Ghosts of Christmas Past

I have my grandmother's briefcase where she kept her stationary and correspondence. It sits under my desk at home. It smells of old leather and paper - like an old library book.

Nini was my grandmother. She lived in Florida near us and was never caught without lipstick or little gold clip-on earrings. On the weekends I would get to spend with her, we would have roast beef for dinner followed by a Pepperidge Farm's Coconut Cake. On Sunday morning after church, she would take me with her to pass out the flowers that had sat on the church altar to the church members in hospitals. She made me feel special and important.

I have these two little girls in my life that belong to one of my best friends. They really aren't so little anymore. They are smart, funny girls that are strong and wise beyond their years. They paid me a visit today and my heart grew three times it's size - just like the Grinch.

Tonight I went to look out at the backyard. It is nighttime and I snapped on the light, half expecting to see Vegas. I do see her sometimes. Running the trail with me or laying on the couch, with her head elegantly tossed on the sofa arm. I see her clear as day and I know it's ok. Like Nini, she comes to check in and remind me that all is well.

For the women in my life, past and present, thank you.

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Worth

Vegas and I have the knowledge that we are loved. This is a blessing - not everyone has this (dogs or people). Isn't that sad? My childhood in the flat land of Indiana and then the hot flat land of Florida was wonderful. Poached eggs on toast cut into nine little squares (Mom); watching football games after mowing the lawn (to this day cut grass reminds me of watching football with my Dad); playing swim tag in the pool (brothers) - I knew I was loved.

That being said, I have a fundamental core belief that there is something basically wrong with me. I think with age it's gotten better. In my youth it was paralyzing. I was very friendly to everyone (read Golden Retriever) but terrified that if anyone really knew my weirdness they would run the other direction. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one in the world that feels this way. So I kept/keep most of my perceived weirdness in.

Except for the dogs. The dogs get to experience 100% of my weirdness (As does the other human in my life which I completely don't understand but am endlessly grateful for). And they like it. They love when I lay in the dirt and mud so I can get a picture of them with a tennis ball under the hostas. They love that I think the dog park is a good idea even when it's forty degrees and the wind is blowing. Vegas especially loves that I will sneak her in the pool when the rest of the pack is out on a walk and then we act like, "Who went swimming? What are you talking about?"

I think the thing people struggle with, that our smarter four legged dogs don't, is that we often think that what makes us different, makes us bad, or less than. It doesn't. It's what makes us sparkle and shine.

Vegas, the Golden Retriever, has never worried that there is something wrong with her. She runs up to every stranger like THEY are their long, lost human. Vegas singularly can bring a house to it's knees by her insistent barking when there is a swimming pool taunting her. Vegas has a swagger in her walk; big, big kisses and paws the size of lion's feet. She is in a word, glorious - in all her one of kind way.

Molly, Sadie and Vegas have all loved me and taught me that who I am is enough. Even on the days when I don't feel it.

I love the rescue dogs.

Snow Birds

Boundless joy. Smiling dog. This moves me back to a place closer to center. Vegas and I are currently visiting a place called Florida. We've come to reside at my parent's house. We are, in a word, snow birds.

We both take a slight offense at the description. My objection, albeit somewhat groundless at this point, is that I come from this tropical paradise. Vegas' objection has more to do with the fact that she is a bird dog. Her instinct is to point, chase and retrieve birds - not be one. Vegas has done this bird dog activity once in her life. She is much more adept at flushing tennis balls from under the couch. But I digress.

On a warm spring day several years ago, our sweet, yellow lab Molly and the not so bright but incredibly good looking Vegas were lounging in the back yard. They were very happy as the birds chirped over their head signaling the end of winter. The yard was muddy and dirty and a sheer dog delight. Vegas was cruising the bushes for lost tennis balls -tennis balls that had been hidden under snow all winter. She stumbled upon a nest of birds. She alerted Molly - "Bark!" - come see what I found. Molly was the real bird dog. The birds take flight. Molly catches a bird, in flight, jumping in the air. Vegas catches one as well. Not quite in flight - one still sitting in the nest.

I know this story well because I witnessed it. I was sitting on the back steps watching the magic unfold. Vegas had what is known in the dog world as a soft mouth. Vegas brought her discovery over to me, in tact and unharmed. I opened my hands flat and she set the bird in my hands and we watched it fly away. Molly's bird had a different ending. Molly has passed over the rainbow bridge and I'm sure dog and bird have cleared up any misunderstanding.

Vegas and I are missing our small, old, drafty Iowa house. We miss the sharp, cold air on the dog walks; the snow covered yard. We miss our two legged and four legged friends and family, frozen in their homes. They assure us that we are in a much better place.

As long as Vegas and my favorite two legged human are with me, I know I'm home. And I am loved.

The adventure continues...