So I Was Wrong…Again

I like to think of myself as being tough and strong.  I’ve never found myself overly emotional about most things, but some yes.  And yet now and then something that doesn’t even impact my life in the same way as deaths or my illness comes along smacks me in the face.  And I am rendered anything but tough or strong.

When I read cases of people who are denied medical coverage for things simply because their genes got a little mixed up when they were knit together (completely beyond their control), I get emotional.  When I stop and consider the horrible conditions some people live with or work with, yeah that can get me caught up as well.

I won’t deny it, when I get caught up in this stuff I feel anything but strong.  But of course to not feel anything would be the sign of true weakness.  No one said life would be without pain.  No one said that when your friends have chronic illnesses you won’t find yourself ducking away for a good cry while they aren’t looking.

It’s been one of those moments dear readers.  One of those days where I have had to accept that a dear friend who is one of the strongest people I know is going through something I cannot even begin to help with let alone fix.  All I can do for this friend is be there.  And it seems like being there is absolutely useless, yet it’s what my friend needs and it’s something I can do.  And my friend needs to know it’s okay to cry, it’s okay if we both cry.


Perching Dragons

A brilliant red dragon perched ever so carefully on Beloved’s foot as he sat in one of the big chairs that face the setting sun.  Curled up in his lap was the four-footed one.  The dragon kept watch over the sunset while the four-footed one slept and Beloved was lost in his thoughts.

I stood there, watching them for a period of time.  Watching the way the light reflected its different hue so softly against Beloved’s.  The four-footed one seemed to be at peace with her day, she had no need or interest in watching the soft apricot light give way to darker reddish-orange glows as the sun continued to set down.  I could have stood there watching forever, except that wasn’t possible.  Not with the crease deepening on Beloved’s forehead.

He is the sort of man, my Beloved, who will tell you nothing is wrong even when he is dealing with his world shifting in him.  He will smile and ask on about you and never give you one moments reason to give pause.  And it was no different when we came back from an outing for shoes today and I asked about that faint beginning of a crease just there.

He said it was nothing and went off to face out the big picture window while he did some research.  The four-footed one may have noticed that crease grow deeper, changing shape as time went one and they played together.  But if she did she wasn’t sharing.  And now, with the sun setting and the dragon silently keeping watch, the crease had deepens to the point of being worrisome.

And so I disturbed them, to offer him a cup of tea, which he smiled and turned down.  Instead he patted the chair beside him and pointed lazily out the window at the last rays making their way towards the ground.  He said nothing until it grew dark and he was lost in the soft darkening shadows.  And in that growing darkness he spoke softly, sharing his concerns, as though he couldn’t say any of it while the sun was up.

We sat there, in the darkness, the words heavy between us.  Try as I may, I could not ease those concerns, but I could sit with him.  Sometimes that’s all any of us can do, and hope we have a perching dragon to watch over with us.

Out There And Back Here

I was thinking I probably didn’t stand a change, not even a faint one when I see him leaning against a podium.  But nothing ventured is nothing gained as they say and so with a deep breath and a fluttering heart I made my way to where he was.  I prayed the words would somehow come to me during that painful walk to where he stood.

Instead he turned and smiled my way and asked me where I was going and by that point, I had no way of knowing where it was going or where I was going other than hopefully to some more time with him.  Years kind of slip by when you are lost in just trying to hold on while a man who isn’t used to driving starts driving.  I still don’t know where I am, not really, but I’m somewhere with him some of the time.

And while I may not think that he belongs in the wild blue yonder, I know he need to be there.  In order to get back to me, from where he has been,  Until he needs to leave again.  And if you had told me this would be my life years earlier, I would have laughed at you.  I may not have even bothered with making my way to him.  But you never can tell where any one thing or person will take you and if you are open to the adventure, there are many that are sure to be found.  Even those that include the wild blue yonder.

Goodness Me

His voice drifted lightly to where I was sitting. Melodic poetry swirled around me from the kitchen, where he was singing as he cooked.  Van Morrison, I suspected.  It was, after all, one of those days.  A day full of cooking and music while I sat uselessly in a chair trying to forget about harsh and ugly words.  Those which had flown so easily from my lips to lash at him.

And now he was in the kitchen, singing what I was certain was Van Morrison’s songs while he prepared what sounded like enough food to last at least a month.  Van, after all, was skilled at putting poetry to music and Beloved was nothing if not a lover of poetry and music. He also happens to not be a bad signer, having spent time with choirs in a previous life.  Me, I can’t carry a tune in a bucket and I have been offered money to not sing.

The four-footed one happens to be a lover of music, well at least fond of music.  She is a lover of food and will endure even my version of singing if it means a scrap of food might come her way.  She is also no fool, she could sense this mood that had drifted down upon me sometime while I slept and thus had given me a wide berth all day long.  She and Beloved are no fools, opting to provide me with my own space and ignoring my mood.

It is hard, these times, when I realize just how little I energy or strength to do anything.  It is hard to allow that lupus has found an upper hand again and now I must sit and rest, waiting until I had found the way through this latest downturn.  While Beloved had to manage the house, the dog, his needs and mine all on his own.  Not that he complains, not ever, which makes it even worse somehow. As though he is above this, saintly next to my dark sinned filled wretched soul.

The harsh, ugly words had been hurled his way after he told me to get some rest when he brought me a book to read, a knowing smile just about there on his lips. I had wanted to throw that book at him.  Truthfully I wanted him to have to sit in the chair, rest while the world went on all around him.  I’d not ask him to sit like that for long, just enough for him to see what it was like for me as fun went on where he was not.  (Not that my singing would entice even the most deaf of demons to come into where I was, but it  you get the idea.)

I knew, as the last lines of a song hung gently in the air, that soon he’d come to see if I wanted help heading up to bed. As if I were a small child who needed to be told to go to bed, or worse needed to be carried to bed .   Oh yes, this then is lupus at its worst. While not the disease, no the disease can be so much worse. Rather this is me at my worst, Beloved and the four-footed one being targets of my rage since I cannot throw a book or toss harsh words at lupus in any way that causes any damage.



The Problem With…….Me

The problem with the beach is that in order to get to the water’s edge, I have to carefully make my way across the sharp stones, course sand and debris before I reach the soft, wet sand and feel the water gently caress my feet.

The problem with the beach is that in order to enjoy myself, I need to wear protection:  beach shoes to make my way down to the water’s edge, sun screen (enough to cover a large house, applied a million times over), a large hat, sleeves and an umbrella.  It’s a lot to carry or wear for a few hours of water and sand.

The problem with the beach is that Beloved adores it.  He needs to feel the water on his feet, he needs to walk the wet sand and let the gentle breeze that is always present blow his worries away.

The problem with the forest is that there are roots and branches on the ground, threatening to trip me up.  I have to watch where I place my feet which means I cannot enjoy the majestic beauty of the forest.

The problem with the forest is that I have to jump small pieces of shrubbery and try to avoid landing on sharp stones while my balance is less than stellar to go with my shorter legs.

The problem with the forest is that Beloved adores walking through it.  He feels as if he is apart of something magical when he strides across the secretive landscape, finding treasures along the way.

The problem with time is that it keeps slipping through my hands, far too fast for my liking, at least when Beloved is around. Before I know it, it is time for him to leave again.

The problem with time is each moment seems to take an eternity to pass when Beloved isn’t here.  A lifetime seems to pass from one breath to the next while I wait for his arrival.

The problem with love is that while it is a sweet thing, it is also a bitter thing.

The problem with love is that it is fickle and fragile.  It twists and it turns with no logic, leaving me behind and struggling to find my footing.  The problem with love is that I don’t understand it, not really.  It just sort of happens and you hang on for the ride, hoping the low parts zip by faster than the good parts.


Apparently there is a chicken in a barn.  Who’s? Barn?  What barn?  Mine barn?  Doubt it.  I don’t have a barn.  I’d like a barn, of sorts.  I’d like animals, which would result in the need of a barn of sorts.  Or another house.  For the animals.  Just so we’d have enough bedrooms.

And let’s be clear here all of my animals would be pets.  Pets that are part of the family.  Pets that are loved and spoiled. So yeah Jerry Lee Lewis, if that’s the type of barn you were singing about then perhaps I get it.  But it probably still wouldn’t really be a barn.

But sure, there’d be a whole lotta shaking going on.  As well as running and resting.  Eating and jumping.  Because let’s face it, play time is super important.  So is rest time and eating time.  And cuddle time.  Let’s not for get about that.

So if there is shaking happening it’s from needing to shake out fur.  And wonderful shaking that happens from laughter and play.  Yep that’s the whole lotta shaking I’m talking about.

Who wouldn’t encourage that type of shaking?  Certainly not I.  Nor Beloved.  Not ever.  We’d be right in the middle of it all!

Nine, It’s Not Just A Number

Nine. As in the number. It isn’t large by some standards, and yet by others it sounds like a lot. Nine, as in nine little puppies. Just born. Nine wiggly and separate beings. Nine new lives. And one very exhausted mother no doubt.

I cannot imagine nine puppies in my house all at once. I think I would probably melt from the sheer cuteness of it all. I know I’d be a zombie from the lack of sleep with the noise they make and the worrying that comes with nine new lives. I cannot imagine the amount of cuddliness nine new puppies bring either.

Let’s face it, I struggle with one. One four-footed being who managed to sneak into my broken and hardened heart. I lost control of the house, my expectations and yes frankly my life as I used to know it, once one small, not exactly new-born puppy crossed the threshold of my doorway. And at the time, having had other four-footed ones in my life, I had thought that it would be pretty much the same as before. Some adjustments and getting to know each other and we’d kind of move as one.

I was wrong. This four-footed one is just as head-strong and stubborn as I am and that is where the problem kicks in. Because neither of us gives easily. And I am trying to imagine a life with nine new puppies just like my four-footed one. And the truth is I can’t. Not really.

I can imagine cuddles, and puppy piles. I can imagine wiggly bodies and boundless energy followed by necessary napping time. I can imagine clumsy movements as they figure out moving forward and backward on those oversized feet. These things I can imagine. But I can also imagine the drain of nine new beings in my current state of struggle with just one overly energetic being.

As for mom, well I cannot even imagine. Nine puppies. Hungry, curious and all the rest. For her to look after. Thankfully they are all doing well, according to my friend. And in time I shall summon energy or simply force myself to go and check out the puppy pile. Because nine is the right number for a puppy pile this time.