Monthly Archives: October 2012

The Coloradian

Sunday, October 14, 2012

I always thought that my younger sister and I had different tastes in men.  The first guy she married moved her all the way to Colorado.  Since my sister was already wearing Frye boots and driving a Ford Bronco, it might have been her idea and not his, so I cannot accurately say whose idea it really was.  But suffice it to say, they moved all the way across the country, much to my dismay.  It must have been to the dismay of many others because, since then, seven other Ohioans have followed him to Colorado—hIs children from his first marriage, one of their spouses, his ex wife, his business partner and his wife, and his next wife after my sister. It was then that we started kidding him about single-handedly depopulating the state of Ohio.

Over the years, the rivalry has become quite heated, all of the new Coloradians disparaging their home state in the midwest, and my husband and I still living here and doing quite well professionally and socially.  I have learned to tolerate the slight nose snubbing of the nouveau Coloradians; they gush ad nauseum about their mountains and lakes, and for God’s sake the Denver Broncos have humilated the Cleveland Browns more than Joe Biden has put his foot in his mouth!

Eventually my sister and my brother-in-law got divorced and low and behold he married a woman who lives in Ohio.  His first plan was to take her to Colorado too, and he would have succeeded but divine justice set in.  She got a job in Colorado and moved and he stayed in Ohio to update her home so that they could sell it.  Now the Coloradian is living in Ohio!  No gain there.  They did that for a year but the Ohioan wife was homesick and alone in Colorado so she came back.  Now both of them live in Ohio while the seven others (plus those that have been born since) still live in Colorado.  He goes to visit often and I doubt that he will change his license plate.

Now, for the ace in the hole.  My mother’s brother recently died and my cousins came to Ohio for his memorial service.  My husband and I met them for dinner and who knew that he could be so charming as to lure one of our family back to Ohio.  But that is what  happened, because one of my Ohio-hating cousins is now moving back here from Phoenix.  She says she had so much fun here that she is leaving her life out west.  That’s one for us!  Score!

So, I guess my sister and I do have similar tastes in men afterall. We love those charasmatic guys who, like Pan, can lure people to move miles for no good reason.

Laura and Mika

Lovin’ That Milkweed

Sunday, October 7, 2012

With the dog, we are dealing with an instinct very close to man (or woman in my case). The dog as guide to everywhere in this and the other world in mythology certainly gives dog instinct an unerring flair.  But, however much we love them, many of us also suspect that in the case of the actual dog, it mostly obeys its own inner urges. (My husband rubs turkey fat on his hands as part of his demonstration of this theory.)  Yet, it is just this illogical, playful, following of their own bliss that makes our dogs vital centers of our lives.

My own dog has been with me for almost thirteen years and  never deviates too far from her own pattern and, being a good watchdog, she makes sure I don’t deviate too far from my own authenticity.  That’s our deal—she shows me how to live in the moment, how to be aware of all that surrounds me, and how to express warm concern for my own well-being.  We laugh about that a lot.

Over the years my canine friend has not only lived up to all the smarmy hype one hears about dogs (you’ve heard it all), but she has surpassed it so many times that, in short, I owe her my very life and I intend to repay her any way that I can.

So now, as she and I are both aging and entering new phases of our journeys,  I have become her physical guide and she has deepend my spirit even more.   Our once brisk, invigorating walks have evolved into a snail’s pace as she tries to get her bearings by smell alone;  our morning forays have turned into long, slow, and cautious pokings around, in which she much prefers to be on leash in fear of getting lost.  When getting into the car or up the steps, she confidently places her front feet on the uprise but waits patiently for me to lift her hind legs.  My life, in tune with hers, has become very, very slow.  Of course, she knows instinctively that is what I need most at this time, a quieting of the mind.  And as always she obliges me, mirrors me, and gives me exactly what I need to heal.