Old Age Day by Day September 30, 2010

It is our dogs' sixth birthdays. I have been known to do silly things like have a party, but not this year. I will get them each a birthday dog biscuit and maybe new collars or something. They have a ridiculous amount of dog toys, and I don't give them people food, so a steak is out of the question. I think they have a very blurry concept of a birthday party, anyway. They know food can rain down from the people's table, especially if a certain granddaughter is present. They like the extra people around - they are both people dogs. They showed zero interest in the balloons for my husband's party. The balloons lay on the living room floor for a week, and they never even touched them.

So what do you do to tell them you're happy they were born? A nice snuggle with them on my bed while I'm reading, an extra walk, brushing their fur, but above all, biscuits. Their needs are astoundingly simple. All they ask is to be glued to us every minute and to eat every minute. Is that so much to ask? Of course, a compromise must always be made. It wouldn't be good for them to be obese, and it wouldn't be good for us to be 24/7 dog sitters. But on this day, I'll lean a little more their way. They may not know why, but they'll appreciate it. They are the best appreciators I know.

Old Age Day by Day September 29, 2010

I'm waiting for a friend. We're going to try quilting together. I'm excited about working on something with another person also engaged in similar work. I used to attend a collage workshop occasionally, and found it very helpful. I've been doing so many projects alone, that I'm ready again for group work. The Spanish class is fun, the chorus rehearsals are enlivening, and this sewing circle connects me to my grandmothers and my mother. I've never done this before, but I own quilts and knitted shawls made together with other women, with instant feedback and the good will of like minds energized and focused.

Work is mostly a social construct for many of us. But I'd kind of forgotten that, because I write completely alone with no interruptions, unless I choose to answer the phone. There is a time for silent, steady listening to what's inside my mind and heart, but I love, too, the collaborative efforts of creating with more than my own energy - drawing from the well of others. The quilting doesn't really matter, it's the engagement and support.

So whatever the result, the process of quilting will be valuable to me - a means of expressing what I may not know I have inside me, at my disposal now, with the help of friends.

Old Age Day by Day September 28, 2010

I finished a book yesterday by a friend from graduate school, and she's been very successful. It's been exciting to see each book take a leap from the last one, and this book knocked my socks off. Set in the 1700s, it could almost be construed as a tale of a man who is autistic, and who comes to develop attachment to another human being, or as a story of a genius, or a man ahead of his time. It's based on a real person, which makes the life more amazing. And it's about the clash of cultures that occurred when the British founded a colony of prisoners in New South Wales. It resonated deeply for me, as a product of such culture clashes on both sides. It's so beautiful it makes my heart break a little.

My friend has worked steadily at her craft and stretched her wings and flown higher than she perhaps dreamed. She wins international awards, and yet is grounded and real. Her laugh is still a thing I treasure. She's a friend, but she has the world following her thoughts and feelings. What a strange concept, and how I can see that had I had her ability to focus and be persistent, I too might have developed into a fine writer. As it is, my interests have been too varied and my shyness too great to insist on being heard. Up until now, that is. As my Buddhist teacher reminds me: never say too late. I feel inspired.

Old Age Day by Day September 27, 2010

I saw a French movie late yesterday afternoon with my husband: Mademoiselle Cambon. He was reluctant, as he is not much of a foreign film guy, but since he often has me translate English language films, due to his not so good hearing, in a way, it's perfect for him to have subtitles. He didn't hate it, which was a relief, and enjoyed talking about it afterward. Maybe more than he enjoyed the movie. You know, not much action (well, actually, none), and a lot of silence and "looks". Not a typical guy kind of movie.

I found it soothing and profound, because it's ambition was to witness two people who are different enough to be interesting to each other, but also different enough that their worlds can never really entwine. They were both good people, trying to not hurt others or themselves, but by connecting at all, of course managing to do both. Life is messy. Every engagement with another person causes shifts and regrets and hopes and sadness. They glimpse a whole alternate universe in each other, but don't act it out, because they are decent.

To my thinking, the French are more successful at showing the lives of ordinary working people than us Americans. When we try, we make comedies and outsized characatures. French filmmakers understand real people, and they cast people with real, lived-in faces. We believe these people exist, we know them, we enter into their lives. I said to my husband, if Americans remake this film, they will cast Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt. That's an American's idea of ordinary. Not only do these beautiful people not represent us, they distract us from seeing ourselves and reflecting on our own lives.

So if you want a "slow" film with no gratuitous violence and no twists and turns, but just a small glimpse into the worlds of feeling regular people undergo, often unmarked by the people around them, then this is your film.

Old Age Day by Day September 26, 2010

Another late summer paradisical day. I want to soak in all this good weather to get me through the fall and winter. Soon it will be time to take in the outdoor chair pads and cover the picnic table and pull down the umbrella and store it. And after I do, inevitably there will be another heat spell and there will be nowhere to sit. Nature has a downright naughty sense of humor and likes to play jokes. Especially where I live. It's mean spirited not to laugh, so i just go along with the joke.

We like to think we can plan, be in control, and yet it's always that thing you can't anticipate that flummoxes you. I'm in great training, though, because having small grandchildren hones my skills as far as surprise and sneak attack is concerned. Plus, I have the dogs, who I thought were out in the back yard with me but they'd sneaked in the kitchen yesterday to steal and eat a bunch of bananas. Skins and all. The only evidence left was a bit of the top connecting the bunch and an organic sticker. Guilty as presumed, Watson.

So I try to go with the flow, old flower child that I am.

Old Age Day by Day Septembber 25, 2010

Today is the anniversary of my father's death. I was 41 when he died. So it's been 24 years. I was shellshocked from my mother's sudden death 10 months before, my favorite safehouse client's murder by her ex-husband, a move from one state to another, and getting 4 kids in various schools from preschool to high school. Yet I am forever grateful that Dad got to die at home, and we had the kind of talks you hope you get to have with a loved one who is dying. He planned his own funeral, and he let go swiftly and with his usual courage. He died on the sofa in his family room, looking out at the garden he was so proud of. I sat with him for several hours after his passing, and his countenance was peaceful.

I miss him. He died at exactly my age, which now seems much too soon, though it did then as well. We were moving back to be near him. Our kids were deeply attached to him. The loss was profound. He was such a fiery, passionate guy that it was hard to believe anything could lick him. It seemed hugely unfair.

He showed me how to leave with grace and kindness, without melodrama, and facing directly into the wind. He left me a path to follow.

Old Age Day by Day Septmember 24, 2010

My foster granddaughter and I played with dolls yesterday, and I enjoyed it as much as she did, I believe. The doll clothes were ones from my daughter, and the blankets and quilts ones I'd made for her dolls. Luckily, even that long ago, velcro was prevalent, and there are no difficult buttons and snaps for these outfits. They are all cloth dolls. I didn't allow Barbies or grown up looking dolls in the house. These dolls are little girls and boys, and they have yarn hair or none. I don't know if this feminist stance did any good or not. I'd say my daughters love clothes and fashion magazines as much as the next person. And they got their share of body self hatred from the culture at large, Barbie or not.

But I tried. And I see my granddaughters' mothers refusing to buy swimsuits that look like showgirl wannabes and avoiding the fluffy ruffles and Disney logos. They are trying to be practical and not push these girls into some premature sexual role. But yesterday someone was telling me about a neighbor who has begun putting her little girl, at five, into beauty pageants. A ton of makeup, provocative poses, the whole nine yards. It was deeply depressing to my friend and I.

There is a world out there where children are bought and sold, prostituted, and without basic human rights. We can't play around with this and just shrug our shoulders and think the one is not connected to the other. They are. And as women, we ought to know better and fight harder to not sexualize little girls. Who will stand up for these children?

Old Age Day by Day September 23, 2010

We're having a bit of summery weather, now that summer is officially over, as the paper noted this morning. I'm grateful for sandal weather whenever it comes. THe acorns are falling, the leaves are turning, and the pansies and roses are still blooming. Schizophrenic but normal where I live. The last place I lived was also capable of going from spring to winter and from fall to summer as well. Wake up and see what the day brings. A wind can warm up the earth or freeze it down. Midday, I might have to put a down jacket on top of summer khakis and a tee shirt and slip my feet out of clogs and into boots. Flexibility is a good thing to learn, I guess. But I hanker for consistency.

People can also surprise us. Our moods fluctuate and we often attempt to catch up and don't quite succeed, as the conversation or mood alters as we attempt to alter our own. We're all moving waters swirling around each other, but perhaps only heading in the same direction for a moment, until we spin out yet again. It's a dance, this attuning ourselves with others, and it takes energy, or maybe just a resting stance until the waters flow our way again. In my advanced years, I tend to the latter. The sunny day will come, the perfect alignment with our friend's thoughts and feelings will happen, eventually. And in the meantime, a little stillness has us noticing what joys are before us in our world come rain or come shine.

Old Age Day by Day September 22, 2010

Our son's gym bag was stolen last weekend while he was playing soccer, and he lost his phone, wallet, keys to car and place and most importantly, his sense of security. It was in the middle of a bunch of his teammates' bags, but he was the unlucky one. He's very disturbed, as I was when my wallet was stolen and my husband was when he was robbed twice in Spain. It's a violation, and the thought that someone has so much information about you that they can come to your house, steal your car, or take over your identity is hard to swallow. He's shaken. It will take a while for him to feel safe again.

I am now the person who has her purse on her lap while she eats out at a cafe, and wears a shoulder strap bag across my chest, and double checks every time I use my credit card that I've returned it to my wallet. I'm older, and that makes me a target. I can't walk to the movie theater four blocks away at night, dare not park to far from the building going out in the eavening. I wouldn't be the person who would talk on her cell phone while walking, even in daytime. I need to be aware of my surroundings. The younger people running with ipods in their ears risk more than they care to know. They seem foolhardy to me.

But after a while you decide you must step out into the world, the world not as we wish it to be, but the world as it is, and take your chances, calculatedly, that you will survive. It's a risky business, being alive. But the benefits outweigh the alternative.

Old Age Day by Day September 21, 2010

Last Friday a dear friend had me over for lunch for my birthday, and it was so sweet and perfect. She served my favorite lunch food: tunafish sandwich, ice tea, and we even ate a bit of plum cake. I am the kind of gal that you can take bets on what I will order out. For lunch it is tunafish, for dinner it depends on the place, but spicy and maybe with beets would be a good bet. And a beer.

Then she thrilled me by having printed out sheet music to my current favorite song "You Can Close Your Eyes" and the Leonard Cohen song "Hallelujah" that was in the first Shek movie. She played her piano and we sang and harmonized and she pulled out more songs for us to try. I began crying, because it is such a comfort to have a friend who knows me so well, who SEES me. I have more than one of these, so I am truly blessed. We had such a good time it was hard to stop.

Special times are often simple times, and don't involve expensive tickets or exotic locales. As I get older, I enjoy most the meeting of minds and hearts in a quiet setting with room to laugh and cry and settle in to the deep comfort of a long relationship. I'll not forget my Friday afternoon.

Old Age Day by Day September 20, 2010

I had a delightful weekend away, with my Buddhist study group. On Sunday we went to a local fair and saw the sheep dog trials. It was fascinating to watch the trainer, the dog and the sheep and their subtle and not so subtle interactions (one dog was disqualified for biting a sheep, but that sheep was really stubborn and stamping it's foot, so I felt a bit bad for the dog). At their best, the dogs moved like poetry in motion, and the tension was as great as watching a high wire act. The dogs were intense and there had to be such a fine balance between making the sheep aware of their presence, and gently directing, without moving too quickly or suddenly and startling them.

Dogs have worked with men for many thousands of years, and seeing the trials reminded me of that long bond and mutual benefit we both derive from our relationship. What we ask of them they try to give us with their whole hearts, and we need to remember that their generosity enhances our world so so many ways. In the stands was a group of dog trainers with their guide dog puppies, and it brought tears to my eyes, to see these little fellows at their trainers' feet, learning to sacrifice instinct for devotion. A little black lab caught my eye. He was squirming, but happy, not sure what he was being called upon to do, but eager to please.

I hope my heart grows as big a a dog's, and remembers it's connections to others as well.

Old Age Day by Day September 17, 2010

I just finished downloading my music for my chorus, which resumes next week. It makes me happy just thinking about singing with the group again. Yesterday, when my foster granddaughter was over, I sang her a song I learned on my own this summer, and then she sang a long song partially made up but sounding like Taylor Swift or some country singer. We were coloring and singing at the same time. We were our own quilting bee. She's having a hard time with her long days in kindergarten, and she wanted to do everything we used to do before. She wanted comfort. And the best I can offer is singing.

Her little five year old life is so complicated, and I have no idea what her issues are, but I can at least respect that they are as deep as my own, and maybe harder, because she hasn't enough experience under her belt to detach and know she won't feel this way forever. And if I remember correctly, time can sure drag. At my advanced stage of life, time whirls by and I wait for nothing. The next thing comes faster than I can keep up. But for her, the week is long, the birthday party far away, the time mommy picks her up so distant as to seem never to come.

We're in a rush to grow up, and then to get that job, have that relationship, have kids, buy a house, win the award. And when we begin to want it to all slow down, it rushes up and over us like a wave bound for shore. A bit of irony, and one can only grin and bear it.

Old Age Day by Day September 16, 2010

I ended up driving to see my daughter-in-law and talking about her stepdad's death, as well as having lunch and organizing her office a bit. Even when we're prepared, we think, for someone's passing, it is still shocking and unreal. That she is so far away makes everything harder. She had the right instinct to want to be there, but guessed the timing off by a few days. I think we want to DO something. When I talked to her mother on the phone, she sounded also stunned and as if she didn't quite know what to do. They were going to the funeral home, and she had made a bunch of calls, but she was sitting at a table staring at a piece of pizza and a salad. The ordinary becomes bizarre in such situations.

Because he wanted to be cremated, the memorial service will not be for about a month, so everyone can get their plane tickets and take time off. But that leaves the time in between similar to being stuck in an episode of the Twilight Zone. How can one person be there and then, not be there? We have sad feelings, but also often relief, and anger, and feeling sorry for ourselves and all those other feelings that "aren't supposed to be there".

There is something to be said for rending one's clothes and tearing our hair and screaming at the top of our lungs. Something MORE is called for, but what? Our culture sends us confusing messages. We imagine Jacqueline Kennedy in Warhol's paintings. But behind the scenes, did she break priceless china and snap at aides? Was she short with the children? Did she wash her hands and face compulsively?

What is our role? It's a struggle to step out of it and let feelings wash over us. Fatigue becomes our friend, as we lie in a darkened bedroom with a cool washcloth over our eyes. Because every time we open our eyes, a new, altered universe confronts us.

Old Age Day by Day September 15, 2010

My daughter-in-law's stepdad died this morning. It was expected, in fact he'd refused further treatment and wanted to die at home. For her, it's the first parent to die. It's a huge event, even when she had been out to see him twice and said all her goodbyes. Our older two kids, including her husband, lost their dad when they were 13 and 15. One's life is altered forever. Although, I'm beginning to see that our lives are altered continually, and we change and transform and retransform. Nothing stays. Nothing remains. Except our memories and the ways the person altered us by his/her presence in our lives.

I'm sure she takes comfort in having taken the time and effort to fly our twice to be with him and comfort her mom. Maybe gestures are all we have in the face of enormities, but they are powerful and make us who we are. At such times, words are ineffective, so actions speak more eloquently. I really liked her stepdad. He was sweet and friendly and gentle as a lamb. He had a smile from ear to ear and he radiated kindness. He led a good life. He reminds me it's possible.

Old Age Day by Day September 14, 2010

My daughter and I began a Spanish class last night, and, as our textbook states: Spanish Is Fun! I loved the diversity of the group, every age, ethnicity and nationality, and the fact that there were other old folks like myself. It's never too late to learn something, and, as I was telling a man as we waited in line to buy our textbooks, I got a D in Spanish in 1963, and it's haunted me ever since. I ended up taking the French exam, being placed in French 4, and taking Hindi/Urdu, but I never tackled Spanish again. I love the language, and now I expect to be able to speak some basic phrases and maybe more. My fellow student said he'd done badly in Algebra, but he wasn't going to tackle it again. I agreed. Algebra is not something to mess with at our advanced ages.

I love taking a class with my daughter, and seeing her poise and beauty reflected in other faces. She is handling so much: a new teaching job, grad school and now this class. She's determined to do her job well. I feel proud of her.

Next, after I've mastered Spanish, maybe I'll try Italian, or brush up on my dormant French, or even Hindi. Somehow it doesn't seem so daunting, when it's not for a grade or a requirement, but just for fun.

Old Age Day by Day September 13, 2010

Friday my daughter, granddaughter and I went to the train museum. My granddaughter loves trains, to understate her feelings. We were walking through one of the trains, and she sat down on a seat, and the docent was talking to her, and when I tried to get her to move on I realized she thought the train was really going to move, and we were making a trip. She was upset, and keep looking for the train that would take us somewhere. "Not going" she would say, as we approached each huge train engine. I felt terrible. She's only 2 1/2, and I'd taken her previously on a train trip to see my friend. She loved it, and I had inadvertently built up her expectations. We had a great time with the toy trains, and added some trains to her Thomas Engine collection, but I wished we could have had a train ride. I hate to be the one to disappoint her.

I was feeling about the same age and frame of mind as my granddaughter over my 65th birthday. I had hoped my husband would surprise me by doing something special, but he surprised me by not doing anything. It was a thrill to have my daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter fly in for the cabin and our birthdays. And the tea was great on my birthday, but somehow, I was expecting something else. I had to be on the phone a dozen times to change the dinner reservation. I got frazzled. I didn't fully appreciate what I did have, which is embarassing to me and goes to show how much my practice needs refining. Turning 65 was harder than I thought: the biopsies, the connection with my Dad, who died two months after he turned 65, the fact that one of our kids couldn't be here, gloomy weather. Somehow the mix exceeded my capabilities, and my fantasy outstripped reality.

It's interesting to know that I can be a two year old in many ways, including that of hoping, wishing, dreaming of some perfect world in which the train begins to move, farmlands race by outside my window, and our destination is Paris or Hawaii.

Old Age Day by Day September 11, 2010

We put our daughter and granddaughter on the plane today. It makes me teary, but happy. I had two kids living in NYC on 9/11, and they made it through fine. A third was outside of Philadelphia. It was ten days before the fourth's wedding. I remember the fear and relief when we reached everyone, and how brave they were to fly out for the wedding so soon after such scary events. I remember thinking, when the airports were grounded, I'd have to drive out to get them and it would take several days! They seemed too far away then.

Sudden changes are shock producing, and yet, and yet, mostly we adjust to our new reality and make the best of it. I'm adjusting to being without the little granddaughter, and to being 65, and to all the shifts that make up my world. The boat is always rocking, sometimes gently, sometimes violently, and we hang on with both hands and try to appreciate the sea spray.

Old Age Day by Day September 9, 2010

I visited our younger daughter's elementary school where she teaches, and it was so warm and inviting and friendly. I think she is lucky to be a part of such a sweet school. Sometimes, in our twenties, we don't realize what we have and appreciate it. I hope she gets it. Otherwise, we keep searching for something better, and what we really are searching for is right inside us, if we dare look. The right environment is there, if we could bring an openness and gratitude to it.

Watching my kids' grow through their twenties and thirties and now the beginning of the forties is a window into my own state of mind in those decades. I see things, maybe not more clearly, but differently now. I see my big issues. In my twenties I was struggling to find my own path away from my parents, and reacting to ideas rather than my heart. In my thirties I wanted to find work I felt was meaningful and establish ground rules with my family. In my forties I was able to feel more comfortable in my skin, and expand my sense of joy and sorrow. In my fifties I wished to tackle the big philosophical questions and practice my spirituality. In my sixties I want to set my house in order, treasure my connections with people, and honor my body and mind. I am also letting go of a lot of trying to control things or people, and looking for that moment of joy and laughter, and savoring it when it appears.

Gross generalities, but somewhat true, and I get to revisit my whole life, by witnessing my kids and now grandkids' experiences. It's fascinating.

Old Age Day by Day September 8, 2010

My older daughter, granddaughter and I went to tea in the city for my birthday, and we all three had a lovely time. Having three generations together was touching for me, and the granddaughter did very well, if not with the eating part, with her acute sense of observance. Near the end of the tea she took a small notebook and pen and played the part of waitress with us, then with strangers, and got miffed when our waitress didn't take her order and carry it to the counter. It's nice to know she'll have a vocation when she's older, like at four.

She was also a great sport at our dinner out that night, and ate well, when she wasn't visiting various ones of us at the table. She has a big crush on my younger daughter's boyfriend, so she got carted all around, and received slices of pink apple from the chef. Her subjects adored her. We all basked in her fresh, outgoing, happy newness. The world is her oyster.

I was missing our older son, who is in India, and his wife, who is at the bedside of her dying stepfather. But with our busy, far flung family, it was a blessing so many were with me at my passage into my fifty sixth year. A couple of dear friends were there as well. Friends and family, well, that is what it's all about for me.

Old Age Day by Day September 7, 2010

We had a great weekend up at the cabin, swimming and boating and walking. Then a long, trafficy drive home. Oh, well, going anywhere on Labor Day weekend is risky business. It was worth it to get away, stare at the lake, and search the skies for Osprey. The dogs always act like what can we be thinking when we head back home. They'd be happy chasing sticks in the lake for the rest of their lives. But they are back to hunting for fallen apples and stealing socks.

This morning my husband decided to inform our insurance company that my Medicare had begun, and first they said we shouldn't have filed for Part B, which is what they had previously instructed me to do, but after thirty minutes on the phone it was semi straightened out. Oh the joy of bureauracy. They contradict themselves! Welcome to serious old age.

Despite breaking a toe falling over backwards on the rocks on the lake, I don't feel too much more decrepit than last week. It's my husband who has strained his back (a chronic problem for him) and boy is he grumpy. He doesn't want to face the doctor, because he hasn't done the exercises, or any of the other things the doctor annually recommends. At least I know it usually gets better without doing anything right. But I nicknamed him Titanic this morning, as he lists to the side.

So maybe we're both slowly sinking, but still. There is music playing, we're among friends, and the vast wide ocean is part of this old earth and our experience on it.

Old Age Day by Day September 3, 2010

I've been up since 6:30 am. We took our daughter-in-law to the airport, then separated for a bunch of errands before our daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter arrive this evening. But we had wine at lunch, and now both feel sleepy. Maybe there needs to be a break before vacuuming. It's so much work just to get the house in order, and I do not mean super clean, I just mean halfway decent.

And I need to do the same for myself. Brush my hair, maybe shave my legs. Change outfits, but not until I've made most of the dinner. But right now, a nice snooze would be good. Ah, the delightful nap, the soft pillow, the firm mattress. Ah, my bed. Kiss, kiss, kiss. I love my bed. And a little nap before the tornado that is my granddaughter stirs up a storm in the house, with her enthusiasms, and toys and books, and snacks and booster seats and potty chairs. A little calm before the storm. Ah, nap.

Old Age Day by Day September 2, 2010

My foster granddaughter's mother sent five pictures of her on her first day of kindergarten. Evidently, she said, "I very love it in kindergarten". And my almost 2 1/2 year old granddaughter begins preschool in October. Big transitions. What a treat to witness them grow and brave new situations and reach out into the world. And my younger daughter is challenging herself teaching first grade. I'm pretty sure she's more nervous than either of the granddaughters, because they feel under the protection of their families, and she is old enough to know she's out there on her own. A lot of stuff comes up for us at such times. Change is hard. And no matter how many times we do it, we often forget that it gets harder before it gets better.

Today is the anniversary of a dear friend's death. He died at 46. His children were young when he died, and his wife was a widow for a dozen years before she met a man with whom she now shares her life. I haven't seen her this happy in so long. She had a long transition. She was on her own, except she had a lot of friends and family who were there for her. We're all alone in this strange way, but we can be alone with other people who know and understand that aloneness. Surviving change makes us stronger, some say, and usually that is true, but not always. We have to work to keep surviving, and I've known friends who just quit. I know my parents were fighters, and I'm grateful for that. I know what it looks like, and I'm biochemically predisposed to meet the challenges. I'm fortunate.

None of us knows what the future holds for us. And it doesn't do much good to rake over the past. We've got this moment, and feeling grateful for it makes it come alive. And in this moment reside images of these little ones jumping the hurdles, and those who met a hurdle they couldn't overcome. They're all here, with me, now, alive, and honored.

Old Age Day by Day September 1, 2010

A few days ago the dogs barked late at night and my husband let them out, and they chased something to the fence, froze, and hightailed it back to the kitchen and stood there waiting for my husband to do something. He'd heard a scream-like sound, and couldn't figure out what it was. I was guessing raccoons, and forgot about it until reading the paper this morning. A few blocks from us the police shot and killed a mountain lion. I've seen huge deer, raccoons and oppossums, and wild turkeys, but a mountain lion in our city is surprising. It must have come down from the park at the upper edge of the city, or the foothills, but why?

We had a great, wet spring, and it seems like there are plenty of critters to eat. So what was she doing? And now they've killed her. I know they couldn't do much else - she was in someone's back yard and had been wandering all around, but it's sad. The intersection of wildlife and urban is almost always tragic. The roadkill that is along every highway testifies to our maiming and mauling of these beautiful creatures. My Buddhist teacher often stops for roadkill animals and prays for them. She also takes them home and lets their bodies decompose. While she watches the changes in the carcass she meditates on change, dying and death.

On summer, on a retreat at her place, I sketched some of her dead birds, a sturgeon, a turtle, a snake and a mouse in their various stages of disintegration. They were beautiful, and I've kept those sketches, some watercolored to show the amazing colors on the birds. Dead things are shunned in our culture, but I believe my Indian blood makes me a little less squeamish. I saw plenty of dead animals at my grandparents' farms. It wasn't pretty to see, but it was a fact of life.

Perhaps I'm thinking of this sad topic because yesterday I saw my friend's dying dog. Probably for the hast time. I sat on the floor and patted her, and she got up for me several times. Her expression was sad but resigned. Her eyes said, "I'm not what I once was, but I remember you, and our walks with your old dog (now dead), and this is just the way it is". She knows I love her, so no words were necessary, and no goodbyes. She's in my heart as long as it beats.