For Wira with love

A few weeks ago now our friend Corrina and her family had to make the hardest decision ever for someone who has fur kids.  They had to let their girl Wira move to Heaven to be with her sister Lexi. We were blessed to be the ones who brought Wira to her family and see her grow in love.

As I have mentioned, we go to Cozumel a couple of times a year, mostly in the winter, and about 7 years ago (I think) we were on the island when a friend from the Humane Society where we sponsor 2 kennels asked if we would escort a pup back to people who wanted to adopt her and would pick her up at the airport when we landed.  We happily agreed, after all, at that time, two of our babies were island rescues and one more to a happy home was an easy job.

The second to the last day we went and got little Wira in the morning to spend the day with us at the beach and then the night in our room to fly home the next day.  She was obviously a terrier mix and she was only about 20 pounds and happily fit in my arms to cuddle.  When we picked her up, we were also given food and treats and her crate to fly home.  All set for her adventure!

Off to the beach we went and she happily laid on a blanket with the hubs and I with the sun filtering through the palm trees.  She was the best pup and chewed on a rawhide treat and watched the hubs frolic in the water, though she had no interest in joining him.  We walked her along the beach and cuddled with her until it was time to head back to the apartment and grab dinner.

The hubs and I noted that while she had piddled a little we had not gotten a poop out of her and sunset was over, we were ready to go to dinner.  One more walk as I dressed...the hubs took her several blocks out and still nothing.  Treats, she ate a HUGE dinner, nothing.  We put her in her crate and walked into the square to eat.

Back from dinner and last evening margaritas, it was time to pack.  She happily jumped on the bed to assist the hubs with packing and ate yet another treat.  As we got everything ready to go the next day, we decided another last walk before bed was needed.  The hubs walked her a good distance.  Still nothing.

As we finished getting ready for bed, she sweetly crawled into her crate and hung her head out and fell sound asleep.  We both decided to leave her, she looked so sweet and peaceful.  Off to sleep we went, we'd walk her in the morning before going to the airport.

At 3 AM I was awakened by sweet little Wira jumping into bed and licking my face.  What a love to cuddle...wait, what is that smell?  She snuggled against the hubs and I walked into the kitchen in search of...what is that smell?

To say that I found poop is the understatement of the century.  Sweet tiny Wira had pooped her body weight and more I am certain.  I don't think humans poop that much, OH. MY. GAWD.  It was HUUUUUUGE.

By that time the hubs had come into the kitchen and the gagging commenced.  Now this is a man who observes complete hip replacement surgeries and has watched prostates removed via suction with no incision (figure it out...) but cannot do poop patrol at home much less see and smell that much in our little apartment kitchen.  AND sweet little Wira had peed more than any puppy I had ever known.  OK, it's 3 AM, really Wira????

I sent the hubs out with her to walk the early morning...why I don't know because there was no possibility of any waste left in that little girl.  But it gave me a chance to scrub the floor.

So there we were with little Wira, the hubs strolling the hood and me scooping a mountain of poop and a sea of pee and scrubbing the tile floor.  The hubs returned with our little charge to report that nothing had happened...yeah, no shit!  (pun intended)  We decided it was time to go back to bed.

Everyone woke the next morning to a clean kitchen floor, empty puppy and a lot of laughter.  Wira rode to the airport with us and was settled in for the flight.  We had a layover in Memphis and the airline allowed us to take her to an area with some grass to hang out and nap with us until time to fly the next leg home.

Getting her to Corrina and family was a bit of a roundabout journey but she was happily in a family of other pups and a ton of love.  We all connected on Facebook and over the years watched Wira grow from a sweet little puppy into a huge and beautiful girl we watched on hikes with her pack mates in the beauty of nature around her.

Corrina let us know recently that Wira was sick and we were heartbroken.  She struggled to get well and a couple of weeks ago God decided that He could not live without her and asked Corrina and the family to send her home to her sister Lexi.  They were devastated and empty, we also were heartbroken.

Though we were only a part of her life for a very short time, the love and laughter we shared with her and the loving connection we made with Wira's family was sweet and kept us in touch to see this angel whenever we could via technology.

Run free sweet Wira, find Lexi and our Tessa, Max, Chico and fellow Cozumelena Maya Louise to play with.  We will always love you too and were honored to have been your escorts to a beautiful life here.

The love of a dear friend in family history and heirlooms

Fifteen years ago when my beloved Aunt Dot passed away, I spent a week at home with my mother cleaning out her house.  It was the house that all of the 4 kids had been born in and the house she had spent her entire life in.  She had never married and when my grandmother died, she remained in that home.  It was my grandparents' house before it was really hers.  But it was a special place my heart loved.

It was quite a place.  Old enough that when the family gathered to put new wallpaper on the walls in the living room and repaired the plaster, they found piping for gas lights in the walls.  It had a stone walled, dirt floored cellar that grandma used to store her canned vegetables, fruits, jellies, relishes, and other goodies in.  It had a small but beautiful garden in the back with mimosa trees, passionfruit vines, poppies, lilies of the valley, and white and purple violets everywhere.  I remember walking through the hedge to visit grandma's cousin Jessie who lived in a little cottage on the street behind them.

It was the spot for many Easter dinners, many Thanksgiving dinners, many Christmas Eve dinners.  It was where I had special overnights and came to understand the love of a clawfoot tub that was created in the early 20th century.  It was where we made homemade caramels in the fall and homemade applesauce.  It was where grandma would bake cakes from scratch with no recipe and no measurements and tell me to break off a broom straw to test whether it was done or not.  In that kitchen we canned every vegetable and fruit I could think of for jams, jellies, relishes, and tasty treats to be consumed in the winter.  We laughed and played cards.  Aunt Dot painted my nails.

So it was a bittersweet week helping mom clean out the house and know it would be my last time in there.  As I sorted through grandma's closet and drawers pulling out things for donation and distribution to cousins, I found a number of things that made me wonder about the stories behind them.  Postcards from World War II ports that the boys had sent home, souvenirs from Japan and Belgium where each of them had been stationed.

When I opened her cedar chest at the end of the bed, there were several quilts that were in there.  Mom told me to take what I wanted so I took a couple that I loved and one quilt top that had never been finished.  I thought that maybe I'd get to it one day.

Years later as I was cleaning boxes in my basement I happened upon the quilt top.  I  opened it up to see that it was very plain; muslin and a red material with tennis rackets on it.  In the center was a square with hand embroidered names and a date.  I knew the names to be my great-grandmother and great-grandfather and one other was my great uncle Stanley.  I did not recognize the other one.  The date was 21 February '96.  It didn't take long to realize that since I was looking at this in 2007, the date was 1896 on the square.  I remembered my mom taking an old quilt and making teddy bears for herself, Aunt Dot and me from a quilt that she said great-grandma had done when she was pregnant with my grandpa.  I then realized that this is another quilt that was made in the same time frame.  Stitched by hand.  

I started putting out requests on social media asking who did hand quilting and happily I found that an old friend and co-worker did hand quilting.  We connected about the quilt, I asked if she'd look at it and let me know what she'd charge and what she thought about finishing it.

Now hand quilting is not for the faint of heart.  It requires a huge rack, hours upon hours of stitches numbered per square to be done as it was in 1896 with a needle and thread by hand.  For Judy to take this on was no small undertaking.  She examined it, made repairs, chose the backing material and batting.  She spent more than a year lovingly creating a masterpiece for me.  Occasionally she'd send me a teaser, a small picture of the final product.

Earlier this year she told me that she and her family would be coming through our town on their way to Seattle for vacation.  We made arrangements for them to stop for a nosh so that she could deliver the quilt.  But she said she had something special planned for the finishing touches and asked about the family members on the quilt.  Who were they?

I really had to dig but I found out that the name I did not recognize was my grandfather.  However, the name/initials on the quilt were different from his legal name, the one I always knew him to have.  So after a number of messages, the details were clear and the date on the quilt was my grandfather's birthday.  A rush of love from Heaven fell on my shoulders putting all of the people and their names, birthdates together to send to Judy.

One last tease...   She sent me a picture that would be a part of the back of the quilt.  My family tree with great-grandma Lily all the way down to my brother and I.  And as I had requested, a place with her signature.  My sweet friend that I had not seen in nearly 22 years had spent over a year lovingly recreating a piece of my family history.

A few weeks back Judy, Eric, Charlotte, and friend Ken stopped on a beautiful warm Sunday to share a nosh and unveil the masterpiece that she had spent countless hours on.  I fought hard to keep from bursting into tears as her beautiful daughter pulled it from a pillowcase (a quilting tradition I am told) and helped me unfold it.

It is nothing short of spectacular.  It is a piece of history 120 years old that has had so much love poured into making it so very beautiful.  I have stroked it and held it and marveled at it.  I promptly bought a quilt rack for it that will hang on the wall and hold it lovingly in the bedroom that Aunt Dot helped me decorate and bought the comforter and curtains for.  The shelf on the quilt rack will hold pictures of the relatives whose names are on the family tree Judy put on the quilt.

How blessed am I to have this incredible, beautiful piece of family history recovered and restored?  AND to have it so lovingly restored by someone that is so special and dear to my heart.  I am beyond blessed.  

Thank you Judy, you simply have no idea how much this means to me.  And I am so grateful that every time I look at it I get to reconnect with you again!  I love you to the moon and back and I promise that it won't take a quilt and 22 years to get us together for a nosh again <3

happy birthday to me :)

Today is my birthday...

Some might say it is no big deal since it is not a landmark/milestone.  I beg to differ.

My friend in the rowing referee community, Sebastian, says we need to celebrate every single birthday with huge effort because we never know when it will be our last.  I agree!  My sweet pal Bobby who is our local police officer and my dear friend just lost a friend in his massage therapist who was 40 and died in her sleep.

Life is a gift and too short.  I am 29 today.

x2

So today, the hubs and I went out today in his fishing boat.  He has a 15 foot grumpy old man boat I love and I bought for him years ago.  He tied my floatie out behind it.  That thing that is like a blow up chair with two cup holders that I can sit in and ponder life while he tosses two lines in the water.  i had one.  We floated.

We ran into our rowing pal Hans who was sailing on the same small lake.  It was so fun, we talked and laughed and smiled at his loving wishes for a fun birthday.  We floated, he fished, we zipped around in the sun.  It was Zen time for both the hubs and I.  And since our schedules have been insane lately, much needed time in the warmth of the sun on a peaceful Sunday.

We came home, dropped the boat in the driveway and strolled off to hear our friend Jambo play at a local brewery.  He's such an amazing guy and plays such fun music...Buffett, Dylan, Cat Stevens, Jackson Browne, Lightfoot...

Quiet, peaceful, reflective.  Lots of smiles.

I am blessed.

I type right now with a little black puppy ear resting on the enter key.  Next to her is my furry patriarch, my blonde boy who is in charge now that Maya moved to Heaven.  The hubs is in the office researching how to do forms to get matching grants from his company for the charities we donate to.  The sun is filtering through the trees creating little nuggets of light dancing on the floor.

I am so grateful for another year.  Like any year it has had its challenges but I am so grateful for the lessons that come with the challenges.  I am blessed.

I have a beautiful home with an incredible garden space.  I have a husband with a heart that stretches to Pluto.  I have my sweet fur balls.  I have extended family I love.  I have a job locally at a place I am beyond blessed to be working for and I own my own consulting business with clients I love and feel privileged to be serving.

I have the ability to travel and see places people dream about.  We were in Ireland a couple of months ago (I'll write about that soon!) and it was PURE MAGIC.

I/we have the ability to give back and help others and feel so blessed to do so.

I am now older than my paternal grandparents were when they left us.  I am older than our friend Edwin who we lost 10 years ago so suddenly.

Sometimes it freaks me out how old I am.

Recently I bought a shirt for myself that says across the front in beautiful script letters :BLESSED.

True story.  Fact.

I have a full life, full heart.

So here's to another year.  Happy birthday to me.  Thank you God, I hope I am doing you proud.

And just like that...

... my space is smiling and the shroud of winter is gone.  It is filled with joy and promise!

I have seen the forsythia planted for my 2nd Dad, my father-in-law Mike bloom like a beautiful explosion of sunny yellow.  It was gloomy and cold and we even had snow flurries but the yellow burst through the solemn skies of grey and clouds to shout that the winter was on its way out.

Today my bleeding hearts are lifting their beautiful pink and red heads up to see the bright sun against a crystal, sparking blue sky.  They are among the first shoots out of the ground announcing spring's arrival and they are tall and proud now with beautiful blooms.

My redbud tree is full and glorious.  This year seems to proclaim that it is a fixture of lush, bright pink blossoming in the yard remarking that new growth is here.

The violets that I scavenged from my Grandmother's yard so many years ago, and dropped into the ground hoping for a legacy, are all over my space in little patches of white and purple firmly claiming their own legacy in my home and providing new plants for me to share with sorority daughters who knew the purple violet to be their signature bloom.

My pussywillow trees, the ones I paid $5 at the hardware store and hoped and prayed would give me fuzzy little feet growing from branches are full and proud.

The allium bulbs, the spring beauty bulbs, are all up and out.  The crocus have long come and gone and in their place are the hosta plants and phlox springing up.  The peonies seem to grow INCHES each day!

The grass is green and lush and is ready for cutting already.

My wind chime is singing in the cool breeze of early May, filling me with deep tones that announce more patio days to come when the tune will softly play a song to nap to on the patio couch.

My mother's lilies of the valley are up and tiny blossoms promise a legacy from the house I grew up in that I work so hard to continue here.  Each year for the last 10 years since I planted the few and prayed over them, asking Mom to continue her legacy, they have struggled to stay.  This year looks good.

The heady scent of the lilacs can be drawn in from the front porch 126 feet away like a sweet blanket that hovers over the front yard.  Soon I will cut blooms and bring that smell inside to fill the house with the love of my space.

And soon we will hang the string lights shaped like hot air balloons all over the yard stretching from tree to tree and plant the pots for the patio and yard.

Soon there will be movies on the back of the garage in the moon light with piñon wood burning in the chimnea or music to sing to as we share pitchers of sangria or a cold beer from the cooler on the deck.

Rowing season is open and I am dedicated to giving it to myself this year, improving and enjoying it. The last two summers have been emotionally dedicated to tough situations now behind me.  I want to truly enjoy this sport I love.

It was easy and hard this winter...  easy that it was a tolerable weather season and we were blessed to travel more than once to warmer climates.  Easy in sharing evenings in front of the fire with the pups and bottles of wine loving each other watching movies and being peaceful.

Hard in missing two pups that have left us in the last 18 months and feeling their love still here, their presence no longer a part of the physical group.  Their spirits always around as they sit up on the shelf now in a different form.

But I am so very grateful.  This is my very favorite time of year.  Rebirth.  Renewal.  Reconnection.  And I will breathe in every day the sweet air of the flowers, the blooming trees, the grass beneath my feet.  Their sleep is over as is mine.  Time to rejoice in the beauty of spring.

Here we go <3

Happy birthday and Happy Mother's Day Mom...

Happy birthday Mom, and Happy Mother's Day...

You were born on Mother's Day.  Well over 80 years ago.

A twist of irony for a woman who never wanted kids and said if she HAD to have them she would sit them on a fence and throw rocks at them.  And you did to your oldest ...

Ours was not an easy journey.  I never quite knew what I did to merit the treatment I got, the pain I endured.  And for whatever reason, the last year has been a painful journey of recall -- like ripping a scab off a wound and exposing it to hot water.  The realization that I endured being the daughter of a narcissistic mother.  One who had no reservation in the verbal and emotional abuse that created a litany of scars that like their physical counterparts, never quite disappear and will come back into view in the light at times.  Someone who had no compunction putting themselves entirely ahead of the daughter who desired only your approval of her...or anything she did.  A mother who told her daughter that she had made up her mind when she was an infant that she would never tell her she was attractive, or pretty, or anything of the like so that her daughter would not develop an ego.  And there was so much more...

For genetic reasons we never had children.  But I was secretly happy for that so many times because I was mortified that I would pass on the behavior that I knew to be maternal, what I thought a mother was.   Or what I knew one to be.  And in another twist of irony, got another version of you via marriage.  I wondered if I had stolen a candy bar in another life and this was some form of karmic retribution.

Little did I realize that it was setting the stage for me to know precisely what to be when a mother was needed...one that was not by birth.

I never realized that I would be a mother to SO many amazing young women despite never having given birth myself.  I would be honored and privileged to be a professor at a woman's university and at another university be a sorority mom for 15 years.

I would go on to sit for hours and dry tears, hug hard and not let go, to laugh until it hurt.  I would have to deliver news that their actions would come back to haunt them and they had to make changes.    And they were pissed.  There were those times that I would be honored to deliver praise.  I would be the one to tell them to stand tall and never let anyone tell them that they were anything but stunning and beautiful and bright and intelligent.  I would have to hold in tears and my own sobs listening to some of their stories that ripped the heart right out of my chest...and then cry all the way home knowing I could not fix what they were enduring.  They had to live their own lives and learn through pain.  But I could be there for them, like no one had been for me.

I have been beyond humbled to be a part of their weddings.  To be included in showers, bachelorette parties, to hold their newborn babies.  To attempt to provide loving words when relationships failed.  To be a mother when they had one of their own that mimicked your behavior and they felt alone and heartbroken.  To sometimes just share time with them.

One of those beautiful young women will wear my veil in her wedding shortly.  Every time I think of that day coming when I will put it in her hair and her love in asking to wear it, I shed tears.  Happy tears.  I want to know that I have been there for her and that she is carrying a legacy that fills my heart since I do not have my own birth children.  This was an honor I never dreamed I'd experience.

And yet somehow, I feel that you have been playing a role in some of this from Heaven lately, knowing and seeing the pain I have felt.

In the last year, as I struggled with painful memories gurgling to the surface, a childhood friend reconnected.  I have no idea how it came out but we shared memories and realized we shared much of the same pain and many similar situations, though she had it much worse.   And though I felt a bit validated that I was not alone, it was still a dull ache in my heart.  I struggled profoundly with a number of things that floated in my mind and made me wonder why you did and said the things you did.  Was I that horrible a child to have?

The universe has a way of doing things that are perfect timing.  Magical if you pay attention.  And if you acknowledge them, well, life-changing at times.

Cue in my friend Kathy from Ohio that out of the blue told me to read the book The Shack.  Now know that I have never MET Kathy but since we are in puppy rescue we have formed a special bond via technology. You know that though I think, Mom don't you? Because I think somehow you set up some pretty mystical cool things in the last couple of weeks...

I bought the book Kath suggested, not even reading what it was about.  Tucked it in my tote back to take on the plane for my girls' weekend in Sedona last weekend.  Sedona has a magic all its own and yet the book and weekend never connected in my head.  I started reading it on the plane.  It is about a man's encounter with God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit.  Way cool because though I kicked organized religion to the curb several years back, I am still deeply spiritual.  Got to a stopping point and the plane landed and it was time to drive north to the condo.

Relaxing and hiking and we ran into two young guys who were at the end of our hike on Sunday.  Chatted and laughed a bit with them on the end of the walk and waved farewell.

And the next day ran into them at the Grand Canyon as we walked the South Rim.  Serendipitous, no?

As we walked toward the lodge to have lunch, the four of us, one of the guys said to me out of the blue "Have you read the book The Shack?"  (cue Twilight Zone music here...)  And as I recovered myself I told him that I was reading it on the plane but not finished.

We briefly talked about the section where I had stopped and what we both liked up until then.  And then he commented "Wait until the judgment chair chapter."  I asked him to say more and boldly shared with him that this was a year that I had been struggling with my mother's treatment of me and I didn't quite know how to put my broken heart to rest, mentioned that I hoped this weekend gave insight.  He only said that when I was done I would feel better and love my mother in a new way and forgive her like I didn't think I could.  I asked how he thought this would happen but he would not tell me anything more and conversation then moved to what the soup of the day was in the restaurant.

Finished with our hike, we bid farewell to Matt and Morey and drove back to Sedona where rainbows seemed to be everywhere among the red rocks.  Was that you?  It was Uncle Dick's birthday the day before and I know he sent that one on that day after we toasted him with a giant margarita :)

The next morning, we got on our planes and headed home.  As the flight attendant came down the aisle for service she looked down, tapped my book and said, "I've read it 4 times and cried every time.  You will not be the same afterward."  As she moved past me, the 80-something lady across the aisle looked at what I was reading and said "I've read that book a number of times.  It is so moving."

The messages were billboards at that point.  Neon signs.

I arrived at the chapter about The Judgment Chair.  I decided if I was going to bawl, flight 169 was not the best spot so I put it away and anticipated cuddling in bed with the pups to finish since the hubs was in Orlando.

Though I am not yet finished with the book, the chapter about The Judgment Chair was read twice.  It is humbling, moving, insightful, spiritual...  It did make me cry.  And I do hope I am never the same again, in a great way.

I will not question the chain of events or the book being a parable, or meeting random guys on a hike or any of it.  I'll take it.

My pal Deb calls these God winks.  This one was huge.

Matt was right Mom, I love you like I didn't think I could before.  And I recall and love the times of gardening and sewing and bargain shopping and calling you for cooking advice.  And I am so very grateful for YOU.  You have given me many gifts to become who I am today.  Though it took a book, a hike, and a few other things to understand it.

And this pathway that started with Kathy telling me to get a book was one of them, that I am certain of.  I will finish this week, I can't wait.

I love you to the moon and back.  I am so grateful for you and this latest gift.  I am grateful that you are still listening.  I am grateful for all that you do from your perch above.  I miss you and am happy that I am blessed to pass along the love I have to those I am supposed to.  I am profoundly grateful for the healing and fulfillment.

Happy Mother's Day Momma and Happy Birthday.  I was the one who got the best gift in you and what I was to learn to be a mother to so many.  It must have worked because I got my own Mother's Day text today from one of my special girls...  "Happy Mother's Day to the strongest, smartest, most beautiful and kick ass mom a girl can have...I  love you <3"  and there were other reaches out to fill my heart.  I  know the fur kids love me but this was special...and somehow I am the person I am with you in my life.  And I choose to make that a good thing.

tradition, legacy, laughter and the testifying, death-defying, heart-stopping, pants-dropping, house-rocking, earth-quaking, booty-shaking, Viagra-taking, love-making ...

My first time with him was on St. Patrick's Day in 1988.

He was loud.  It lasted 4 hours with no stopping, like a roller coaster.

I could not hear.  I could not breathe.  I was hoarse from screaming. My body was worn from being in constant motion the whole 4 hours.

I was in love.

And the next day I went out and bought the boxed set of hits, and more after that.

THE BOSS.  Bruce Springsteen.  I had never experienced anything like it.  It was the most amazing concert I had ever been to and I was hooked.

A few weeks ago we went to his performance in our area of The River tour.  The man is months away from turning 67 (as are most of the members of the E Street Band now also) and he performed 36 songs that went on for slightly over 3-1/2 hours.

It. Was. Orgasmic.

As are all of his concerts.

I love that Max wears a dress shirt, tie and vest to most concerts.

I love that Stevie is still playing with him after 50 years together.

I love that Jake Clemmons, nephew of The Big Man, saxophonist Clarence Clemmons who passed away a few years back, has continued the legacy and is now playing with the band.

I love seeing Nils working it.

Two have passed away in the years gone by, but the legacy continues.

The music is soulful, in so many ways.  You rock, you remember, you dance...  At his concert last week in Madison Square Garden, his 90 year old mother danced on stage with him.  It is music for everyone.

I love that they all look like they are having so much fun together on stage.  They like one another.  They are that well-oiled machine we all hear about.

And weeks later I still have ear worms that are nothing but Springsteen...  Thunder Road, Out on the Street, Rosalita...  

And soon we will see him again...  The hubs said "let's go again" and I started the motion to another rockin' event.  This one will be epic :)

Stay tuned, it will top this one in our area and I am grateful for the opportunity, the fun, the music, the memories, and Bruce Springsteen and the testifying, death-defying, heart-stopping, pants-dropping, house-rocking, earth-quaking, booty-shaking, Viagra-taking, love-making ... E. STREET. BAND!

Wait and see where we go next <3

Thanks Boss, I am grateful because you and the E's and your music have rocked my world :)  See you soon!

rest, rejuvenation, reconnection and love

The chill of morning and exhaustion of life was at the door.  I was beyond grateful that our sweet house sitter was tucked in bed and the pups smooched us goodbye in the dark of the hours before dawn.  We were off to the airport...

We had buried my sweet uncle a few weeks ago, I lost my fur baby girl a few months back, the hubs is on the road a lot and I find myself exhausted to the depths of my soul from so much.  We have had family drama also...the kind that you shake your head at and say "they just can't make this shit up."  Some days I wonder if I have dementia and then realize that I just do not want to think...about anything.  I do not want to engage the grey matter in anything but listening to the waves on the beach and my favorite singers serenade me with "Sabor a mi" in the square while I nurse a cold margarita...maybe sangria.

The sun.  I lay on the beach and a norte has moved in creating wind gusts that are enough to blow me away.  And it is freezing...which some may laugh at considering the fact I am just above the equator on a beach and I live spitting distance from Canada and the coldest city in the US.  But as I lay on the beach, with my black fleece zipped to my neck and the sand whipping around me, I could care less.

We landed to two friends waiting for us who bound out of their car with smiles and laughter and the embraces that everyone dreams of when arriving to a beloved spot.  They drove us to our hacienda where our sweet friend Linda greeted us with the smile and hugs that tell us we are in our place of laughter and love.  And we go into our apartment and look around to find an enormous floral arrangement greeting us and breathe in the salt air as we throw open the windows...

We sit on the sea wall with more dear friends and watch the final parade of Carnaval.  As the wind picks up and the cool of the night gets a bit much, we run to find dinner and instead run into a friend who is in the parade and stops to have her picture taken with us.  It's the laughter, the festivity, the love of someone we consider family we have just run into, that fills my heart.  She and her husband own a bar named Ohana...Ohana means family and she and her hubs and her siblings are our family in so many ways.

I so needed this.

In the coming days we sit under a palapa (the hubs does) and I lay in the sun to let it seep in at first, then sink deep into my soul.  To feel the healing warmth of a place that has always seemed to have my heart in its hand and has provided some of the best times of the last 21 years.

We wander in and out of shops browsing.  We get massages from our amazing gal pal Sally.  We see our friends who own restaurants and bars where we stop for something cold to say hello and catch up, it's been a year.

We go to a puppy kissing booth at a favorite bar on Valentines day to benefit the Humane Society where we sponsor two kennels.  Our parade friends are there and we relax after kisses and join them for a drink and so much laughter.  Then we head off to dinner at an incredible restaurant to watch another breathtaking puesta del sol and have dinner together.

We stop to see Miguel, our amigo who we met 21 years ago on our honeymoon and who has been a dear friend since then.  I remember his 4th child, Victoria, being born and he tells us that she is now 15 and about to celebrate her quinceanera.

We drive north chasing a rainbow we see to take pictures and see where it begins in the water and ends in the jungle...

We walk hand-in-hand to buy vanilla for our friend Judy, to buy a gift for my rowing partner Cathy who lost her beloved pup Kenya, to buy a present for our house/puppy sitter that we are blessed to have caring for our babies.  And we talk to the cruise ship people who are looking for souvenirs and beers for $1.

I am grateful that shortly we will escort a pup home for a couple that fell in love like we have 3 times now.  An island perro who will now make the journey with us home to find a new life with people who knew he was the new one to be added to their family.  We were in the right place at the right time to be able to escort Manny to his new home, just as Manny was in the right place at the right time to serendipitously find Kyle and Becki.

And I take it all in and let it heal the sadness, the emptiness that has seemed to overtake me in the last several months with so much loss and pain and all that goes with that.  The sun, the coveted time alone with the hubs, the friendship with people who are not constantly judging me.  The sound of the waves, the peace of the other side of the island where there is no one but us and the sea and sun.  The laughter of good people happy to see us.  And I am comforted to know that in a month's time we will be back to connect with our Canadian friends that we have known since those honeymoon days...

And more laughter with them, more sun, more peace.  More time with my books.  Some time in the water snorkeling with my camera taking pictures of my fish friends.  More time with the hubs on the other side while I listen to the waves and he walks and tosses a stick in the sea only to retrieve it and toss it back over and over again.  Time to see our dear friend Martin before he retires from our traditional first-night dinner spot.

I am blessed and grateful for this.  Not many have this opportunity.  In a season where I have felt like I ride an emotional roller coaster coping with grief and sadness and adjustment to loss, I am grateful for this spot that is so many times, my utopia.  My solace.  My deep breath of peace.   It doesn't cure everything, but it does make me feel a bit more whole, a bit more peaceful, a bit more ready to face it all.

grateful for my amazing Uncle...RIP We have the watch.

Fair winds and following seas to you.  Rest in peace, we have the watch.

He was a Navy man that joined as a teenager in World War II.  He served on the USS Intrepid aircraft carrier in the South Pacific.

He was a Purple Heart award winner.  But to "win" a purple heart is not a win really, it means you have been wounded in action.

He never talked about the time in war except for those funny stories and tales of liberty in Hawaii or in the Philippines when he got a tattoo.  Or tell about being at sea for 3 months with nothing but bread and ketchup to eat...and the bread was filled with weevils that they had to pick out.

But one time I was brave enough to ask if it was hard.  Dumb question but I wondered if he wanted to talk all these decades later.  He only made the comment that it was hard playing cards with your buddy one night and sewing him up the next.  Sewing him up in canvas to be buried at sea after his buddy lost his life in battle...

My uncle Dick lost his battle at age 90 last week.  He went the way he should have.  Told his nurse that he didn't feel like going to the dining room for dinner, wanted something in his room.  She brought him a dinner drink (the kind you drink when you're 90) and he patted her on the cheek and thanked her.  Fell asleep and moved home to Heaven.

He was so wonderful.  And so loved by so many.

There was a poem read at his funeral that is so powerful and says a  lot about how his lived his life.  He did an exceptional job...

The Dash

by Linda Ellis

 

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend

 

He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end

 

He noted that first came her date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,

 

But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years

 

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.

 

And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

 

For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,

 

What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

 

So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?

 

For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.

 

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real

 

And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

 

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more

 

And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.

 

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile

 

Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

 

So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash

 

Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

I can still hear his laughter and stories.  He always had a story and always smiled and laughed.  This man who had survived a war and so much more always laughed and smiled.  And never, ever had a negative thing to say.

I think now of how much I want to emulate him.  He was positive no matter what.

He had a whack job of an ex-wife.  Five kids, not one of whom showed up to pay respects, sent flowers, or even a card (OK two are dead...but still.)  Grandchildren and great grandchildren.  Not one showed up or acknowledged his passing.  He would have never said a bad thing about that...it makes me sick.

His second wife, who was married to him 39 years stood there until the end, but the most devoted of everyone I think was his step daughter and her two children, who were there every minute and for the last 39 years have been there with him to laugh and cry at life...when his own kids rarely cared enough to give a passing thought.  True love was there.  Those two grandkids who were there for him carried his ashes and flag to the gravesite.  I was proud and heartbroken at the same time.

There was a line out the door of the wake of his work friends, many high school friends still alive, his golf buddies, his bowling buddies, his pals from their winter home in Arizona who were home in IL at that time.  His coffee buddies from the donut shop.  His friends from the cardiac rehab unit who said he was the one who always made the new people feel welcome and at ease by taking them under his wing.  His funeral was packed the next day.

Everyone loved him, everyone loved his stories.  Everyone loved his smile and  laugh.

He loved his Chicago Cubs and Chicago Bears.  I truly hoped the Cubbies might win the series this year and he'd see it before he died.

He loved his puppy Luna and lived for her visits to the nursing home in the last months.

I loved how much he loved my husband and how proud he was of him...like the hubs was his own son.

He loved golf and played until he could not do it any longer.  He always lamented that he taught his wife to play and she made a hole in one and in all of his years he never did.  He treasured the trips to major golf tournaments that my brother took him to.

He played basketball in high school and everyone knew who he was as a star on the team.  He was a rock star athlete.

I only got to see him about once a year when I went home but now that I cannot see him, I look at pictures and that smile and can still hear the words he always said when I kissed him goodbye...

"Behave yourself."

I will Uncle Dick.  And I will make sure that I stay positive and happy like you always did through some pretty lousy parts of life.  I will laugh and love like you did.  You were a huge blessing in my life and I'm blessed and grateful for the family I now have through you to hold to my heart.

So,

Fair winds and following seas to you.  Rest in peace Uncle Dick, we have the watch.