Never Long Enough

I walked to the cabin today, alone. First time. Ever. And to get the newspaper; and to visit the donkeys and up to bed – unnaturally alone. I automatically shut the livingroom door then realized there was no need. I’ve done that ten times. When I come out of my room in the dark, I veer to the left, but there is no need. There was no one sleeping there. I went to town with the strangest feeling just walking out and came home feeling even stranger when there was my arrival went unnoticed.

I knew I’d miss her. I wasn’t prepared for quite THIS much. I see her everywhere – every square in of this place - inside and out. Every way I turn I see a snapshot in my head with her in it. I hear the jingle of her collar and last night, I was sure I heard her bark. I walk around alone and I can hardly stand it. I have an uncontrollable urge to go to her and plead ‘Wake UP, Abby – you HAVE to wake up!’

It’s likely worse because Brian is gone for the week and I don’t do ‘alone’ all that well. I’ve never had to, I had her. I hardly took a step that she wasn’t in the picture somewhere. Sometimes it was an enthusiastic ‘Wait for me, wait for me! I’m coming!’. Often it was just her quiet presence in the background, my silent guard, my shadow of almost fourteen years.

December 4th, 1997 is when she came to be with us. The house was still filled with the noise and chaos of children and teenagers. The yard was filled with chickens & goats & cats & horses & pigs & donkeys and a menagerie of other critters that came and went. All that’s left now are my geriatric long-eared friends and one feral cat that we’ve been feeding for eight years who still refuses to let me touch her.


She got us through the transition of the empty nest. We still got to keep a ‘child’. Someone still to fuss about and fuss over. Being an ‘only child’, it probably was a little bit ridiculous how much fussing that entailed. We would turn the television on for her when we left, so she wouldn’t be lonely. She’s been deaf for at least a year, but we would still have a discussion about what program she’d want on. I’d insist that she didn’t LIKE golf – it was too slow and boring; Brian would say ‘sure she does, she loves sports.’ ‘No. She likes CHICK stuff.’ I’d tell him. More times than I can count, when I’d get in bed, Brian would say ‘Is Abby in?’ I’d say: ‘Really... has Abby EVER spent one night her entire life outside – why wouldn’t she not be in tonight?'

I’d be a little bit put out when Brian was away and he’d call home and only ask how Abby was. I asked why he never asked about the kids, just the dog. He said ‘Well, I KNOW you’ll look after the kids.’ Like as IF I wouldn't look after the dog too. He always fussed and worried about her. He said ‘You know, I could stay in Newfoundland for months if it weren’t for missing Abby.’ I say ‘What about the kids?’ His reply was that he could talk to them, and they’d know he’d be coming back. One night, a number of years ago, she was sick had climbed onto our bed. In the middle of the night when I got up, I tripped over Brian laying on the floor at the end of the bed. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked. He said ‘I didn’t want to disturb Abby when she’s not feeling good.’ was his answer.

Abby came to be with us on December 4th, 1997. There was teacher’s strike at the time and the government had sent families with children in elementary school $400 for the inconvenience of child care. I was leaving for a week long sculpting class in Montana early in the morning on December 5th. It was after supper when we were reading the newspaper and saw an advertisement: “Airedale puppies: $400.” That was about half the usual price because she was unregistered. 'Papers' aren't a pre-requisite for love in our house.

We had made it through the grief of losing our beloved Airedale, Bobbi Jo, in June and we were not coping very well with having no dog. We ignored the lateness of the evening, the impracticality of me leaving the next morning, Christmas in three weeks and the challenges of trying to train a puppy in the winter. We happened to have four hundred dollars that had come unexpectedly, so surely it was a sign. We loaded the four kids in the car and headed off for the hour drive to look at the puppies, knowing full well that there would not be a chance of us coming home without one.

We brought her home and she sat on my bed while I packed my suitcase. We talked about what we would call her and decided on ‘Montana’ because of my trip. I felt a little guilty leaving them all for a week with a new pup, but they managed fine and she had lots of attention. When I arrived home and got to know her, it was quite apparent that her name wasn’t to be Montana. It just didn’t suit her. We tried ‘Striker’ for awhile, because of how we got her, but that didn’t fit either. It was into her third week of really having no identity, when her name presented itself. She was fun and silly and did crazy things all the time. I went out to Brian’s shop and said: “That dog is just not normal. I know her name. It’s Abby. Abby-Normal.”

And hence she was our Abby. Our big beautiful, sweet and gentle friend. The time with her went far too quickly, as time always does. I wasn’t ready to let her go, but of course, I never would have been. We are never ready to say good-bye to our dear friends.

Playing Favourites

You shouldn’t have your favourites when it comes to your family. But I do. Four-legged, long-eared family that is … definite equality amongst the two-legged ones.
In my asinus relationships, Ransom is a stand out. But shhhh … don’t tell my other sweet and gentle friends – I love them too. I just have a particular connection to my big guy.

I first met him when he was two years old when I stopped into a big donkey farm about 5 hours from here. I was a tiny bit obsessed with donkeys back then, sort of like I am now but even more intense. I wasn’t shopping for a donkey – I already had two who were providing me with my fix of my little Disney-like babes. I just wanted to LOOK.

As I walked through the field, this big honkin’ guy kept following me. Whenever I stopped, he’d come up and put his head on my shoulder. He was lovely, but he was BIG. We just had miniature donkeys, which were particularly good with the kids and for the fact that we only had an acre of land.

But, we were just in the process of moving to a real farm, with a real barn and real pastures. That opened a whole new world of possibility for me.

I couldn’t get Ransom out of my head. Two week after we moved to the farm, we made the trip to bring him home, and of course had to bring along a friend of the same size for him.

That was 23 years ago in July which makes my gentle, handsome Ransom twenty five years old. Such a grand and beautiful creature.

His wife, Erin, passed away a number of years ago. She was sick for quite awhile and dear old Ransom laid in the field beside her, sometime with his head resting on her. After she was gone, he mourned for her for almost two years. He stood alone, hung his head, ate very little and wouldn’t ‘talk’ to me. He was depressed – it was the saddest thing to see.

He still doesn’t hang out with the other donkeys much. It’s curious how they keep apart – you’d think being the same species would matter more than size, but there definitely has always been a separation. I hate that he’s alone a lot of the time. I also hate that the little mini-jack rules over him and chases him into the barn just to prove his superiority. He’s such an ass. He should leave my friend alone.  My friend with the big doeful-soulful eyes. My friend with long, soft, pet-able ears. My dear and loyal friend who keeps the secret that he indeed is my most favourite, but knows full well that he is.
When I was out working in the yard today, I let Ransom out to hang around with me. He loves it and so do I. He follows me around, comes up for ear rubs, then heads off to enjoy his freedom, then comes back to find me. He wanders into Brian’s shop and just generally makes himself at home, savouring his freedom and feeling pretty proud of himself. It takes people aback when they drive in and see a mega-ass roaming around like a dog. I don’t think they get it. They think that animals should be corralled. And animals should. Friends shouldn’t.

Hard on the Heart

My friend is fading away. How hard that is on the heart.

Our sweet and beautiful Abby is growing old before our eyes. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised about that as she will be fourteen years old this fall, but right up to the beginning of this year she has been a puppy.

She never got the old face like some dogs …no white whiskers and milky eyes for her. No lethargy and laziness. She was ever enthusiastic with her greetings … always with a little skip and a wag. She woke us up in the morning by bumping around the perimeter of our bed, which felt more like an elephant was trying to shake us awake. When she wanted attention, she would come up and hook my leg with one of her paws or bump me with her whole body. When we went outside together, even at thirteen years old, she would have such exuberance – so pleased that there was an adventure awaiting somewhere.

She’s been stone deaf for a year, so our dancing days have been over for awhile. She particularly loved accordion music & when I’d have a Newfoundland CD on, she would come up & hit my feet with her paws and we’d dance together. I’ll never forget the time we had a NL party here & had ‘Mummers’ arrive. There were five or six of us, dressed up so people didn’t know who we were. When we entered the kitchen and the CD went on, Abby instantly picked me out of the group, hit my feet and started dancing. She could be sound asleep and hear a bicycle coming a quarter mile away and be up on her feet to check it out long before it arrived. The deafness hasn’t affected her much though and we forget about that and talk to her like she can hear.

It’s been shocking how the weight has dropped off her. She’s been a big dog – never fat but substantial for an Airedale. She’s lost half her body mass since January and we work at finding things that she will eat. She’s done with dog food. I’ve tried every kind and every brand. I tricked her for awhile by topping it with grated cheese or melted butter or vanilla ice cream; she’s not falling for that anymore. It must bother her stomach. She’ll eat eggs and cheese and ice cream and the occasional bite of something else but precious little.

She still goes with me from room to room and lays at the doorway when I go up to my studio. She still made the trip to the cabin with me and laid on the porch, but she walked back on the bridge rather than galloping through the water like she always has. Last night, she didn’t come out to greet the car when I drove in. It was strange to walk to the house alone. And she didn’t come upstairs with me when I went to bed. She stood at the bottom of the step, looked up at me and thought about it. Then she turned and went back to the kitchen. She always waits until I get up to come down and walks every step beside me. Lately she’s been slow and walk every step beside her, in case she were to get weak or dizzy. It was sad this morning, when her bed was empty and I walked down the stairs alone … shades of days to come.

She has slowed down substantially but she does not seem to be in pain or discomfort, just frail. She’s serious now rather than playful. A dozen times a day she comes and stands beside me, puts her head in my lap and looks at me with those beautiful big brown eyes. We both know her days with us our numbered, and yes indeed – that is hard on the heart.

Day ONE

Honestly & truly. Today is the very first day in 2011 that is MINE. I have no agenda, no appointments, no events that I am either organizing or attending. I am not working at a Real Job. I have commitments at all.

I don’t know what to do with myself. Of course, I could and should clean my house. But I’m NOT.

I’m going treat it like New Year’s Day and spend some time thinking about what I am going to do with this next little chunk of time. It’s been an even crazier than usual year for me, with squeezing a Real Job into my already too full life. That already is a little bit of a blur and hardly seems like it really did happen.

Every single day has been filled to the top and beyond, but somehow I feel like a big chunk has been missing. I am anxious to resume the things that I have let slip. Getting back to this blog is one of them. And my Daily Muse.

I’m feeling particularly excited today. The sun is shining and the day is MINE!

Getting A Handle

An entire month since I wrote. Ridiculous. More than a quarter of the year is gone already; slipped through my fingers like a greased pig. My days took a detour that wasn’t on the agenda on the first of January; a foray into the Working World.


It has been fun and interesting and challenging. I enjoy getting dressed in something other than jeans and slippers day in and day out. I enjoy walking along the street, computer bag in one hand, handbag in the other, looking and feeling more like a business person than I have in years. I love getting to have colleagues; people to chat to and laugh with every day. I love a new challenge and doing something so totally different than I ever expected to do.

I don’t love that I have had to let my writing go. Or that I not only do not have time to write it, but also no time to think it. I don’t love that I don’t have time to play pictures – take them, edit them, find quotes. I am behind in my Daily Muse. I don’t love that I don’t even seem to know what a muse is anymore.



I particularly don’t love that I seem to be losing time with my wee ones. That Spencer almost made strange when Jae left the other day. That Georgia looks at me with a bit of a question in her eyes, like ‘WHO exactly are you?’ That Gibson ran to me the other day yelling ‘Nana! Nana!!’; threw his arms around me, buried his face in my neck and said ‘I MISSED you! I missed you SO much!!. I don’t love that the girls need a break from their babies and I have not been any help. I don’t love that I feel I have neglected my friends and some other important things that are a high priority. I don't like feeling that I do not have a handle on my life.



It’s not just work though. A fair bit of time and head space has been given to our new organization WINGS. And every moment between working and that was spent trying to get ready for the show. Now that that is over, and I’m down to three days a week, I have got a lot of catching up to do.


First thing is to get back into a mind set of writing here more regularly, and back to my Daily Muse. I desperately need to get back to using my head, using my camera, nurturing my creativity and my relationships.



This sojourn into the working world has been very good for me. It’s made me realize how much I took my time for granted. It’s made me appreciate my flexibility and freedom more. It’s made me want to streamline my life and rid of myself of excess things so I can focus only on what’s important.



I know what’s important to me and I’ve got to get down to the business of getting a handle on it I’ve got to do better, simple as that.

WINGS

Every time that I think that I’m about as busy as I can be, some cool, new adventure pokes its head up and says …’Hey! What about me!!’

It happened again. I was just motoring along, adjusting to being away every day and trying squeeze my life into a weekend. All kinds of things have been going by the wayside – this blog for one thing. The painting, organizing, purging and editing that were on the agenda for January & February and won’t make it back on the Master Plan until NEXT January/February, for another. And cooking, cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping … all those things have moved way down the list as I fill my day with another type of work. I can live without all those things.

But, regardless of how many irons in the fire, if an exciting opportunity comes a knockin' on the door, I throw it wide open.

That someone was eldest entrepreneurial daughter, Jaime. She sent me an email and said ‘What do you think about this idea.’ Well, the idea was so brilliant and timely and full of potential that I emailed her back immediately & said, ‘It’s not only wonderful, but I want to play too!’


Her idea was to start a woman’s networking group where people could tell about themselves and their business in a “3 minute tale”. She put it on Facebook on Saturday and by Monday, all thirty speaking spots were filled. There were ten ‘gallery’ spots too and they also filled up immediately.

So the birth of W.I.N.G.S. happened last night – quite appropriately, during International Woman’s Week. “Women In Networking Groups SOAR” was well received. The room buzzed with the powerful energy that positive, enthusiastic women create. The diversity of stories and the information was remarkable … every one a celebration of achievement and/or possibility. And what was especially cool was that all three of my sweet and amazing girls were there.


It was such fun. We have envisioned that it will become a very wonderful tool for connecting, networking, sharing, supporting, cheerleading … all the things that every one of us needs. It’s going to make us all stretch and grow. It’s going to be the catalyst for motivation, for new ideas and for new friendships. We both see it.


I’m delighted that she said ‘Sure, come play with me.’ Everything about it is right up my alley. So now, instead of just trying to squeeze in time to create some things for the show at the end of the month, my head is churning with ideas.

Lessons

This weekend, I got to spend time with my favourite nine year old boy, and favourite six year old girl ‘in the whole wide world’. They know that's who they are to me. When they were younger, they would announce themselves at the door: “Nan, your Angels are here.”  Once, when I made the mistake of saying ‘Here’s my kids!’, I was immediately corrected with: ‘We are NOT your KIDS –we’re your ANGELS.’ They still are, but as they get older, I more often greet them with “There’s my favourite ___ year old in the whole wide world!”

What a delight it is to spend time with them.  It always has been, but as they’ve grown it’s been even more interesting to talk to them and learn what’s going on those pretty little heads.

They are so worldly. And they love to talk. I love to listen. We have quite the conversations and their wisdom and insight often surprises me.  They know all kinds of things that I didn’t and my own kids didn’t at that age. By six, Scotty was a proficient and avid chess player. At nine he has designed his own webpage.

I’m always quizzing them on what they know. The other night, the sunset was beautiful, and as is my habit, I was raving about it on our drive home. I said to my wise grandson: “Isn’t that something?!  Do you know what direction the sun sets in?”  “Well, yes.” he replied, in a tone that suggested that it was insulting to even him ask him such an elementary question. “Good for you!” I congratulated. I think I was about 27 when I could remember that, and I had to tie it to an association like 'Go West Young Man'. “What direction is it?” I queried.  “THAT one.” he answered, pretty certain that his elderly grandmother is starting to lose her mind and didn't even know which direction I was looking.

Yesterday, when we were driving along there was an elderly gentleman having car trouble. I drove past, but turned around to see if he needed assistance. I wound up driving him to his home town. When we dropped him off, he offered me money, which of course, I wouldn’t accept. Then he offered it ‘for the kiddies’.  ‘Thank you, that’s sweet – but no.” I insisted.  When we drove away, Scotty said: “I saw that! He was going to give us twenty bucks!! Why did you take it?!” “Because you don’t take money for a kindness,” I explained to him, “that’s what makes it a kindness.”  “You are a very-kind-woman.” my sweet six year old granddaughter said with such maturity that it took me aback. “I like to be kind.” I said. “Yes, I know that about you.” she answered very seriously.  “They could use you at my school. You should come there.” “Why’s that?” I asked. “Do you mean they’re not kind?” “No.” she said matter-of-factly. ”They don’t DO kindness. They’re….”, she hesitated, thinking about the right word.”…. rough.” She thought for a moment then clarified: “They’re only kind if you’re bleeding.”

I wish sometimes that the world would stop and listen to six year olds. Listen to what they’re seeing, they’re learning, they’re thinking.  We are often so tied up thinking that it’s our job to teach them, to fill them with information that we often don't take the time to hear it back. To see what they are observing with their eyes. They're always watching and processing, even when we think they aren't.

They have as many lessons to teach us, as we have for them. Maybe more.

Pretty in Pink

Another thing about Cameron & I not getting to spend much time together recently - our babies are growing. An entire month and not a single photo to show for it. I'm not getting to spend enough time with my kids - big or little.


Fortunately, yesterday I got some time with the wee-est of the crew and I was not about to waste the opportunity. Five months old she is already. Her eyes are getting more striking all the time and she has the sweetest little smile. Our blue-eyed beauty ... the only blue eyes in our whole family.  My Gorgeous Georgia, precious and adorable - eyes open or closed.

And now to get my hands on Spencer!

Window Shots

One of the things that’s going by the wayside with me working all week is my relationship with my camera. She’s feeling very neglected of late.  I’m missing her too.

I’m up and out when the lighting is still good, but since I need to actually be somewhere at a certain time, I have to drive right by all those beautiful, snow laden trees. On the way home, the sun is setting. The white snow and the soft pink sky make the stark and barren trees look even more gracefully artful.  Scenes missed because Cameron is home alone.

I’m going through a bit of withdrawal.

The other day, when I awoke, it was so cold that our bedroom window was covered with frost. First thought … ‘there’s a picture!’

A dozen shots of one single window pane. Yep, that sounds more like my normal life.  Cameron was feeling a bit less neglected, and I was feeling a little more content as well.

Real Job

I got an email from a friend today. She said, “Your blog is stuck.”  Oh my, right she is, indeed.  A dozen times over the past month, I’ve been needing/wanting to do something about getting it unstuck, but I’ve been busy.

I’ve got a Real Job, you see.

And that means that I have entered a place where much of the world dwells – trying to squeeze every bit of the rest of my life and activities into evenings and weekends. It turns out to be not sufficient hours in that time slot to do everything I need/want to do.

The last time that I worked in a setting where I was committed to being in one spot, eight hours a day, five days a week, was in 1979. Really.

Now, don’t be thinking that that’s the last time that I worked. I have never NOT worked. It’s just that I’ve always been involved with things that have me at the helm, designing my own day.

A couple years ago I did work for a whole week at Mazda while the owners went out to our place in Newfoundland.  I loved it. The only work colleague I generally have in my life is Abby, and she’s not much of a conversationalist, so I was delighted to get to be with humans.

Before I spent all my time trying to make a living from my three H's, I had always been involved in work that has revolved around people – social services, volunteer management, and retail. I love having my flexibility and freedom, but I must say that I do miss all the stuff that comes with having other people in your day.

On top of that, there’s nothing that I love more than a new challenge. I am always delighted to get the opportunity to open a new door and meet new people.

The especially cool thing about this job is that finally – FINALLY – my zillion hours on the computer have paid off. I have been helping test an ever-so-cool new software program that has been designed for organizing virtual meetings.

The launch was held at the Fesitval last Monday … what a wonderful event that was. Up to that time, what I was doing was confidential, but now it’s out there in the world. The company is POWERNOODLE, and the folks behind it are dynamic, interesting and fun people.

I’m sure honoured to be there and enjoying every minute of it.  Each day I get to be there is a bonus.

Soon, the party will be over and I will be back upstairs in my Studio. And I will love that too.