Namaste Greta!

When I told Grandma Greta we were riding in to town with a friend, she thought surely I meant in the car.

And that we’d stop at the Golden Arches.

Greta was wrong on both counts.

What I had in mind was peddling a bicycle built for two with 5 pounds of a chi/doxie resting in the front carrier.

Greta was clearly annoyed.

Even more so as we headed over to the dock for a free yoga class at the art festival.

“What’s this ‘downward dog’ business?” Greta snapped from a shady vista underneath the oak tree.
“Why are you people hanging upside down?”

“Greta, calm down,” I replied, without any luck.

Our old girl snarled, adding, “Hey, a ‘downward dog’ should be snuggling deep into a dog bed with a blanket over your head”.

“Now that’s the way to chill”.

Greta looked up at me, showing off her tiny toothy grin.

But only for a moment.

Suddenly the half dachshund caught a whiff of the grilling hot dogs from the stand around the corner.

Greta immediately burrowed herself back into the carrier, hiding out from the grill chef.

I thought it best we go back home, peddling fast.

Once in the house, I returned Greta to her dog bed placing the baby blue blanket over her head.

“Namaste, Greta,” I told her.

“Whatever,” she replied.

Maybe Greta still thinks she’s a teenager.

A man among men


H-Is for hope, shared freely with readers and friends.
E-Is for enthusiasm, in his writing, connecting, and with the dawn of a new day.
A-Is for authenticity. A role model for us all.
R-Is for respect of others, and in his reminders to respect ourselves through our work.
T-Is for tenacity, while adapting to an ever changing world. And showing us we can do the same.

This man has a heart of gold.

This man is Jon Katz.

Jon encouraged me, and has encouraged many others to start their own blogs. He is a New York Times best selling author, known for his Bedlam Farm series of books.

I wish him a full and speedy recovery this week as he, his family and medical team address a health concern.

Wisdom of the years

Weathered rough.

Like peeling paint.

Some mornings I swear I feel much older than 10 years ago.

But I glance at my dining partner across the table, three decades my senior.

Forever graceful in her movements.

Her silk scarf perfectly tied, symbolic of her style.

Thick, pearl white curls frame a still beautiful ivory complexion.

A few more character lines are embedded than years before, yet each is bringing its own
corresponding story.

Some have traces of sorrow, but joy’s always been found after the storm.

My friend moves slower now, yet is quicker to pick up nuances that others often miss.

And she does again this night.

The scent of sugar, butter and chocolate baking in the cookies from the shop on the corner.

The lilting laugh from a 5 year old pedaling by fast in her new floral sundress.

A woman ever wise, my friend continues to move forward transforming weeds into wisteria along her walking path.

So different from my lunch date hours before. Some 50 years younger, that wrinkle free face was lacking in smiles.

I wonder if life for the ‘seasoned’ among us does evolve into a sweeter existence after all.

After finishing our salads, my dining companion smiled, embracing me as I rose to leave.

I, in turn, thanked her for being my special friend.

Adding, “And for being my life long inspiration.”

For me, that’s a gift like no other.