyous of all, uneventful things. A manicure and pedicure with my niece, buying a corsage for my nephew to give his date for a homecoming game. My rear end on my couch. Ironing a shirt. The Sunday newspaper and Cheyenne at the park for two hours.

I think my head and my heart napped throughout the entire time. A much needed nap, a happy nap, a damn good nap.