This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today’s post inspires us to write about what we bring – in our purses, on a trip, to a party, in our suitcases, in our book bags or in our cars.
I’m reminded of our adventure book club that met at Barnstormer’s Restaurant in Williamson, Georgia the. month I couldn’t attend. You read that right. I’m reminded of a memory I don’t actually have. We’d recently finished reading a book entitled The Last Flight, where two women change identities to fly off to new lives but then one plane crashes. This inspired us to meet at our local small airport’s restaurant and actually bring a bag of only the five things we would take if we ever left and were limited in our departure possessions. They had to fit in a tote bag or small personal bag you’d carry when flying. We excluded cell phones, chargers, wallets with money/photos, and medications.
Only thing is, that’s when my father was in Hospice in his final hours and I was out of town – so I heard all about what happened at that book club meeting but was not able to attend. Today, this question for the prompt is timely. What would I bring?
Mary Lee Hahn of Ohio is our host today for the first day of the August Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com. She inspires us to write an acrostic poem. You can read her full prompt here.
My One Little Word this year is enough. With the recent loss of my father, a collector who kept everything he ever owned and left seven storage rooms and a house full of “collectible” treasures, my brother and I (both minimalists by choice) are using this word – enough– on a daily basis. We’ve had enough! When is enough enough?? So I chose enough as my word for my acrostic.
This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today’s prompt card inspires us to write about arriving someplace late – a dinner, a job interview, a funeral, an appointment. I remember my father saying that my first marriage should have ended long before it did, and these words prompted my haiku poem today.
This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. The prompt today captures the essence of what it feels like when you are all set to write, new journal and pens, time on your hands, the perfect chair, and nothing comes to mind that you feel like writing about. Today, Goldberg asks us to just write who we are, what we are feeling.
This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today’s prompt opens with a quote: “All of the sadness in the city came suddenly with the first cold rains of winter.” – A Moveable Feast, Ernest Hemingway.
Goldberg invites us to write about weather – so I chose a shape poem for today’s writing, using a memory from Route 66, where I was so frightened by the sky I was practically trembling in the back seat. To see the shape, phone must be turned sideways…..(a real twister)…..
In Tulsa, Oklahoma
I’ve lived through hurricanes I’ve walked the eye in one
that came right over me ~ sunshine in the middle ~
This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today’s prompt asks this question: What Did You Forget to Say?
This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today’s prompt asks to tell about a favorite cafe, diner, luncheonette, or coffee shop. One comes to mind before all others: The Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas on Route 66.
This little retro cafe is not what you’d expect. There’s a lady in there who makes the pies, and she’s the aunt of the young mom who was our server, who told us all kinds of stories about growing up right there and how she’s climbed the windmills before. She took the time to tell us about life in Texas and how she’s from a long line of Texans right there in that town.
I was listening, watching intently, savoring every sense of this place (especially the pie, the pie, the coconut cream pie) and thinking, even as I faced going back to school as an educator, that life right there is some sort of splendid destiny. How many people get to serve their aunt’s delicious pie in a cafe and meet people from all over the world, traveling to see a slice of America? It sounds like it should be the next Hallmark Christmas movie, really, this young single mother swept off her feet by a lost Texan who moved to Chicago to be some kind of an architect and got swallowed up by the CEO and business types but is called back to his home state to design new rodeo grounds and has a flat tire so he stops by for a piece of pie……or something like that.
That’s a place I need to return. I wish they shipped those pies and I could have a slice for supper. Best. Pie. Ever. And….did I mention that I don’t even particularly like coconut? Never have.
But that pie!!!!!
Chime in with your favorite cafe. I’d love to visit all the good ones and know just what to order.
This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today’s prompt asks this question: What will you have to say goodbye to when you die?
This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Yesterday may be the most challenging topic on any given day lately. It all seems to blend together when every aspect of life is full tilt and you can’t even remember if you saw the light of day.
Yesterday
Death of a parent. Paperwork. Funeral planning. Cleaning out the house. Paperwork. Preparing for an estate sale. Sorting seven storage rooms. Life insurance. Paperwork. Executoring. Trusteeing. Video: grandson loses a tooth! Smile. Paperwork. School starting. Job description changing. Paperwork. TSH high. Synthroid increase. New prescription. Paperwork. Complicated spreadsheets. Meetings. Weight Gain. Paperwork. FaceTime: baby grandson sits up and accidentally says, “Nana” clear as day. Joy tears. Sleep. Wake. Strength for today. One day at a time. Sigh.
When Dad died, my brother and I wanted his sweet dog Kona to understand why he’d suddenly disappeared from her life.
It’s a lot.
It’s heavy.
I’m putting space between my words and the photo today in an intentional way so you have time to back out if you don’t want to go with me all the way to the truth. You can still jump off at the edge of it.
Here’s the bottom line: Dad wanted the story of Kona shared. People were asking. It was, without a doubt, his most painful part of his passing. He held a deep love for every dog he’d ever had, but none was more special than Kona.
Kona dropped into his life straight out of heaven. No one gets a pedigreed Schnoodle for free. But that’s what happened on a night when I was too sick to sleep in my own bed, so I took to the guest room so I wouldn’t keep my husband awake. I was scrolling Facebook and noticed in a Schnoodle page a post from a desperate owner who was going through a divorce and could not keep his dog. He was looking for a lifeline, and he found it in me. Dad had recently had to put down the last of the dogs he and our mother shared. Her final understandable words to him were, “You take care of these dogs.” That’s how it was, and Ken and I knew it the day we went home and saw that our framed photos had been replaced with pictures of Mulligan and Georgia Girl.
We get it. Dogs are much easier to love than even our own children.
I summoned my husband to drive me to Valdosta so I could pick up a dog. I tag teamed with my brother to deliver her to our father and gave him 48 hours to accept or reject her, with the full understanding I would take her back in a heartbeat. The truth: I came very close to keeping her and never giving him the option of keeping this joyful little sweet girl.
But when the man stepped out of his truck, a guidance counselor from a Florida high school meeting me halfway at the distance between us and in full tears, unable to say a word other than to hand me the pup and all her belongings, he was wearing a Florida State University t-shirt. My mother had gone to Florida State. It was a sign.
This free dog was being handed to our father by our mother, and I knew it.
Dad fell in love with Kona from the moment he saw her, but he toyed with us at first. On his deathbed, he declared her “the best gift ever.” He took her everywhere, including Winn Dixie, where he grocery shopped. If Kona didn’t go, he didn’t go – the exception being church. She knew when he put his good shoes on that she would have to stay, and she pouted in the chair as he readied himself.
Kona kept Dad going and bought him years beyond the usual. He bonded with dog park friends, who had their own section at his funeral. He held ceremonies in that dog park for departed pets.
Fast forward to the end.
I was expecting to welcome Kona into our fold with our three Schnoodles – Boo Radley, Fitz, and Ollie. But Dad flipped the script, calling his dog park friend Ann to the hospital as he was dying, introducing my brother and me to her, and explaining that Kona was to remain with Ann, who had told him that “as long as there is Kona, I will always have a piece of you.” Her husband, Andy, was good with that. Theirs was a unique friendship.
I respected and appreciated that Kona would stay with her tribe – the people and dogs and places she loves.
When we’d arrived back at the hospice facility after Dad died, they had him covered in a yellow blanket with a Bible verse embroidered on the corner. Ken asked if I had any ideas for that blanket, a gift from hospice. I suggested recycling it, but Ken said, “No, they’re proud of this. Let’s give it to Kona. It will hold his scent for her.”
He was right. We arranged for the new owner to bring Kona to the funeral home for a last visit with her master she’d loved so dearly. We wanted her to understand that Dad hadn’t abandoned her willfully – – that there was a reason he’d left, and it was beyond his control. We asked the funeral home not to launder the blanket – and after a quizzical look, we explained why.
Ann arrived with Kona, and my brother took her in for one last visit with Dad before he was buried. I’d love to post all of the photos I have so that you could see the progression of an excited dog checking out the owner she surely thought at first was asleep, but those photos probably violate every social media rule of respect for the dead. But the most telling one, I cropped. The eyes tell it all, if you choose to scroll and see.
This, my friends, is what is silent in response to the prompt card today: What is Silent?
What is silent
is a beloved
companion pet
understanding
that her master
is gone
forever
and showing
her broken heart
through her eyes.
That is what is silent.
(Please scroll down for the photo – which will show the story as Dad would have wanted folks to see and understand. Many have asked. Kona is in good hands. Kona will have a new family to help her through her grief. But she knows. She knows.)
After excitedly checking out Dad in his casket, Kona realizes the truth. You can see it in her eyes as she assures my brother Ken that she understands what has happened.
Common Threads 