She Was Waiting at the Gate

I never wanted to have a male and female dog at the same time. I read Where the Red Fern Grows in the fourth or fifth grade. I knew what happened when a pair of dogs bonded, and one of the dogs passed, and I was having none of that.

But...within a two year span at the start of high school, we rescued JJ (we didn't realize it was a rescue at the time, but it turned out to be a life saver for her), and my mom finally let my dad have a German Shepherd. And that Shepherd we named George Bailey.

Bailey, like his fictional counterpart, had some worries and fears about his family, but he always patrolled the backyard each night and protected us all as best he could.

I worried, as the two dogs got older, about what would happen when JJ passed, because she was older and had more obvious health problems. How would Bailey handle it?

Bailey was ever the devoted "husband." JJ wants to eat his food? Okay, go ahead sweetie. Bailey has done something that displeases JJ? Alright, Bailey will stand while JJ lifts her mouth to his ear and growls right into it.

If JJ went out for a walk, or to the vet, when we returned Bailey was waiting at the gate. He would investigate JJ's entire body, smelling, licking where necessary, and then come over to the humans and butt his head against our legs, as if to say, "Thanks for bringing her back...I might trust you to take her out again."



As JJ aged, her legs began to fail her. Her eyes are saggy and unfocused. She spends her days resting in the sun, wagging her tail and getting frequent pets on the head.



As Bailey aged, his once athletic body, one he used both to chase rabbits and once to protect my father against a pack of dogs roving the streets, began to turn against him. His hips ached. His nose, the source of much of his knowledge, became clogged and useless. During the mornings and the evenings, his pains were the worst. He stayed on the side of the house, away from the other dogs, out of sight of the humans. When his body warmed up, he moved to the grass and would smile and allow us to pet his proud head.

Several months ago, Tosh joined the family. Bailey perked up. He had someone new in his life! He needed to teach! And chase! And play! All when his weary body would allow him.



JJ exists simply to growl at him when the humans are around and to snuggle with him when she thinks we can't see.



Over the past seven months, Bailey has bestowed his knowledge onto Tosh.



Tosh would walk the yard with Bailey. He learned that JJ requires special attention and that she may always eat any of the food, not just her own. He took on the JJ habit of cleaning Bailey's ears.



They made a wonderful little family.

With a thirteen year old German Shepherd, though, the future is short, and Bailey has failed fast in the last month. His clogged nose? Probably sinus cancer. His aching hips? Hardly supporting his weight at all. After a terrifying moment last week that involved an unstoppable bloody nose, it became clear that our hero, our proud German Shepherd had reached the end of his life.

JJ took to sleeping by his dog house, something she's never done. Tosh cleaned Bailey's entire face, not just his hears, and took over the nightly patrols.

The opposite of what I had always worried about came true, and it would be JJ who would be left behind.

My dad made that final call.

Sunday morning, we walked beside our Bailey as he stumbled into the vet's office one last time. My dad and I went into the little room to be with Bailey. My mom and WG (what a superstar) waited outside. Bailey's passing was peaceful, just what he deserved after all of his hard work to protect and love our family for more than thirteen years.

And when my parents returned home, with an empty backseat, JJ was waiting at the gate, hoping to welcome home her Bailey.



George Bailey - 1995-2008

And Two People Fell in Love

My favorite wedding of the summer happened this weekend. Someone I've known since 2000 married someone she's known since 1998. So, as long as I've known my friend, she's known her (now) husband. They've always been a part of each other, but they've never had the relationship that, to me, seemed obnoxious. If her man was around, we were happy to see him. If she talked to him on the phone while we three roommates were having a chat, she brought him into the conversation. Those four-way conversations are one of my fondest college memories.

It helps that this is the only wedding this summer in which the the couple getting married have dated longer than WG and I have. At nine and a half years together, there's no question that these two are ready for marriage. And it showed. They were so comfortable with each other throughout the whole ceremony. The officiant cautioned them that they shouldn't get too complacent, that they shouldn't an assume they "know each other," even after nine and a half years together. I wanted to turn and look pointedly at WG, because we'd had a conversation about "knowing" each other earlier in the day. Being the six year old that I am, I wanted to stand up and say, "See! Ha! Nine and a half years and they don't know each other! We've got plenty of time to learn the little details, and we'll keep learning until we're too old to remember anything, and then we'll start learning again!" Being the grown-up, charming woman that I am, I simply smiled and kept on watching the wedding.

I cried when the bride cried saying her vows, but only because this was the first time in eight years of friendship that I have seen my friend cry.

I got a little teary during the speeches, but only because the bride's twin, whom I have also known for eight years, doesn't usually cry either.

It was nice to cry simply because my friends were crying, and not because the words they were saying touched some odd little chord in my heart. No, these were tears of unity, not tears that meant I had selfishly involved my own romantic emotion.

My friend and her soulmate got married. There was much laughter. There was (finally!) dancing. There were smiles and pictures and happy moments.

And I am so happy that two people fell in love.

Poems from a Poet I Heard Speak

I was blessed to get to hear Czeslaw Milosz read aloud from his poetry during a lunchtime poetry session at the Doe Library at UC Berkeley. My father has long admired his work, and I was so happy to invite my dad to visit me on campus and hear this amazing man speak. I never took my dad to a Cal football game while I was a student, but I did take him to a poetry reading by his favorite poet. That's got to count for something.

Milosz is, perhaps, my father's one connection to a vague cultural inheritance. His Polish-speaking grandparents died long ago. His Polish-speaking father lives in a rest home in Arizona, mumbling his throughts in that slavic tongue, letting none of us know his secret thoughts. But Czeslaw Milosz translated his poems, allowing those of Polish background but not linguistically inclined, the chance to see inside the often - though not always - depressive Polish mind.

Father Explains

"There where that ray touches the plain
And the shadows escape as if they really ran,
Warsaw stands, open from all sides,
A city not very old but quite famous.

"Farther, where strings of rain hang from a little cloud,
Under the hills with an acacia grove
Is Prague. Above it, a marvelous castle
Shored against a slope in accordance with old rules.

"What divides this land with white foam
Is the Alps. The black means fir forests.
Beyond them, bathing in the yellow sun
Italy lies, like a deep-blue dish.

"Among the many fine cities that are there
You will recognize Rome, Christendom's capital,
By those round roofs on the church
Called the Basilica of Saint Peter.

"And there, to the north, beyond a bay,
Where a level bluish mist moves in waves,
Paris tries to keep pace with its tower
And reins in its herd of bridges.

"Also other cities accompany Paris,
They are adorned with glass, arrayed in iron,
But for today that would be too much,
I'll tell the rest another time."

A Poem For The End Of The Century

When everything was fine
And the notion of sin had vanished
And the earth was ready
In universal peace
To consume and rejoice
Without creeds and utopias,

I, for unknown reasons,
Surrounded by the books
Of prophets and theologians,
Of philosophers, poets,
Searched for an answer,
Scowling, grimacing,
Waking up at night, muttering at dawn.

What oppressed me so much
Was a bit shameful.
Talking of it aloud
Would show neither tact nor prudence.
It might even seem an outrage
Against the health of mankind.

Alas, my memory
Does not want to leave me
And in it, live beings
Each with its own pain,
Each with its own dying,
Its own trepidation.

Why then innocence
On paradisal beaches,
An impeccable sky
Over the church of hygiene?
Is it because that
Was long ago?

To a saintly man
--So goes an Arab tale--
God said somewhat maliciously:
"Had I revealed to people
How great a sinner you are,
They could not praise you."

"And I," answered the pious one,
"Had I unveiled to them
How merciful you are,
They would not care for you."

To whom should I turn
With that affair so dark
Of pain and also guilt
In the structure of the world,
If either here below
Or over there on high
No power can abolish
The cause and the effect?

Don't think, don't remember
The death on the cross,
Though everyday He dies,
The only one, all-loving,
Who without any need
Consented and allowed
To exist all that is,
Including nails of torture.

Totally enigmatic.
Impossibly intricate.
Better to stop speech here.
This language is not for people.
Blessed be jubilation.
Vintages and harvests.
Even if not everyone
Is granted serenity.

Are you celebrating National Poetry Month?

Love is in the Air

There must have been something in the water yesterday, as three of us at work received Valentine's surprises from boyfriends who don't usually do that sort of thing, but that made for some happy women...and that's never a bad thing.

But what I really want to do is copy Brandy's idea and talk about things in the world that I love.

So, here goes.

Happiness is...

Overjoyed kisses from my dog. The soft underbelly of a puppy. My boyfriend's smile when he realizes I am happy. A hug from my mom after a long, hard day. My dad crying when he realizes how much he is loved. Getting up early to take pictures of morning light as it crosses the agricultural fields I sometimes forget exist. Flowers on my desk. An e-mail from my best friend thanking me for being such a good friend. Birthday parties planned at lightning speed. Being successful at making comfort food (tacos! brie pasta! whoo hoo!). Taking a picture and just knowing that I got the shot right. A sane library customer honestly thanking me for my help. Waving at my favorite elderly customer as she returns after surgery. Learning that friend and her husband are "trying." A bed with a fully functional electric blanket. Accomplishing the sometimes daunting goal of getting out the house early so I can stop by Jamba Juice. Unexpectedly getting to see someone I love during the course of a day. Perusing through old journals and smiling at my immaturity. Realizing that in a few years, when I look back at the journal I'm keeping today, I might have that same smile on my face. Hearing the words, "when we have our own house" and knowing that he means them. The perfect snack in my mom's pantry right when I need it. Looking back on old photographs and realizing that my style has changed but my errors remain the same...there is comfort in consistency. Staying in bed with a book and a purring cat. Waking up expecting to leave the house soon and then deciding to stay tucked in and cuddled up for an extra while instead. Finding just the right song at just the right moment on my ipod. Reading a blog that touches on just what I've been feeling. Short lasting spring weather in the middle of February that makes me simultaneously long for summer and miss winter. Running without stopping. Watching a French movie and feeling transported back to my family's house in Vichy. Hearing a line in a movie and just knowing that it's one that fits my life. And last but not least, being held as I fall asleep.

The James Dean of Our Generation

Standing in the workroom, just about to launch into the pile of tasks on my desk, I overheard the phrase, "He was 28." Heath Ledger has died.

This hits me right in the gut. I've seen most of the films he's been in, and he's one of the lucky ones from my teen years to have successfully transitioned from Teenie Bopper Goodness to movies that inspire me to put a poster on my wall all the way to Indie Quirkiness.

Not everyone knows who he is, but I've seen just about everything he's done and have had a pleasant crush on him since 1999. He was soft-spoken and had one of those half-smiles that could kill from across the room (or across the movie screen).

He was the first celebrity crush I had that made sense. He was good looking (but not too good looking) and had cache as a credible actor. He was a celebrity crush I could carry through the years.

And now, at the age of 28, Heath Ledger, perhaps the James Dean of our Generation (seen too little, gone too soon), has passed away.

Heath, wherever you are, and as cheesy as this may sound, I mourn your passing and hope that you have gone to a better place.

An Open Letter to Myself in the Future

Dear Sarah,

It's 2008, and all is fairly well. You've gotten a bit more control of your life, are taking it slow with the job search and are not hyper-planning your life (well, you've been trying not to do that).

Here are some things you're learning at 27 that I hope you remember over the next few years:

1) It is not necessary to be stressed in order to be successful.
2) You can say "no" when you don't want to do something.
3) A weekend afternoon spent on the computer is not wasted; it is relaxing.
4) Your mother understands more than you realize she does about growing up, having a relationship and moving forward with your life.
5) Doing one thing at a time makes life much more enjoyable.
6) There is a job, somewhere, that does not involve people yelling at you. I hope that you have found that job by now. It is forgivable that you felt the need to leave what you once thought was your dream job (it is forgivable because you were an innocent and completely clueless about what your job would actually involve).
7) WG loves you immensely.

Sarah, I hope and pray that in the next few years, you have become even more comfortable with a peaceful existence, and, if you have, that you no longer crave anxiety.

I hope you have a few more recipes under your belt.

If you are reading this after you've had children, I firmly believe that you are loving them the best you can while remembering that your relationship with your husband should still be number one. There are those who may disagree about this, and this doesn't mean that you won't love and nurture your children, but don't lose your relationship in the pandemonium of child rearing. Or better yet, don't let your childrearing descend into the chaos currently de rigeur in California (soccer! ballet! theatah!).

I hope you have settled in a place outside of the Golden State.

I hope you are happy and appreciate that happiness as much as I've come to appreciate my current happiness.

Now, go, stop reading, go spend time with someone you love.

Love,
Sarah circa January 14, 2008

Random Beauty

1) Coming home at 6:30, full of frustration at your property manager who you are beginning to suspect stole two packages and always closes the office early, and taking a ridiculously hot shower and feeling completely refreshed.

2) Eating artisan cheese and then falling asleep with your boyfriend on the too small love-seat, for two hours, waking up, having dinner, and actually going to bed.

3) While napping, telling yourself to remember this moment, to remember being wrapped up together and vaguely uncomfortable on the too small couch. Being aware that there will be a time, with a fancier couch and more responsibility, when remembering this will feel incredible.

At Least I'm Consistent

The sun just slipped its note below my door
And I can't hide beneath my sheets
I've read the words before so now I know
The time has come again for me

And I'm feelin' the same way all over again
Feelin' the same way all over again
Singin' the same lines all over again
No matter how much I pretend

Another day that I can't find my head
My fea=et don't look like they're my own
I'll try and find the floor below to stand
And I hope I reach it once again

And I'm feelin' the same way all over again
Feelin' the same way all over again
Singin' the same lines all over again
No matter how much I pretend

(Norah Jones)

In my continued investigations of a move over to Wordpress, I thought that I might back-up the archives to this blog. See, I've written here, at this very same address, for a bit over five years now. I am giving serious thought to setting up a new blog with maybe only the last year or eighteen months in my archive.

Because, quite frankly, I no longer want to carry the last five years around with me.

As I've been backing up my blog - and by backing up, I mean copying and pasting the posts from the blog into a word document - I've noticed that I have a tendency to complain about two things in particular.

1) My job
2) Boys

Granted, in the past few months, I've gotten better at focusing and have taken on things like Real World Wednesday and have made something of an effort to take the more personal stuff between WG and me out of the blog (and, now that he's found the blog - thanks G, haha - I most certainly don't want to say anything here that I wouldn't want to say to him in person).

But perusing those old postings, it frightened me how easy it is to see the patterns in my behavior. My dating habits followed a cycle that went like this:
a) excitement over a new guy
b) excitement that we might get to date on a regular basis
c) disenchantment
d) the end

My career habits followed the same exact pattern.

a) excuberance about the possibility of a new job
b) elation at getting hired
c) disenchantment
d) begin the job search

I find myself, now, in a new place. My relationship is solid. No complaints. I have a good job (and by good, I mean stable and requires me to use my brain) that often drives me to the brink of insanity.

I have no intention of leaving my job anytime soon. It actually helps to see my pattern. I'm clearly never entirely satisified with a job. Several times a week, I question the sanity of keeping my current job, but looking back over the past couple of years helps me realize that this is all part of my pattern. What would happen if I tried to change the usual way of things by sticking it out with my job? I've already discovered the joys of not running away from a relationship as soon as it starts to get challenging. What would it mean if I got over the image of an ideal job and simply buckled down and did the best I could?

This may be my only chance to reflect like this, because once those four or so years of blog postings are saved safely on a computer somewhere, I don't intend to dwell on them.

I'd like to chart new courses, follow new paths and stop being quite so consistent.

Indulging

I give myself one time each year to indulge myself in an, "Oh Dear God, I'm having a birthday!" moment.

Apparently, I usually do this in some proximity to my actual birthday, but people, November is a frantic month (see my list of complaints), and I just won't have time for my yearly indulgence (well...maybe just a little).

Yes, it is nearing that time when people shower me with gifts, but since I was sixteen, I have used my birthday as a measure of the year's success and a way to set goals for myself. With its proximity to the New Year, it works well.

My birthday is exactly one month from today.

Apparently, last year I didn't mope. Well, screw that. I need my annual mope. And here it is, folks. My list of complaints (note that, for your reading pleasure, I have turned this into an easy, simple to read list).

*November is the most ridiculous month in which to have a birthday. Each and every year it is an absolute mess of obligations and big huge projects and full, busy work days. I have a major event at work in 3 weeks, that only gives me one week after that to ponder my the anniversary of my birth. That's just not fair. And it's like this EVERY YEAR.

*The November picture on calendars is always the ugliest.

*My birthday has fallen on Thanksgiving several times, which makes it rather difficult to celebrate. I'll probably have a birthday party sometime in mid-December, at which no less than half of the attendees will ask me why I didn't do something closer to my own birthday. To them I say, "Because you all have other plans for Thanksgiving weekend. That's why."

*It has just started to sink in that I will be in the OK Corral on my birthday instead of with my mom, hearing the story of my birth repeated over and over again.

*What I will miss most is hugging my mom on my birthday.

*It sometimes sucks having a holiday birthday and traveling on said birthday.

*I worry that no matter what happens on that special day, WG will not be able to satisfy me completely.

*I have already started to accept that my birthday will not actually be about me this year, seeing as how we will be surrounded by WG's friends.

*It is sweet that WG's step-mom has offered to throw me a birthday party. That one's not a complaint.

*Twenty-seven seems like a momentous year. I want to do great things at 27. No, I don't know what.

*Twenty-six was a learning year. I have a feeling 27 offers more of the same.

*Twenty-seven is only three years from 30.

*Yet, being three years from 30 doesn't make me a grown-up.

To please those who think that Thanksgiving week (and, thus, my birthday) has something to do with being grateful (whatever...), I offer "Things about 26 for which I am thankful" (I just have to say that I have been Ms. Grammar throughout the post. Sheesh, it's like I'm a second-generation English major or something).

*I fell in love.

*I fell in love without losing myself.

*I learned to appreciate my job (sort of).

*I taught my parents that, just because I moved out, it doesn't mean I don't love them.

*I am blessed with lovely and amazing friends.

Okay. Indulgence over. Only happy, smiling faces over here at Pink Cereal and Raspberries. Riiiiight.

Star Gazing

Three things.

Not necessarily beautiful.

1. If even one more person asks me if my possibly (possibly) moving to the same city as WG means we are moving in together, I may well scream. I didn't realize living in the same city as my boyfriend meant that we had to live together. It might just be nice to live in the same city for a while, right? Sheesh. Good thing I haven't mentioned this to one of my co-workers. She'll demand to stare at my (going to be naked for a while) left ring finger, to confirm that I have not, in fact, gone and gotten engaged without notifying her.

2. Facebook still manages to freak me out. I saw, months ago, that an old crush/old friend (yes, he was an actual friend) from high school was on the great timesucker, and I refused, refused to "friend" him myself. Then, this morning, I see the message in my inbox, "Old Crush has made you a friend on Facebook," and I felt oddly flattered.

3. Last night, walking the dogs with WG while my parents are out of town, I looked up and saw the Big Dipper in the sky, so close I felt like I was looking at a projection of it at the planet-A-rium (kudos to you if you get the cartoon reference). The sky was so clear. I saw Cassiopeia and Orion's Belt, and then I stopped staring open-mouthed up at they sky and looked ahead to see WG trying to trick my German Shepherd, Bailey. Bailey never walks in a straight line, but the person walking him usually does. But WG was behaving like an adorable six year old and decided to try walking a crooked line, too, so when Bailey would turn back towards WG, WG would already be there, and Bailey would run smack into his thigh with his head. WG found this amazingly funny, and I found it strangely endearing. The dog just found it confusing and kept walking his crooked little path.

22

The youngest age you can possibly be at any time in your life is 22.

I was browsing my CDs last night and came across a mix I made way back 2002. It wasn't so much the songs on the mix (an odd assortment of Jimmy Eat World, The Jayhawks and Reba McEntire), as it was the date. It was a mix from March of 2002, five whole years ago.

I thought back to five years ago.

Now, this isn't one of those truly nostalgic posts.

This is one with the wisdom of a 26, soon to be 27 year old.

You will never be younger than you were at 22.

At 22 (or 21, with change, as the case was for me), the whole world is in front of you. College graduation has just happened or looms ahead. You have started a crappy post-college job that you will leave in six months. You're in grad school. You've gotten a shady apartment. You have only just started to hang out with your college friends outside the bounds of pre-established events like socials, formals, and football games. You're feeling rather grown-up about attending your first cocktail party (though it will be the most grown-up party you ever attend, save those thrown by your eventual employer when you're 40...after this year, everyone will stop trying to be adults and will have parties that suit them better than wine, crackers and cheese. You will play more poker, drink more beer and laugh harder than you ever imagined you would after graduation).

You're either the youngest person in your office or the most over-qualified baby-sitter anyone has ever encountered.

You may be about to get engaged to your college boyfriend or girlfriend. But you have no idea what marriage means.

Or you're bitterly single or completely ecstatic to have the world at your feet.

You are so, so young.

You are younger than you were at 16. At 16, you were a grown child living at home, getting more and more responsibilities, learning to drive, going out on your own with your friends, saying to no to a few family gatherings. You were entering adulthood.

Now, in an office full of forty and fifty year olds, you're a child again.

The women in the office will comment on your outfits, or your weight, or both. The men will do the same.

You are tired of trying to find your place in the world, but you've only been at it for three months...less if you just got back from your post-graduation trip to Europe or India or China or somewhere else equally not home.

You may be lonely.

You may be jealous of both your still in college younger friends and your slightly more settled older friends.

You miss your parents, but you're not quite sure how to tell them that.

Or you live at home and you just miss being eight and satisfied with your life.

At eight, you had your own world, and you weren't so worried about the future. You had your small duties and responsibilities, and you were older than when you were six.

You will never be as young as you were at 22.

One day, you will wake up and realize that you're not 22 anymore, but you're still young. Maybe you've got a job, a significant other, a house, a child...any or all of the above. But you're still young. The fact that you are still young at 24, at 25, at 27...at 30 means that you were unbelievably young at 22.

Then one day, you will feel curious about the music you liked five years ago, and you'll realize you haven't changed all that much.

But that you kind of miss sharing a room with someone.

And you actually miss getting up to go to class.

And you know you'll never be that young again but you somehow are lucky enough to still have the whole world in front of you.