Maturing Past

Sometimes we hang onto things because we have nothing else
We hold onto the past, keeping it alive as our present,
because it is all we know
and at the very least,
it is something we can count on.
We know what to expect from it
and even if the past we know, is not a particularly enthralling one,
it is a comfort to know we have something.

At some point, it becomes overwhelmingly apparent
that the past we've grown accustomed to,
no longer appeases
and at this juncture,
it is more than obvious,
that we must mature beyond our past
and flourish into the future.

Are You Bonded?

The more one has invested

the more one has to lose

but choose to stay removed

and your gains are non-existent

and your losses -

even greater

Life is a bonding experience

Stay connected

Sun Dried Ink

When my world starts getting brighter, my creative ink evaporates with the heat of the sun
Only to be returned with the next torrential rain storm

Resource Riddle

A resource we do not have to dig for

it is free of charge and abundantly present

We waist more than we should

and we complain about it constantly

Despite the fact that we check our stash on a regular basis

we still lose it far too often

Regardless of what we do

we are unable to keep it contained

and despite the fact that it expires and replenishes itself

we lose a small piece of it forever

constantly

???????????????

Time's Up

Colors of Callaway

Six years ago today I watched my dog die.  It was a horrible experience that brings me to tears each time I relive it.  Eight months prior to the accident, we adopted a dog from a shelter in Kentucky.  He was driven up to New Hampshire and we drove up to meet him.  He was a mess of mangled fur and stench, but the worst of it was his mental state.  He was only eight months old when we got him, but in his short life, he had already been abused. He was terrified to enter our home and it was a tug of war to get him into the house.  Once in, he would cower in corners and hide under anything he could fit under to get away from us.  It was tragic and incredibly difficult to see the terror in his eyes when we would approach him.  We spent extensive time and money retraining him and he grew to adore us.

 He was highly intelligent, and soon learned how to roll down the window in the car.  His resistance to containment would lead him to jump out of the car window while we were driving and it soon became habit to lock the window mechanism in the car so he couldn't jump out.  He loved other dogs, and when he was out playing with other dogs he was happiest.  He was extremely well behaved outside and off leash and extremely receptive to training in all regards except one.  He became intensely aggressive and protective of us in our home. I believe this was his way of paying us back for saving him..  In some way, he thought by guarding and protecting us, he was keeping us out of harms way., a harms way he was all too familiar with based on his prior situation. Whatever happened to him prior to finding a life with us, drove him to trust few humans, but we were his pack and he was determined to keep us safe. Ultimately, we would have to kennel him if any visitors were coming over and even still, he would growl fiercely and bark upon their entry.  I had young children at the time who were constantly in and out of the house with friends and it became apparent that we would not be able to keep him.



We loved him so we agreed to keep him at our home until they found him another home.  We did our best to continue working with him and keep him active.  One morning while playing with a neighbor's dogs in their yard, Callaway ran just outside the yard.  Another neighbor, driving much too fast hit him.  As he lay unable to move, but still alert, we ran to him.  His eyes locked on mine and I could see his body relax a bit.  He was terrified, as was I, but we quickly scoped him up and put him in the back of a truck and drove to the vet's office.  As we drove on that cool crisp morning, I could see him trying to hang on, glancing my way occasionally, but in far too much shock and pain to stay focused on me.  About half way to the vet's office I could see it was getting tougher and tougher for him. After one last look my way, he closed his eyes, and the life escaped his body.  As he lay in the back of the truck with me and my friend by his side, the mass amounts of blood released from his body and the puddle grew to touch both of us. At that moment, I knew he was gone.  It was heart wrenching and crushing to watch him go, but I am glad I was with him in his last moments.  I truly believe I was his closest friend on this earth.  The short eight months we had him were the best eight months of his short little 16 month life and we gave him the only pleasure he had ever experienced.

He has found another home and as I explained it to my children, this was the only home he could have gone to, that was going to be better than the one home he knew as ours.  I still miss Callaway and think of him often.  Shortly after he died  I wrote this poem about him and I think it sums up his life quite well...

Colors Of Callaway

White with wonder of the newborn snow

Temperamental tan, that comes and goes

Funny freckled feet that bound in play

Black with darkness from his younger days

A regal blond beauty, so meek and mild

Stained with shadings of a life once wild

His off-white streaks, mirror his mind

Chestnut brown eyes, so soft and kind

Pink with innocence, Grey with despair

A spectral of markings, should anyone care

Conflicted in colors, awash with distress

Shining with promise of future success

Inheriting Kindness

The whole idea of hereditary instincts and skills fascinates me.  When I was a child, my mother was extremely crafty.  She would have me scour the neighborhood for interesting items from nature.  I would come home with a bag full of acorns, pine cones, chestnuts, milk weed, wheat stalk, bean pods, and anything else, other than leaves, that trees shed in the fall.  We'd then find an interesting platter, plate, tray, or other source of containment and she would place a candle in the middle that complimented the items I had found.  We would then, hot glue the various treasures from nature around the candle.  We had to be certain to vary the heights, textures and colors of the items, but the end result was a beautiful centerpiece for the table.  This was just one of the many projects we would complete and I must say, this was my favorite.  When we lit that candle or passed them on as gifts, my spirit was equally illuminated with the shear joy of what we had created.  I am told I have inherited that creative flare and this amazes me.  How something that is mind driven can be inherited.  How does that work???  I understand the concept of inheriting physical talents, but when it comes to the brain and how we process information and our preferences, it astounds me that these types of skills can also be passed down from generation to generation.  Just like dogs that are bred to herd, or retrieve, rescue or guard. This too, baffles me.  How a mind, whether human or animal, processes information is something one can inherit, just like hair or eye color, or the ability to run fast, play an instrument, or be a mathematical genius.  All of these traits are passed on...  Does this also mean, compassion, kindness, and generosity are also transferable, or are these characteristics that are taught?  What determine which attributes pass through DNA, and which attributes require influential instruction? 
I guess it's the skills of the heart that are not inherited and that's a good thing.  This means we are all equally capable of being benevolent.  It comes down to how many of us choose to exercise our spirits for the good of others and that is a pattern that can be adopted by any and all, regardless of skill set or predilections. Live by example and warm the world with kindness.

Perfectionism

Perfectionism is an addiction to perpetual progress
It seems as though this would be a good thing
but it is the addiction itself, that handcuffs our happiness
freeing oneself  from these shackles
would be a progress of burgeoning re-birth