Some know what they want.
A scratch on the nose their bliss
Who you calling shy?
I’d rushed home after a big and windy storm to see if my trees were still standing, and the dogs were relaxing.
I found it quiet as I turned the key.
In hindsight, maybe too quiet.
Tucker the tenacious terrier and Maddie my matronly corgi stood at attention guarding their ‘sister’ Mariah.
She had just passed away.
Mariah, also a corgi, had been ill recently but in no pain.
The vet had advised me the end was near, after I’d brought her in when she’d stopped eating and taking fluids.
Though I’d been hopeful the last few days once she fought the syringe of chicken soup in favor of her dog food again.
Yet I found myself accepting the passing of the peaceful looking creature before me.
Tucker, her self appointed boyfriend and sweet Maddie had already done the same.
I drove the short distance down to the vet with Mariah next to my side.
The vet, his receptionist, and I spoke together softly, then chose to celebrate Mariah’s 12 years of life:
-Her transition from four years in a bad puppy mill to what I believe was a good home for the remaining eight.
-How she was terrified of men, yet so loved my late husband.
-An elegance always in her stride and a sense of calm in her demeanor.
-Innocence, mostly, except for an annual frat party of mischief, showing off…….
-Great skill at counter surfing for bags of oily French Roast coffee beans carried and then consumed up on the leather couch.
-Good utilization of paws to grab flour bags to the floor to be torn apart, then shaken over the entire living room carpet.
-Determination (and success) at learning to open the refrigerator to drag out a Thanksgiving bird for the canine clan’s special feast on my love seat.
We laughed, and then I cried at every tale.
As I walked out of the vet’s office, I thought I may have left Mariah’s body there, but I felt her gentle soul still with me.
At least for a while.
Once I drove off, a brilliant rainbow appeared over head in a breeze.
I’m thinking Mariah leapt right up onto that path, joining other beautiful creatures crossing the rainbow bridge.
I hear they often call the wind, ‘Mariah’.
Here’s hoping that wind is always at her back.
Some tiptoe through tulips.
But I’ll dance on my roof.
Even though some might say,
That I’m more than uncouth.
Those weeds are my daisys.
The antenna my date.
Though I have to admit,
He’s not much of a mate.
Still there’s joy to be found,
Waltzing near a blue sky.
With crops growing in gutters,
I’ve found a natural high.
Grandma’s infamous ‘Angel Pie’ recipe fell off my bulletin board in the kitchen this morning.
Picking it off the floor, it seemed like an invitation to a party of memories.
And just the perfect one, flying my direction on Father’s Day.
In my seasoned life, more family members have departed than remain. Yet remembrances are rich and still full of life.
And every June, I imagine these special family members having their own holiday picnic in Grandma’s backyard. I see Grandpa, Dad, and my husband smiling as the main meal is brought out. Soon they’re devouring crispy fried chicken and fresh butter slathered sweet corn on Grandma’s signature blue and white tablecloths.
And there I am, watching every bite from the swing.
It’s about to turn even sweeter as Mom starts serving strawberries laced with sugar laden whip cream on Angel Food Cake.
And then the back porch screen door bangs in the breeze as Grandma proudly presents her mile high Angel Pie to the fathers on their sacred day.
She slices one big piece for a Grandpa who built a second swing inside the garage for his granddaughter. He knew as his health further deteriorated, he could still watch that granddaughter swing from his kitchen chair.
And Grandma slices another for a Dad who played an active role in raising his daughter, in an era when it wasn’t the norm.
And then a third, for a husband who was passionate about adopting a non English speaking 12 year. His unconditional love would prove to shine the brightest in the toughest of those teen years.
After the feast, I watch the women shake the tablecloths clean to tuck them away for the next holiday.
The three wise and loving men in front of me pat their full bellies, looking content.
And it seems the granddaughter, daughter and wife is content as well looking up at the majestic clouds in the sky
But she is also hungry.
Soon the woman takes a journey to the bakery in search of her own slice of Angel Pie.
She’s found there is nothing like a little food for the soul.