Category Archives: Relationships

December is Done

Thank the stars! December was a crap month.

This is a photo of Phoenix that was made into a canvas painting which now hangs in my kitchen along with her collar, tags, and her ashes which has her favorite baby (lambchop stuffie) in the blue velvet bag.

April 29, 2011-December 19, 2024

She was the best girl. She never met a stranger, behaved herself (mostly) when we went on adventures. I inherited her from my friend, Nancy McCord when it wasn’t possible for her to care for Phoenix anymore.

Phoe will always be the girl who gave me back my heart.

When I lost my dear Pumpkin a few years back, I was heartbroken. Phoenix and my therapist helped me to understand that I wasn’t replacing Punky, nothing could, but I was allowing the love to continue.

Phoe loved to rearrange rugs, chase her lamby, go on sniffaris, and generally loved the world. My heart was heavy, but she was getting increasingly confused, fell down the steps of my deck, and became incontinent. I knew it would come, but I didn’t want to say goodbye. I did take her for a great ride around before I brought her to the vets who loved her so much.

I wanted to be okay with it. I felt grief, but I also felt a loneliness for her clicking claws on my floor. I missed her greeting me when I came home from work. I missed her wanting to be on my lap to be loved on.

With a bit of guilt, I started searching for a new extention of love. I wanted to find a small baby to grow old with. I didn’t contact anybody. I went with my Beastie to say goodbye to her 16 year old soulmate, Simmy. We wallowed in our sorrow that Monday.

On Sunday next, I made my usual trek over to my Beastie’s house where she confessed that she was looking at puppies too. With great relief that I wasn’t the only one, we searched, talked, shared, poked about, finally deciding on a Knoxville no-kill shelter where there were fuzzballs.

Before I went to meet the pups, my Beastie went exploring to see what they had “in stock”. She told me I needed to meet Mocha. I reluctantly agreed.

This little dog was in a corner room that had a small poo and a small puddle with a blanket. I agreed to meet her, but I was kind of looking for a baby.

She put her feet on my leg, so I picked her up. She “frog hugged” me. (Front legs around my neck, back legs splayed across my belly).

I thought, “Uh oh.” But the pressure I felt to CHOOSE ME! LOVE ME! forced me not to knee-jerk my reaction. We took her for a walk outside. She behaved brilliantly on the leash. She pottied. I brought her back in and went to meet the wee ones.

This is Finley (Phinley). He is about 8 weeks old (give or take) and living in foster care with three of his siblings. He is cute, cuddly, and so little! I loved him and he kissed me repeatedly.

On my way home from meeting Mocha and Finley, in the still of my racing brain. I knew where my heart belonged. It had been stolen quickly and completely.

Mocha’s profile is regal. Her adoration is apparent on her face. She LOVES to give kisses. The sleeping picture was after a day at the dog park, a pup cup, a new winter jacket (trip to the pet store), and a play session with her friend Keiver and several larger dogs.

Today is Mocha Choka Latte’s gotcha day. Her birthday is December 12 (But I’m moving it to the 19th). She’s an Italian Greyhound/chihuahua mix. She’s a little over a year old. Her adoption was finalized today. I’m in love.

A little history about this love of a pup. She was owner surrender because she bit a child who was feeding her from their hand. The owners wanted her put down. Mocha also nipped one of the volunteers at the shelter when given a treat.

At intake, in November, Mocha weighed in at 10 pounds. Today, after her spay, she’s at 14.4 pounds. I’m going to guess her food insecurity caused her food aggression. I’m already in talks with a dog trainer to see what can be done to guide Mocha to live her best life.

I’m in it till death do us part, so here’s to the continuation of love that Piggy, Punky, and Phoenix all gave to me with all of their hearts.

The Fearless Chalice

Let the light of hope blaze
Fearlessly raised against all doubt
Truth in observance praised
Darkness lost in deepest drought


Let the sacred heart grow
Fearlessly held by mercy’s grace
Kindness to our siblings flow
honoring our different faiths


Let the truth within our lives
Fearlessly show our love to kin
Justice minded as we strive
Vessels of honest reason


Let community be strong
Fearlessly the Chalice light
Guide us to know right from wrong
Even in the darkest night

Don’t Go

The match burst unexpectedly into a flame
The tender tinder caught
An ignition of late-night discussions
That pursued verbal intercourse
Vulnerability exposed; naked
An incredible view from the mountain
Where true north was marked on our compass
The heat and warmth of intention
Splayed out in tranquility and mutual reliance
Invited to an adventure of a lifetime
We blazed new trails through trials
But apathetic time broke the compass
And people do what makes sense to them
The safe place became a wasn’t
And a not now, not ever.
The allure got eaten by silence
When all I wanted to hear was
“Don’t go.”

Nancy’s Earworm

I had a last minute cancellation this afternoon which allowed me to spend time with a woman I met in the course of my work. We had a grand conversation. She asked me if I ever had a song stuck in my head that I just couldn’t get rid of.

“Why yes, that’s called an earworm.” I replied.

She laughed joyously.

“What song do you have stuck in your head?” I prodded.

She started singing. I asked her permission to record her to which she agreed. This is her singing and my video representation of her version of the song: When I Get Too Old To Dream.

Homeostasis

Survival mode stepped to the side
Allowing an informal reprieve from chaos
An acknowledgement of mutual security
The stability that came to dinner
Pulled up a chair and feasted gluttonously
On a childhood fantasy for totemic inclusion
Seized the steadfastness of a kinship
Situated in a sprawled right relationship
Ladling the gravy of laughter over
Legendary stories of affinity
A communion of flavorful moments
Savored in a homemade assurance of loyalty
With an abundance of whipped cream

A Pilgrimage

Death offers the warm embrace of peace
A loving homage to the newly deceased
Life used to stay busy; feel overly productive
The spiral of drowsing is overwhelmingly seductive
No more errands or things to do
No more arguments of personal truth
With warmest lust on the coldest skin
An allegiance unfurls with the shifting winds
What was once taken for granted truly is sated
The breath comes no more from the body related
And yet as a witness to the dearly departed
A journey, a pilgrimage, a trail never charted
Speculation like specters gather for court
Dressed in saint’s clothing, suspended transport
the breathing world is holding hands with Death
leaving lamentations from the loved ones bereft

Daily Rituals

Kawphy Time and Morning Prayers

Each day I make a fresh cup of Kawphy (familial spelling handed down from my Grandfather (Bapa) on my mother’s side). I have one of my friends over, or I call my Bestie, or I call my mother before the first sip is tasted.

When my partner has their cup at the ready, I recite this prayer:

To your ancestors
To my ancestors
From my spirit
to your spirit
to OUR spirit
Thank you Grand Rapids Fire Department
Bless this holy water.

Context: My Great-Grandfather and my Grandfather both worked for the GRFD. It is common family belief that the next part of the ritual originated at their place of service.

Then we both take a noisy first sip and in unison say:

Ahhh, Nectar of the Gods!

The morning ritual is complete. I did this every day with my mother, but she doesn’t always remember. My Bestie has taken up the ritual as a way for us to start our day together.

Gratitudes

At the end of the day Jen, the aforementioned Bestie, would sit with her son and they would do “Gratitudes.” It’s a truly sweet ritual. One evening she was lamenting that her son had already gone to bed and asked if I’d do them with her.

Absolutely! We take turns sharing thing we’re grateful for either in our lives or during the day we’ve just had. I asked if we could do three external (meaning things that happened or we did) and one internal (positive things about who we are). She agreed.

Today, for example, I am grateful for my gift of wordsmithing, of being able to meet people where they are, for my friends, and for my parents still being available.

Once we’ve both stated the things, we complete the ritual with:

We are grateful for these things and so many more.

I wanted to share them with you because they’re important parts of my day. Which daily rituals do you honor? What helps you live the life you’re building with gratitude?

Campfire confessions

Grounding one’s heart
on the hearth of a campfire
recommitting branched souls to dust
smoldering with barely seen confessions
blazing with a lust to remain relevant
extinguished by time
returned to the mother

Widow’s Peak

She desires to be a widow

so bad that she can taste it

The casseroles and condolences

With open arms embraced it

She wears no widow’s weed

Nor tithed the widow’s Mite

With crocodile tears in her eyes

Their mourning her spotlight

When the flowers have all wilted

And the calls have all but eased

Will she then be grateful

That it was he deceased?

Note: This isn’t written about anyone in particular. It’s a what if.

Delusional

The devil came to my door

He rang the bell and cried

He lied that I was once adored

His chest puffed out with pride

His deception blackly oozed because

There is blood upon his hands

By his nature he’s embodied faux pas

In his hollowed-out grandstand

Convinced there is an audience

Still, he bows his head to pray

“No.” is nothing obvious

I refuse him the time of day

He invades my home with anger

Grief that should have long been spent

His recklessness is dangerous

But he simply won’t relent

His wounds are dark and oozing

His heart is arctic cold

He reminds me that he thinks of me

At least that’s what I’m told

His prayers remain unanswered

He leans on crutch and wit

His aura is all cancered

No blame will he remit