New Year and Spirit Boxes

Sunday update: several of you have expressed concern over burning the box and really that is part of the ritual, to be able to let things go (pretty though it is) to allow for new to happen - maybe we should call it a Phoenix Box. Some of the boxes of years past have been very elaborate and their form is often dictated by available materials. So the ritual has two parts - offering and release. It's going to be a GOOD YEAR!

Well this has been a remarkable year, an amalgam of good, bad and mediocre. I will have to say that the good has far outweighed the bad and the mediocre is what’s in-between. I have a New Years Tradition (since ’98 anyway) of offering up my list of thanks, thanks-not-so-much, could-have-done-without and wishes for the coming year to a Spirit Box and burning it on the beach on New Years Eve.

What’s a Spirit Box? I’m glad you asked! Some refer to them as God Boxes, but basically they are one way receptacles for notes offered to the Spirit or Spirits – God or Goddess. It’s a sealed container and constructed of some flammable material – could be wood, cardboard, etc. with a slot to slip the notes into. It has become a ritual to allow myself to offer these thoughts to the universe and not try and maneuver them, or better known as “let go and let God”. I no longer know what has been inserted other than recent entries and THAT my friends is the point – letting go! It’s not all “peace and light and love” but it is also “concern and anger and general bitchiness”. I love the symbology and I also love that it makes me think as I’m slipping the note through the slot – “do I really want this” or “is this what I really think” or “how important is this”. Part of the ritual is building the box itself and the effort that goes into it is a purge of sorts - there is a lot of power in building with purpose.

Here’s is tonight’s sacrificial box

I’m also looking forward to building the next box.

I’m so very grateful for all of you this year. I’m glad to have been shown this communication medium and I hold you all in very high regard. I love that we can laugh and cry and bitch and moan and shout and show off and hide and simply talk to our heart’s content. It is a haven that can be shelter when there is no other apparent shelter and can be an audience when we need it. That there can be feedback is a wonderful bonus – whether it is positive or negative. I do have to admit that sometimes it feels a little overwhelming and full of expectations, but taking breaks can bring it all back into perspective. So thank you all for being on this journey with me!

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! May it bring us hope, joy, happiness and contentment.

A Buffle Christmas!

Since I'm pretty mush at a loss for words this morning I'll share the Buffledog's Christmas!

To funny not to share! :)

HAPPY TUESDAY ALL!

My Christmas Gifts

I once again set out into the melee of last minute shoppers in search of a microphone plug adaptor. I apparently had the wrong adaptor on the mike and while recording the other night I dropped a channel – most frustrating, but my local Radio Shack guru solved the problem. While standing at the counter signing the credit card slip the Buffledog started doing his “Hi! How are you! I’m happy to see you” Happy Dance, pounding the glass showcase with his tail as only a Berner can do. I knew had to be someone he knew and I turned to see who it was and got the biggest surprise of the season. I was shocked that Taylor recognized this person, because at first glance I didn’t – a clear case of disassociation - when she smiled though it all came rushing in like a flood and I got the best Christmas gift ever. It was Lily!!!!!

Those of you who have been reading here for a while will know Lily; for those of you who haven’t the back story is here, here and here. The Buffledog and I used to see Lily sleeping in an alcove of the park building near the house when we would go on our walks in the wee hours of the morning. I got the privilege of knowing some of her story and was encouraging her to go to one of the local shelters. Turns out she did land in a shelter and has begun to climb out of the dark hole that she was in. She was dressed in the uniform vest of the grocery store she was working in and despite the fact that she had a name tag on I chose not to register it – I prefer to remember her as Lily.

She shyly said hello and bent to scratch Taylor’s ears. I asked how she had been, but not wanting to pry I let her offer whatever information she wanted to give. She apparently had been working for a while and was renting an apartment with a co-worker. She offered that she was doing much better. The bow was tied on the gift she was giving by her thanking me for my kindness and coffee and bagels. That was it, but it was such a gift. The Buffledog and I wished her well and left the store smiling and wagging.

I’ve thought about all of the things that have happened over the last year and thought about the gifts I have been given. You, my blog lovelies and blog dudes are one of the best gifts. My world is much larger and richer for all of you, inviting us into you hearts and lives and homes and allowing the Buffledog and me to share ours as well. From all of this I have been gifted with a few intimates as well and remain in awe that all of this has come to pass. I cherish each and every one of you and even though I don’t get to visit as often as I would like you are never far from my consciousness.

Watching the Buffledog’s healing progress has been a gift as well and the daily improvements are a wonder to see. Mostly it’s little actions that he does that I realize he hasn’t done in a long while that bring the smiles – like the way he wags his whole body when I come through the door or the gate. His eagerness to go for a ride or a walk or just his enthusiasm for eating at his food bowl has been a joy to witness. It’s all just grand!

The list is endless I realize, but for now I leave you with the warmest of holiday wishes and that all of your dreams will materialize. Merry Christmas all and to all a Good Morning! :D

The Buffledog adds:

WOOF WOOF!

Streaking through the Holidaze

I don’t know about the rest of you but I find all the last minute shopping craziness a bit unsettling. Mind you we had ours mostly done a month ago and the occasional forays into the land of the crazed and dazed is mostly for entertainment value only. Take yesterday for instance, where a “short trip” across the lake to Mall de Gargantua to see how the other 90% live turned into a 4 hour extravaganza through a deluge, bumper cars and choruses of irateness and rudeness as we were assimilated into the holiday wasteland.

We were appalled at the vacant looks on many faces as we strolled along the Avenues of Greed and Gluttony. Autopilot they were on, yes they were. The most entertaining were the countless males with the look of sheer terror and panic set hard on their faces. I was remembering how my younger brother used to approach Christmas Eve with nary a present purchased and went forth as late as humanly possible wearing his procrastination with honor. I never got it, the need for the adrenaline pump of last minute shopping. His justification was this: “…if I wait until the last minute then I’m forced to make many decisions in a short amount of time, whereas had I started earlier I would have to agonize over each purchase.” Seems reasonable in a twisted sick sort of way but I still don’t get it! Frankly I like to ease into the holiday with time to actually enjoy it and not feel like I’m on some runaway train.

Having absorbed all the Mall Magic that we could stand and a few minor purchases we abandoned the Blasted Lands of Mall and went in search of the real reason we braved the clogged arteries and overstuffed floating bridges, the Botanical Gardens. Every year they decorate the grounds with clusters of miniature lights all bunched together to form a variety of flowers and plants. The result is pretty amazing and was a nice respite from the previous manic panic.

This was just the beginning of several holiday traditions and this is when I finally abandon Grinchdom and get “the spirit”. So the reservations are made for Christmas Eve dinner, a carriage ride through downtown afterwards and depending on our stamina, perhaps a midnight mass for the pomp and pageantry. Christmas day is usually a brunch at our house for family and friends and perhaps that group migrating to a movie ‘en masse – this year I think “The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe.” The rest of the time is usually kick back by the fire time and phone calls to various family with an old seasonal classic movie thrown in for good measure - usually these movies run in the background since they’ve been seen a blue billion times but occasionally we’ll actually sit and watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” or something similar in its entirety. The day after a leisurely, early morning drive to Victoria, BC happens more often than not to participate in Boxing Day. This, of course, is weather dependant and whether or not the ferries are plying the waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca; which is notorious for serving up strong, choppy waters during the winter.

Victoria is such a fun place during the season, lit up so prim and proper as only this vestige of Victorian England could provide. So, it’s High Tea at the Empress Hotel and wandering their Hall of Trees, and meandering through the unique shops and museums and finishing the day at Butchart Gardens and its magical, mystical Garden of Lights Tour that can encompass several, often chilly, hours tempered by hot cider and mulled wine.

Yes Virginia, Seamus does get into the season eventually.

Happy Holidaze all! Be warm, be safe and have fun!

When I'm looking for one thing...

...and it isn't there, I start thinking of all the stock platitudes like, "something else will appear" and realize how utterlty trite it sounds when when I'm right in the middle of it. It's where my head is today, looking for one thing and not seeing the alternative. Then the Rolling Stones started in with, "You don't always get what you want..." - well why the fuck not???

Thus is the full extent of my thought process this morning. Perhaps it's the incessant rain, maybe it's the season or maybe the unfinishedness of the recent trip and how to bind all the pieces together.

Pensive today? You betcha.

I wasn't even going to post today and started working in the photo files preparing to archive and was playing with this one. A self portrait of me shooting something else entirely and this was the result - I didn't even see me in the frame at the time. Sure, there's a lesson here, but I don't think I really want to listen today.

'tis HUMP DAY ya'll - so Happy Humping!

Spell Me!

There comes a point in any odious endeavor that the little rays of light begin to shine through. Such was the case of the “Interminable Dad Move”. We got through the business of unpacking about 50% of the boxes and put away the things that would make his life operable in the condo. The scenes would go something like this:
“Hey Dad, I’m opening a box of (stuff).”
“What? I don’t want that! How did that get on the truck?”
---consider that this box was probably given the Good Dad-keeping seal of approval the day before---
Me, biting tongue, drawing blood, “Why don’t we just go through it to see if there is anything that you want?”
A little more acidly, “I told you I didn’t want it!”
---passing box to brother who opens it in the other room, draws out a known good item and returns said box to room---
“Hey Dad we found this (widget)…”
“Oh Lord! I’ve been looking for that that! Where did you unearth it? I sure am glad you found that!”
---3/4ths of the box’s contents are responded to in much the same manner---

---new box---

“Dad, this is a box of (whatever)!”
“What would I need that for? Your Mom…well, she’d of wanted it. I got no use for it. Throw it away!”
---brother looks at me nervously---
---I point to the ever growing “Later Pile Mountain”.
---Dad rustles around the discarded boxes without stating intent immediately---
“Have you seen (whatever)? Your mother sure would have liked to put/hang/nail that here. I know I boxed that up (mumble, mumble, grumble). Damn it! I can’t find shit!!! You boys seen that (whatever)?”
---brother walks to Later Pile Mountain and retrieves (whatever)---
---brother stops in doorway and quietly bangs head against door frame---
---I nod in empathy---
“S****(brother)! What are you doing? Quit beating on the trim, you’re going to hurt the paint.” ---spoken by mostly blind and deaf Soon-to-be-Ogre---
---brother leaving teeth marks in box flap---

“Dad, this box of books came over by mistake.”
“Well what are they?”
“Hmmm…GWTW, The Artist Way, Shibumi, Michener’s Hawaii……….”
“Lord! YES! I’ll read those!” (????????????) see above Ogre-in-Training

---20 minutes later---

---Dad catches toe on the pile of books he will “read”---
“Damn!!!! What are these books doing here? You boys know I can’t read! Damn, I don’t know what you all are thinking…don’t you know that I can’t see so well?”
---brother and I consider door frames again---
---brother picks up meat tenderizer and brandishes it menacingly---
---brother and I start banging our heads together---

…and so on and so on and so on…………

OK, OK, OK! Rays of sunshine………..

Ogre-In-Training (hereafter known as OIT) starts to morph into Saint James the Good (hereafter known as SJG). The harbinger for such a transmogrification is usually Dad sitting in a corner mumbling to himself – it’s like OIT and SJG are doing some single actor version of Alphonse and Gastone, “You take his mind! No, you take it, No you take it!”

---20 minutes pass while we are mercifully granted a guarded reprieve---

“Seamus? I’m tired of unpacking and since you are going back to Seattle tomorrow I want you to look in the file cabinet and see if you can find the file marked “Family Photos”. I think it’s more important to look through those than unpack a bunch of useless geegaws.”

---brother ostensibly off on an errand for bags or food or…---

So we sit down at the 13 times placed dining room table and do what SJG and I do best and I start pulling out negative after negative as the narration starts and in 30 minutes I learn more family gossip and skeletons. Hell, I even found out about my new favorite relative. She was a multi-great aunt who owned a House of Ill Repute and Gambling Parlor in St. Louis and was the common law wife of a police chief cum chief detective. FINALLY some real color in this family. I also learned about the thrice married cousin who’s 2nd husband was murdered by the jealous husband of the woman he was having an affair with. It wasn’t until later that they discovered the affair and the man was first buried in the family plot only to be disinterred and move to a cemetery across the tracks after the discovery of his SOBness – I had always wondered why I saw “SOB” written next to his picture.

We also managed to put names on the photos based on my descriptions and his photographic memory. This time I have all the prints, negatives and slides in my luggage – nearly 100# of them. Ha! Now I really get to bore you guys to tears!

So, there is redemption. Lemons to lemonade and all that! I will have to return in January for Version 638.7!

Argggggggggg!

detail from "Awakening" in Washington, DC

Yes, I am capable of coherent speech – barely!

Moving day has come and gone with the only casualty being Dad catching a cold of epic proportions. Today will be the arduous task of unpacking and endlessly moving furniture in concert with the caprices of Dad’s memory. Today will be looooooong.

Moving Sux!

building corner detail at the National Art Gallery - Modern Art - Washington, DC

BTW - I'm having to publish from a T-mobile Hot Spot so my time is terribly limited! I will get around to visiting after I return home Monday nite - really - I promise! ;)

I would have thought since we had already packed up the contents of Dad’s house and marked all the boxes appropriately for distribution at the time of the move to his new condo that all would go pretty much without a hitch. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

We’ve gotten so lost over something as simple as his mattress. The problem seems to stem from the whole bed being too high with Mom’s new-old mattress – a pillow top affair that he’s not used to yet and his feet will not reach the floor when he sits on it. There have been a multitude of ideas proffered (some actually good ones) to solve the dilemma without buying a brand new bed; of course he doesn’t remember which idea he’s agreed to from hour to hour. Normally I’d just bulldoze my way through the issue and do something – beg for forgiveness rather than ask for permission; however, now it’s critical to his state of mind for him to maintain some semblance of control. We are on the proverbial razor’s edge in all of our dealings with him of late (Dad’s 89 and nearly blind, for those of you coming into this saga late). He still insists on staying in control…er…in micro-management mode even though he KNOWS he is slowing down the process – gives lip service to it even. Well, time is short Pop!

So now we had an ice storm to contend with, everything late because or the lack of power and dangerously icy roads. It warmed by just enough to melt it all this afternoon, but the morning was a complete waste. The whole affair brought up the issue of the kerosene hurricane lamps and Dad wanted to know where his were. “Well, you know I should take some to the new place in case of a power outage there.” Sometime after I was able to close my mouth from the sheer disbelief of the statement I mentioned the little issue of them NOT ALLOWING flammable anything into an assisted living environment, that even candles were verboten. He ruminated for a while on that bit of information before he says, “You know, I probably shouldn’t take those lanterns over there. They might be a fire hazard. I sure hope no one else brings stuff like candles. Damn old fools don’t know how to get in out of the rain. They might just burn the place down...(rant, rant, rant)...” I was glazed over like a Krispy Kreme Doughnut by that point, biting the edge of the coffee cup to minimize the pain.

Luckily my brother has a dog, a Chesapeake Retriever, who was more than happy to have someone to take her for a walk – or slide and glide as the case may be. I was able to walk off a mountain of frustration with this 85# equivalent of a Jack Russell Terrier – of course I am her new Best Friend.

By the time I returned Dad had shifted focus to some other tangential and manufactured crisis. We managed to weave and dodge the rest of the afternoon by virtue of the returning power and splitting up so Dad was shuttling back and forth between us giving the other time to accomplish the task of what needed sorting or whatever. In fairness, he is super-stressed; however, he lacks the ability to see when he is being a complete pain-in-the-ass. I considered a Vicodin Scotch cocktail for Dad, but resigned myself to the situation.

Friday is the big move day with the movers arriving at 9 AM – we’ll see – sweet mother of the goddess get us through to the other side!

I can only hope that my Karma points are being deposited in MY name in the Karmic Bank of Neverland.

Grumpy at 25,000 feet

(HNT below)

Why am I here, 25,000 feet above the clouds? I’m now in route to a family obligation because I’m one of the “good sons”. I could have avoided this – intended on avoiding this, but I opened mouth and inserted both feet clear to my knees. When does one learn? Do we ever learn or are we simply doomed to walk the path of our own invention?

So far the only redeeming value that has come from this trip is flipping off “the shrub” as we drove past the White House and shortly thereafter flipping off Cheney in his siren blasting motorcade on the way to the Capitol building. Frankly the Cheney flip off felt better since there was a slim possibility that it was seen. I’m probably lucky to not be sporting a bullet right now with Secret Service engraved on its side. It’s the little things that make me happy. :)

I’ll be glad when the holidays are over. Now hold on! I’m not the friggin’ Grinch, but a holiday that involves travel SUCKS with a capital “S”. The more I’m around grumpy travelers the grumpier I get and as the holidays get closer the grump factor grows exponentially – their's and mine. I’ll be glad come Monday and the Buffledog does his 10 minute “happy dance” before settling down to lay as much of his furry self in my lap as canine-ly possible - and he’ll be walking better by then. I guess it really is the little things that make me happy. So is that it? The bigger things or bigger dreams give way to small pleasures and is that what comes to sustain us? Right now I think that is so.

A giant of HNT

A giant of HNT!

Sorry, no Seamus this week, but what you get instead is this bit of craziness. I don’t really think he will mind a little more exposure.

*for more exposure use the HNT button on the sidebar*

HAPPY HNT EVERYONE!

Could you sleep in here?

Is this not the most awesome guest room mural ever??? Yep, you heard me - mural - paint and walls flat as a pancake!!! I keep waiting for elephants to bellow or lions to roar! Just awesome!

HAPPY HUMP DAY YA'LL!

Ever notice

Ever notice when you are getting ready for a trip how all the little things that got put off earlier all wind up needing attention on the day or night before you leave? I wouldn’t want this much on my plate on a regular day – and Murphy will prevail!

So……I’ll leave you with this bit of cuteness! The feline elf has found another holiday home!

I just love the look of determination on this Aunt's face! This is the "puppy dunker" and I saw this exact expresion on her face when she was driving a tractor or a truck on the farm when she was in her sixties.

HAPPY MONDAY ALL!

Seamus's long-assed Friday picture post

Sunday AM! I rebuilt the post - hopefully the pic issue is over - blek - sorry for the frustration everyone!

The Buffledog had his 2 week checkup with the surgeon yesterday. As usual we parked in the very front of the building on the sidewalk since it’s a really busy street and parking that’s appropriate to use his ramp is very limited. The desk clerk saw him walk down the ramp and apparently called the rest of the staff, because when we came in the door they were all there to greet him. They were all very blown away with how well he is walking – still labored but he’s weighting both hind legs now. He was in heaven being lavished on by “his people”! He’s also down to 120# from 140# and that is helping him a lot as well.

We went for his first walk in months Wednesday – a whole ½ block, but he was SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO happy and it took 30 minutes for him to read all the “doggie news”! We celebrated his good doctor’s report yesterday by going to one of his favorite parks that’s pretty quiet at mid-day and hour was gone in a flash. The pics are from there – they say it all!

Yesterday also marked the end of the project to restore the glass plate negatives from my Great-grandfather’s studio – most were over 100 years old. I’ll post a few more tomorrow as well.

I love this first one of my Great-Aunt and the family dogs!

These babies knew how to ride!

These next 2 pictures are of the final and worst negative in the bunch. I had put it aside as a lost cause, but in a fit of determination and willfulness I spent a couple of hours with Q-tips, various cleaning solutions, tweezers, Exacto knives and a magnifying lamp and was able to gather the last image. It turns out that this was one of the family’s favorite photos of my Great-aunt (the very one who was dunking the puppy’s head in the milk cup in this post ). Well, at least she’s recognizable, tattered though she is! Dad’s gonna love it!

Happy Friday all!

Piss on gloom - smile instead

So…how about some fun stuff, eh?

He was too cute to not get caught!

The Bufflecat – blind and deaf, she chose the bottom of the Christmas tree as her vacation holiday home – smells good, a built-in scratching post with “found water” just inches away. What more could a kitty ask for…well, besides a nice, fat catnip mouse…later babe, later.

HAPPY HUMP DAY

What happens in that moment?

What happens in that moment?
When something's said
When something’s done
That in its self may not be wrong
But woe in context lay

What happens in that moment?
When the universe cracks
Vainly reaching across the widening gap
Fingers flailing, grasping air
Drawing back an empty hand

What happens in that moment?
When you know
That you would give anything
To undo those words, that deed
To mend the rent

What happens in that moment?
When you know with blinding clarity
That you have been
Utterly and
Profoundly
Stupid

What

Transcends

Apology?

Snow falling on Kiwis

Well, winter hit Seattle square in the face over the last couple of days. So snow happened and after about the first hour of the heavy fall Thursday I grew both bored and impatient with it. Winter sux – sorry to those of you see it as a fun time, but not so much for me.

Now the Buffledog on the other hand saw it as Nirvana. He was awakened from a sound (snoring) sleep by the snowfall … or maybe it was the smell and clambered up on his rocky legs, goosed my elbow and went straight for the door. He stuck his Buffle-nose up in the air as he awkwardly made his way down the ramp to the yard and in the snow and cold he remained for the day – little naked, shaved butt and all.

I haven’t seen him this animated in months; not since the first knee injury in August. All over the property he was, sniffing every new bit of animal news he could find. I lost him at one point during the day – I know, how does one lose a 130# Bernese Mountain Dog on a postage stamp lot – but he finally emerged from the tall undergrowth that is choking the neglected apple trees.

I worried about his naked bum in the 30 degree temperature, but he was having no part of coming into the warmth of the house. I would go out to check on him occasionally, but he was still busy nosing and rooting around the now dormant flower beds. Long after the light left the sky and there was only the reflected light from the street lamps, I decided that he’d been out there long enough and went to coax him back inside. There he was in the very front of the house guarding what appeared to be a pile of dirty snow, happily gnawing on something. It suddenly dawned on me what he had been up to all afternoon – he was gathering his stash of bones from the summer! There were 6 or 8 in a pile and he was making love to one particularly tasty one. I left him to his loving labors.

I retreated back to the warmth and smiled at the notion of snow shaking the Buffledog from his fugue while backing my butt up to the fire and contemplated a Kiwi harvest the next day – it is time.