I come up alone

It's 10:48 here in Connecticut and I came up the stairs alone to stop and write this and then go to bed.

Part of my 'alone-ness' is that our Puli, Bela, is not here.

But that, I realize, is only part of it.

We are always 'alone'.

Soon, I'll be in bed with Bern, the love of my life. We will be together but we will both be 'alone'.

There are parts of her I will never comprehend. And the same goes for her trying to comprehend me.

Even in a crowd, we are 'alone'. There are things no one can ever know about any one of us. We are each a planet around some sun--distinct and alone.

Our dog died with Dr. Matz, the best vet ever, and Travis, her assistant, a boy of 21 or less, and me rubbing him and talking to him. And, in spite of all that, Bela died alone.

His death gave me this remarkable and worth pondering insight: we are finally, completely, absolutely 'alone'.

Each of us has secretes and thoughts and realities no one else can ever know, even if they wish to know them.

Alone, we are.

Alone.

I have to ponder the reality of that for a while.

I'll ponder it alone.

Snow and The Snows of Kilimanjaro

I read a great article in The Washington Post today comparing the Stormy Daniels drama to the death of Harry in Hemingway's The Snows of Kilimanjaro. In the book Harry, after climbing the great mountain and risking his life, gets a scratch on his arm that turns to gangrene. The truck breaks down and the rescue plane is late and Harry dies, dreaming of the mountain.

It wasn't the mountain that killed him, it was a scratch and the failure of vehicles.

Snow is coming tomorrow, they tell me. Another March storm. There seems to have been one a week in New England this month.

And Richard Cohen, the author of that article contends it will be Stormy Daniels--a minor scratch on Donald Trump's arm--that will bring him down, not the Mountain of Mueller's investigation.

I also saw today a political cartoon by Sheneman of the Tribune Group that showed Trump in his extra long red tie, with Stormy on his arm, saying to a man with a tied with a cross on it: "Look the other way and I'll keep shilling for your version of Jesus who doesn't like poor people and immigrants."

The grinning man has "Evangelicals" written on him and replies, "Amen, Brother."

I grew up in the Evangelical Church--first the Pilgrim Holiness Church and then Mountain Methodist that was more like Baptist that what we think of today as Methodism.

I am embarrassed for Evangelicals everywhere that they, in spite of three wives and innumerable accusations of affairs and sexual abuse, continue to think Trump is 'their guy'.

No Evangelical Christian worth his or her Jesus could defend this man based on his moral (or immoral) behavior.

Though I am far from the Evangelicals in their theology, I have, until now, admired their belief and their stands, even when I did not agree with them.

But if a ultra-liberal, non-creedal Christian like me cannot condone the man's behavior, how can Conservative, Bible-believing Christians condone it?

I hope and pray to a God Evangelicals would not recognize as theirs, that these betrayed women will be the scratch that brings down Harry (Donald) and makes him dream of the mountain he did not deserve to climb before he is on the ash heap of history.

That's what I pray. I also pray Evangelicals (who I used to respect) will wake up and see the error of their ways.

I'll try, I really will

I'll try to stop writing about nothing but Bela. I really will but I don't know when....

Bern was out for a couple of hours this morning and I realized after an hour or so that I was totally alone in the house.

It's been since 2004 that when Bern is out I was totally alone--no black, hairy dog to keep me company.

Dog people know that one of the reasons to have a dog is the companionship.

But you don't truly realize that until your companion isn't there anymore.

13 plus years of habit is hard to break. Just today I heard our kitchen clock announce the hour (which it does by barking) and said to myself, "3 o'clock, time to feed the Puli". I almost stood up before I remembered that he is dead now.

Four or five times today I've felt an emptiness so profound that I almost sobbed. (OK, twice I DID sob).

I miss him so.

how long it's been

If you wonder if I'll ever stop writing about Bela dog--24 hours dead now--the answer is I don't know.

But here's what reminds me of how long he was with us.

We got him before Josh and Cathy got married (their 13th anniversary is coming up).

Mimi and Tim weren't even together.

I was still working full time and would be for  over 5 more years. I've been retired nearly 8 years.

None of our grandchildren were born.

I was just turned 57 and Bern was 54.

George W. Bush was beginning getting ready to run for his second term.

9/ll was only 2 1/2 years before.

It was the year 'The Apprentice" debuted and no one on earth thought the host would run for President.

The Red Sox won the World Series.

The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King won the Oscar and The Sopranos won the emmy.

It's been a long time that we shared our home and our lives with that round, odd, black and hairy Puli.

How could I just 'move on'?

every thing I see....

Bela dog has been dead for just over 22 hours now and everything I see reminds me how much I already miss him.

The last two months I've sat in the living room because he would be sleeping there from 10-2:30 or so and from 4-7 p.m. Today I sat in the same chair and couldn't read.

I went out for a while and when I came home I truly expected him to come running to greet me, though he hasn't done that for at least two months.

The pillow he slept on is on our bed. Last night--the first night without him--I couldn't bring myself to touch that pillow because he wouldn't be there.

I gathered up all his food and treats and washed out the container of home-made food Bern or I always made for him. I put the food and treats and pills in a bag for the trash. I didn't want to see it and be reminded he wasn't here any more. Bern wants to give all that to a friend who has dogs so today I brought it back inside.

There is no place in this house that doesn't remind me of when he was there.

People who aren't 'dog people' will be thinking this: 'he was just a dog.'

Dog people will know better and understand. You don't live with any creature for 13 1/2 years and just 'forget' when they die.

Hard times and wet eyes for us today and for some todays to come.

"Life is still and over for one I loved..."

I first wrote that line in an autobiographical short story for my creative writing class in college.

It was about a young man (me) I always called Richard David Lucas, standing by his grandmother's grave.

"Life is still and over for one I loved."

My professor thought it was 'trite'. But I believed it then and believe it now. At the time of death, there is a certain relief in knowing 'life is still and over' for one you loved.

Today that is true for me. Through all the pain and loss and grief, I know life is still and over for one I love.

BELA (2004-2018) Requiescant in pace dear Puli dog

He was the dog of our empty nest. Bern more than adored him. He was not a friendly  or 'good' dog--but we loved him deeply.

And now life is still and over for him.

Yesterday he started jumping up and running, instead of sleeping most of the day, as he has done for several months. He would run from one end of our upstairs and back and back again and again. He also had trouble eating, mistaking his bowl for his food. He didn't sleep at all last night and today Bern looked up 'dog dementia' on line and discovered this was a late development. About 3 p.m. she agreed with me that he shouldn't have to live like this. Our vet gave us a 7:30 p.m. appointment and put him down (what a weird euphemism!)

Bern couldn't stay in the room but I did, along with Dr. Matz and her big-boy assistant. She sedated him, so he slept for the first time in a day and a half. Then she gave the injection in his vein that made life still and over for him.

(When I came upstairs after coming back from the vet's, I glanced at my computer screen, which, when at rest, runs through my photos. The photo I saw was Bela on a bed with our daughter, Mimi, using him as a pillow. He loved Mimi perhaps most of all.)

We have shed more tears today and tonight than I ever remember Bern and I sharing.

We will miss him so. 13 and 1/2 years is a lot of living.

The pain for the death of a pet is deep and sharp--but without all the complications of mourning a human since dogs simply love you and you simply love them. No 'unfinished business' with a dog.

And there is this: life is still and over for one I loved profoundly.

There is some peace and healing in knowing that.

Out of power

Missed church in Killingworth on Sunday because the power was out. Lots of people in the Northeast have lost power in the last couple of weeks.

We haven't in Cheshire in spite of the two hemlock trees down beside our back porch. Got to get a tree person soon to clear them out.

When we first came to Cheshire the power would go out in our house from a gentle breeze! They redesigned the grid (is that the word?) and we almost always keep power these days.

The last time we lost power was over five years ago when we drove to Baltimore in an unlikely October storm. I called my friend Fred Jenks and he went to our house and rescued our birds. We had birds then, up in a cage beside the radio, above Bela's bowl.

Luke the cat was still alive but it wasn't zero weather and the next door neighbors were feeding him and we knew he'd survive.

I don't think I ever adequately thanked Fred for saving Rainy and Ella from sure death.

When we came home power and heat was on again and I went to  Fred's to get the birds.

Thank you so, so much, Fred. We had their songs for a few more years because of you....