Leaving El Cajon for the the Kingdom Hall this evening at about 7:15pm, it was definitely dusk. Deep dusk. The world had darkened.
Yet just to the east, and at a fair angle upward, something bright caught my attention.
A nearby thunderhead was so incredibly high that its very top was white with reflected sunlight.
It was beautiful. No camera in my possession. Felt sad about that. Vowed to write about it instead.
After the meeting, around 9:30pm, someone told me to go outside and look at "the light show".
A huge and tall thunderhead (I'd like to imagine it was the very same one) stood to the east, with the peak at greater than a 45 degree angle (I held my arm up to measure this) since it was so close.
The sky to the rear, left and right was crystal clear, warm and humid. Yet in front of us was this massive white and grey mountain of cloud, glowing in the light of the nearly full moon.
Suddenly and silently it was lighted up from within. Like a flickering white flame would look inside a paper lantern, only much quicker.. as quick as lightning.
Thirty seconds later... another flash, this time with a visible bolt of lightning coming down and then turning to the left at right angle.
More and more... I was standing with some friends now, including a little boy in arms (Wesley, the baby that melted my heart in the hospital of his birth) and I was jumping up and down with excitement. Wesley just soaked it in with a straight face.
Flash. Flash & Bolt. It was magical.
A brother driving out slowed and said out his window, "Steve. It's just a lightning storm!"
Yes I know, but my life is generally monsoon-less and I was really enthralled.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Saturday, June 30, 2012
kolera
i am so angry at him right now.
(you can tell because when i'm enraged i use only small letters; this is for emphasis)
he's probably my closest friend, but so needy...
well there's no more coddling. he doesn't need coddling. he's not confused. he's conflicted.
no more... so angry... his little self-centered world has gradually been sucking my planet into what looks like could well be a black hole. there's no way i will allow myself to get any nearer to the event horizon.
for an infuriated moment i am so angry that i'm using the smallest letters i can type.
there will be no more accomodating of his "feelings". (insert euphemism of choice here) his little "feelings". What about the feelings of others?
full disclosure: i do not hate him. just angry at him. tough-love kind of thing. this means no more enabling.
notice that i'm not using any exclamation points? exactly. that's just how angry and annoyed and done-with-it-all that i am.
in further expression of this morning anger and feeling of being so-fed-up, i will now find and post a picture of a daisy, which in this context, is the universal symbol of barely-controlled righteous anger.
here it is:
okay now i need to listen to some soothing Killswitch Engage or some-such music so I can calm down.
after that, however, no more coddling...
to my friend: you present some self-serving (ieoch) to me, and I am kicking your (ieoch) and showing you the door.
thank you.
(you can tell because when i'm enraged i use only small letters; this is for emphasis)
he's probably my closest friend, but so needy...
well there's no more coddling. he doesn't need coddling. he's not confused. he's conflicted.
no more... so angry... his little self-centered world has gradually been sucking my planet into what looks like could well be a black hole. there's no way i will allow myself to get any nearer to the event horizon.
for an infuriated moment i am so angry that i'm using the smallest letters i can type.
there will be no more accomodating of his "feelings". (insert euphemism of choice here) his little "feelings". What about the feelings of others?
full disclosure: i do not hate him. just angry at him. tough-love kind of thing. this means no more enabling.
notice that i'm not using any exclamation points? exactly. that's just how angry and annoyed and done-with-it-all that i am.
in further expression of this morning anger and feeling of being so-fed-up, i will now find and post a picture of a daisy, which in this context, is the universal symbol of barely-controlled righteous anger.
here it is:
okay now i need to listen to some soothing Killswitch Engage or some-such music so I can calm down.
after that, however, no more coddling...
to my friend: you present some self-serving (ieoch) to me, and I am kicking your (ieoch) and showing you the door.
thank you.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Swirling air both warm and cold
Those hot Santa Ana winds had blown for such a long time, he'd prayed that they would stop for fear of their fanning a wildfire out of control. Yet now, feeling cold, he hoped they blow again.
Sometimes it's interesting to go "offline" for a while, randomly surfing the real world, to see what might be found.
Walking down Fifth Avenue after eleven at night.
Prohibition is gone. The door that once stood locked is now wide open, making visible to the street a few Volstead Act photos on the walls at the top of the descending stairs. You can just barely see that door has been cleaned of the misleading words "Law Offices of Eddie O'Hare".
There's a cool storefront at 430 Fifth called "Drama Queen". Original women's dresses and apparel styled in a 1950's retro trend.
Crossing Island in the crosswalk a tourist in a big SUV pulled halfway into the walk forcing me to stop and walk around him. That's okay; I didn't blame him, as he looked through his dirty windshield straining to read scarcely-visible street signs.
Across Harbor Blvd and then south to the new pedestrian bridge that crossed the tracks to the ballpark. What a beautiful structure of baffling engineering. A suspension bridge with just one leaning support, and with an additional horizontal as opposed to vertical curving arch in it... how does it even stay up?
From the bridge I watched a switching engine in the distance as it did it's heavy clanging work. When it whistled the sound echoed against the dark buildings in the stillness.
Walking back north, this time on the other side of 5th, I set out across a side street believing I'd be safe between the thick painted lines of the sidewalk. A green and white taxi-cab approached quickly from the right. He didn't stop until his front end was completely and suddenly blocking my way. In a reaction that I regret (because who knows what could have been the outcome; I was lucky it was harmless) I slapped both my hands down on his hood hard. I moved to the driver's window and he rolled it down and I just said "sorry".
Perhaps pedestrians do not have the right away in Somalia. I wonder what his four tourists who were his fare thought when they heard the thud on the hood?
Up at 4th and Broadway a SDPD patrol car was parked at the corner, his rear end jutting into the curb lane a bit, his lights flashing red and blue. There was an officer writing a ticket while a young flashlight-holding cadet stood in the open passenger door keeping watch. I passed close by, but stopped only to wait for the pedestrian light to turn for me so I could continue up Broadway.
However, I had a thought: this cop might sign off the CHP-issued "fix-it" ticket in my wallet for me. All I needed to do was to get up the nerve to ask. So I walked away but crossed again at the next intersection, executing a big rectangle while mustering up courage.
Back at the patrol car, while the officer continued writing in his citation book, I caught that cadet's eyes, who didn't seem too busy, and asked,
"Do you think you could sign my Fix-It ticket? It was for not having my original registration with me."
The officer paused and looked up, "I'm surprised he wrote that!"
"Well, he was doing me a favor. He gave me a warning on my speed, and just wrote me for this. He showed some compassion!"
"If you can wait about ten minutes," the officer said, "I can do that for you".
So I stepped off about 6 or 7 paces and stood against the wall of the corner restaurant. Now I could just relax and listen.
The ticket being written was for jaywalking. A guy who was walking a bike and his friend, a woman who may have been from NYC since she spoke of someone who "hopped the turnstyle".
He was almost finished writing the citation when he noticed a woman staggering down broadway, just off the sidewalk, walking in the road. He asked her how much she'd had to drink and announced she was getting a ticket and told her to sit on the curb. She complied.
A few minutes later he looked back over his shoulder and witnessed three guys crossing against the pedestrian light. He told them they needed to stop since they would be getting tickets for jaywalking as well. He had them all sit on the curb.
The cadet looked over at me with sort of an apologetic look, but I smiled and waved my hand to say "take your time, I don't mind, I'm grateful that he said he'd sign my ticket!"
and then (in progress).....
Sometimes it's interesting to go "offline" for a while, randomly surfing the real world, to see what might be found.
Walking down Fifth Avenue after eleven at night.
Prohibition is gone. The door that once stood locked is now wide open, making visible to the street a few Volstead Act photos on the walls at the top of the descending stairs. You can just barely see that door has been cleaned of the misleading words "Law Offices of Eddie O'Hare".
There's a cool storefront at 430 Fifth called "Drama Queen". Original women's dresses and apparel styled in a 1950's retro trend.
Crossing Island in the crosswalk a tourist in a big SUV pulled halfway into the walk forcing me to stop and walk around him. That's okay; I didn't blame him, as he looked through his dirty windshield straining to read scarcely-visible street signs.
Across Harbor Blvd and then south to the new pedestrian bridge that crossed the tracks to the ballpark. What a beautiful structure of baffling engineering. A suspension bridge with just one leaning support, and with an additional horizontal as opposed to vertical curving arch in it... how does it even stay up?
From the bridge I watched a switching engine in the distance as it did it's heavy clanging work. When it whistled the sound echoed against the dark buildings in the stillness.
Walking back north, this time on the other side of 5th, I set out across a side street believing I'd be safe between the thick painted lines of the sidewalk. A green and white taxi-cab approached quickly from the right. He didn't stop until his front end was completely and suddenly blocking my way. In a reaction that I regret (because who knows what could have been the outcome; I was lucky it was harmless) I slapped both my hands down on his hood hard. I moved to the driver's window and he rolled it down and I just said "sorry".
Perhaps pedestrians do not have the right away in Somalia. I wonder what his four tourists who were his fare thought when they heard the thud on the hood?
Up at 4th and Broadway a SDPD patrol car was parked at the corner, his rear end jutting into the curb lane a bit, his lights flashing red and blue. There was an officer writing a ticket while a young flashlight-holding cadet stood in the open passenger door keeping watch. I passed close by, but stopped only to wait for the pedestrian light to turn for me so I could continue up Broadway.
However, I had a thought: this cop might sign off the CHP-issued "fix-it" ticket in my wallet for me. All I needed to do was to get up the nerve to ask. So I walked away but crossed again at the next intersection, executing a big rectangle while mustering up courage.
Back at the patrol car, while the officer continued writing in his citation book, I caught that cadet's eyes, who didn't seem too busy, and asked,
"Do you think you could sign my Fix-It ticket? It was for not having my original registration with me."
The officer paused and looked up, "I'm surprised he wrote that!"
"Well, he was doing me a favor. He gave me a warning on my speed, and just wrote me for this. He showed some compassion!"
"If you can wait about ten minutes," the officer said, "I can do that for you".
So I stepped off about 6 or 7 paces and stood against the wall of the corner restaurant. Now I could just relax and listen.
The ticket being written was for jaywalking. A guy who was walking a bike and his friend, a woman who may have been from NYC since she spoke of someone who "hopped the turnstyle".
He was almost finished writing the citation when he noticed a woman staggering down broadway, just off the sidewalk, walking in the road. He asked her how much she'd had to drink and announced she was getting a ticket and told her to sit on the curb. She complied.
A few minutes later he looked back over his shoulder and witnessed three guys crossing against the pedestrian light. He told them they needed to stop since they would be getting tickets for jaywalking as well. He had them all sit on the curb.
The cadet looked over at me with sort of an apologetic look, but I smiled and waved my hand to say "take your time, I don't mind, I'm grateful that he said he'd sign my ticket!"
and then (in progress).....
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Crazy Bus People
Why do all normal people drive cars, and all crazy people ride buses?
Then he said “I don’t think I should be taking this bus any more”. When I glanced back again to see what she was doing, she was gone.
At first I thought she had maybe bent down to pick something up, but her feet were no longer visible either, so she’d obviously got up and moved.
Moved away from him.
Strange thing on the bus this morning:
This older guy was sitting in the row just in front of this woman, and without turning around, he quietly said “Have I ever apologized to you?”
From my vantage point just ahead and across the aisle, when I turned back slightly and glanced at the woman sitting behind him, there seemed to be a tightening of her facial expression. It made me think that he was talking to her.
A moment of silence ensued, leaving only the noisy sound of the bus and the hubbub of the other passengers.
At first I thought she had maybe bent down to pick something up, but her feet were no longer visible either, so she’d obviously got up and moved.
Moved away from him.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Intentional Comedy at the Service Meeting
Last night we had our midweek meeting, and it was Comedy Gold on stage!
So cool how the branch had actually written a comedy routine in the KM:
Chan and Joy did a fantastic job in performing the demonstration of how to do some bad “teaching”.
Those who had pre-studied and expected this were laughing audibly. The ones who were taken by surprise thought that Chan had “lost it”.
At first I thought I’d never seen that before, where the KM said to do a demonstration of a negative example.
Then I remembered years ago they wanted the brother to be up there and not be able to find the literature he’d just offered because his bookbag was so disorganized. Bob Bee was up there for like 5 minutes rifling through his case, papers dropping on the floor, and the audience uttering mildly hysterical laughter.
Last night the point was clearly made: keep it simple. Don’t talk too much. Don’t bring in other points, no matter how interesting, because they’ll obscure the simple point that you want to make.
So cool how the branch had actually written a comedy routine in the KM:
Chan and Joy did a fantastic job in performing the demonstration of how to do some bad “teaching”.
Those who had pre-studied and expected this were laughing audibly. The ones who were taken by surprise thought that Chan had “lost it”.
At first I thought I’d never seen that before, where the KM said to do a demonstration of a negative example.
Then I remembered years ago they wanted the brother to be up there and not be able to find the literature he’d just offered because his bookbag was so disorganized. Bob Bee was up there for like 5 minutes rifling through his case, papers dropping on the floor, and the audience uttering mildly hysterical laughter.
Last night the point was clearly made: keep it simple. Don’t talk too much. Don’t bring in other points, no matter how interesting, because they’ll obscure the simple point that you want to make.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Dying's like Lightning
No one really wants to die. We all want to live another day. (Those with deep hopeless depression or excrutiating pain and suffering excluded).
Me too.
What about tomorrow? If I died today I wouldn’t know what happened tomorrow.
I wouldn’t be able to creep on my friends to see what’s new with them.
Wendy would be totally bummed out if I died.
There are no birds singing in the grave, nor any beer.
However… as I was thinking this morning while walking along, if I really had to die, such as if I lay in a hospital bed, numb from painkillers and I knew the end was near and quite inevitable, I think I’d actually look forward to it.
Mind you, this is only if I really had to, and there was no way out of it. If there was a way out, please, sign me up!
But no, really, I would look forward to my experience of dying.
Not so much the dying, because I reckon it’s probably like getting knocked out and losing consciousness, or falling fast into a dreamless sleep.
More so the resurrection.
I have a strong faith in the resurrection. It’s promised in the most reliable collection of writings known to mankind. It’s logical because otherwise Satan would have the upper hand over Jehovah if he was able to be the instigator of un-recoverable deaths.
Now, how strong is my faith? I guess it will take a gun pointed at my head and a request to violate my integrity to find out for sure.
Yet I believe the account about how Enoch was “transferred” when God ended his life. We believe he was probably in a trance, enjoying a vision of Paradise, and as he will no doubt recount many times during future interviews, “suddenly I was instantly transferred to the literal Paradise!”
We believe that when we have no sense of the passage of time that we’re thrust instantly into the future.
Such as when a Veterinarian, who hated to fly in aeroplanes, decided to try to relax himself by taking some dog tranquilizers. He got on the plane, sat down, and had just gotten comfortable when the flight attendant told him he needed to get up. Why?, he wondered. She explained it was because the plane had arrived at its destination!
So if I ever have to die, and there’s no way out, I will look forward to what the next few minutes (of my experience) will be… I know that if Jehovah sees fit, he will have Jesus resurrect me. I know he will.
Today I’m going to view the corpse of the mother of one of my co-workers. She died last Friday. That’s why I’m thinking about this stuff today.
There’s no need for any suicide interventions, at least not on my behalf.
Me too.
What about tomorrow? If I died today I wouldn’t know what happened tomorrow.
I wouldn’t be able to creep on my friends to see what’s new with them.
Wendy would be totally bummed out if I died.
There are no birds singing in the grave, nor any beer.
However… as I was thinking this morning while walking along, if I really had to die, such as if I lay in a hospital bed, numb from painkillers and I knew the end was near and quite inevitable, I think I’d actually look forward to it.
Mind you, this is only if I really had to, and there was no way out of it. If there was a way out, please, sign me up!
But no, really, I would look forward to my experience of dying.
Not so much the dying, because I reckon it’s probably like getting knocked out and losing consciousness, or falling fast into a dreamless sleep.
More so the resurrection.
I have a strong faith in the resurrection. It’s promised in the most reliable collection of writings known to mankind. It’s logical because otherwise Satan would have the upper hand over Jehovah if he was able to be the instigator of un-recoverable deaths.
Now, how strong is my faith? I guess it will take a gun pointed at my head and a request to violate my integrity to find out for sure.
Yet I believe the account about how Enoch was “transferred” when God ended his life. We believe he was probably in a trance, enjoying a vision of Paradise, and as he will no doubt recount many times during future interviews, “suddenly I was instantly transferred to the literal Paradise!”
We believe that when we have no sense of the passage of time that we’re thrust instantly into the future.
Such as when a Veterinarian, who hated to fly in aeroplanes, decided to try to relax himself by taking some dog tranquilizers. He got on the plane, sat down, and had just gotten comfortable when the flight attendant told him he needed to get up. Why?, he wondered. She explained it was because the plane had arrived at its destination!
So if I ever have to die, and there’s no way out, I will look forward to what the next few minutes (of my experience) will be… I know that if Jehovah sees fit, he will have Jesus resurrect me. I know he will.
Today I’m going to view the corpse of the mother of one of my co-workers. She died last Friday. That’s why I’m thinking about this stuff today.
There’s no need for any suicide interventions, at least not on my behalf.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Sandy
Don't read this one... it's not very "clement". The purpose is to express feelings, but it's not very entertaining. It's one of those that has a dog in it. And the dog dies. Actually I hate those...
----
Today I was assigned to work with a brother named Terry. With the special talk the following day, we decided to concentrate on making return visits and handing out more of the Memorial/Special Talk invitations.
One of my return visits is Marty, a fascinating guy with a couple of big dogs and a backyard coop full of racing pigeons.
Something I might mention about Marty, who I've been calling on for years, is that he used to have two German Shepherd's Dogs, Luther and Duchess. Luther later died from Lyme's disease, which was strange since he never went anywhere except his back yard which actually is quite extensive. The dog doctor thought perhaps Coyotes had tracked in the ticks during their nighttime visits.
With Duchess now alone, she became quite friendly when I would stop by. Even when Marty's blue truck was gone, I'd still go up and leave a note for him with some literature, and Duchess would quietly greet me through the chain-link fence, rolling on her back in submission, and letting me scratch her through the fence.
A few years ago, Marty told me about a matter of great concern to him. His grown son who lived in Chula Vista and who had lost his license to drive because of his epilepsy, was travelling to Los Angeles for consultations on some brain surgery that was hoped would cure his epilepsy.
Now Marty is one of my favorite return visits. Although he's "forever an RV" and really just won't accept our invitations to come to a meeting, or to knuckle down and study in the Bible Teach book, he just seems so humble, and he'll converse about things he's read in the magazines I leave him. He's just a nice guy!
So I see him every few weeks or less, and was happy to learn that his son's operation had been a success and that he was driving again!
Just a few months after that, however, Marty had some sad news to share. His son had been found dead in his crashed car. Investigators concluded that he'd had a sudden epileptic seizure again while driving.
Marty inherited his son's big yellow lab, a female named Sandy.
Life in the backyard was now of great interest to both Sandy the newcomer, and Duchess the incumbent canine queen. Both laid claim to the title of Alpha [female] and there was snapping and arguing and barking and an uneasy tolerance of each other.
Then one night it the issue was decided. Marty discovered blood "all over" the inside of the garage, where it was evident that a decisive battle had been fought by the two big dogs.
Sandy was now the undisputed champion. Queen Alpha Canine!
When I would come by to see Marty, and he wouldn't answer or else his truck wasn't home, I was greeted by two very LOUD barking dogs, always with yellow lab Sandy in the lead.
Shepherd Duchess would be right behind her offering her full support.
A year or so passed by, and I guess I let some months slip by between visits. Suddenly I noticed that Sandy was looking older and slower. And it was Duchess that was first at the fence with the ear-shattering barking.
Marty explained there'd been another struggle, and the leadership had changed. Duchess was now First Lady of the Yard.
Sandy was getting older and frailer and her coat was getting a bit worn-looking. This had been the case for many weeks now that we returned today, Saturday April 7, 2012.
Terry and I had a very nice visit with Marty, sharing some scriptures about how close the end was, and Jah's command that we "gather together", and earnestly inviting him to tomorrow's Special Talk, "Is It Later Than You Think?" Marty reacted well, and we had a nice discussion.
Then Marty changed the subject:
"You probably didn't notice... Sandy isn't here".
Only then did I fully realize when we'd first walked up, only Duchess had greeted us, with her typical noisy barking, which had been quickly hushed by Marty, who had been right behind her in the yard.
"Remember that storm we had last weekend?" he explained. "Sandy always preferred to sleep outside, rather than in the garage. And you see these pieces of plywood right here?"
He pointed to some some thick press-board plywood sheets leaning up against the inside of the chain link fence. There were about 4 or 5 sheets.
"Well it was windy. And for some reason she chose to lay down right here that night," he said, pointing to the area on the concrete which would naturally be sheltered from the wind by the loose sheets of plywood.
"The plywood blew over and she got crushed. When I came out in the morning, I just saw her head sticking out at the end."
As I listened and offered sounds of condolence, I found my eyes getting wet and watery. Especially when Marty said, motioning to quiet Duchess who lay on the ground at his feet,
"So we've both been missing her."
We talked about the beauty of Jehovah's idea of making dogs, and that Sandy had been 15 years old, and after wiping my eyes a few times with a finger I finally admitted that it had made me cry, and that I was really sorry to hear that this had happened.
One of the reasons Wendy and I don't have pets is that we don't have the courage, the where-with-all, or whatever you want to say, to say "goodbye" to beloved animals when the time inevitably comes.
This sucks but it's been good to type it all out and now I feel better.
ps. I told Marty that I wondered if now Duchess might be more friendly to me, instead of the insane barking she-demon she'd become after she'd taken on the role of Alpha Bitch for the pair of dogs when Marty was not around. (My word choice was slightly different from how I termed it just now. Milder.)
----
Today I was assigned to work with a brother named Terry. With the special talk the following day, we decided to concentrate on making return visits and handing out more of the Memorial/Special Talk invitations.
One of my return visits is Marty, a fascinating guy with a couple of big dogs and a backyard coop full of racing pigeons.
Something I might mention about Marty, who I've been calling on for years, is that he used to have two German Shepherd's Dogs, Luther and Duchess. Luther later died from Lyme's disease, which was strange since he never went anywhere except his back yard which actually is quite extensive. The dog doctor thought perhaps Coyotes had tracked in the ticks during their nighttime visits.
With Duchess now alone, she became quite friendly when I would stop by. Even when Marty's blue truck was gone, I'd still go up and leave a note for him with some literature, and Duchess would quietly greet me through the chain-link fence, rolling on her back in submission, and letting me scratch her through the fence.
A few years ago, Marty told me about a matter of great concern to him. His grown son who lived in Chula Vista and who had lost his license to drive because of his epilepsy, was travelling to Los Angeles for consultations on some brain surgery that was hoped would cure his epilepsy.
Now Marty is one of my favorite return visits. Although he's "forever an RV" and really just won't accept our invitations to come to a meeting, or to knuckle down and study in the Bible Teach book, he just seems so humble, and he'll converse about things he's read in the magazines I leave him. He's just a nice guy!
So I see him every few weeks or less, and was happy to learn that his son's operation had been a success and that he was driving again!
Just a few months after that, however, Marty had some sad news to share. His son had been found dead in his crashed car. Investigators concluded that he'd had a sudden epileptic seizure again while driving.
Marty inherited his son's big yellow lab, a female named Sandy.
Life in the backyard was now of great interest to both Sandy the newcomer, and Duchess the incumbent canine queen. Both laid claim to the title of Alpha [female] and there was snapping and arguing and barking and an uneasy tolerance of each other.
Then one night it the issue was decided. Marty discovered blood "all over" the inside of the garage, where it was evident that a decisive battle had been fought by the two big dogs.
Sandy was now the undisputed champion. Queen Alpha Canine!
When I would come by to see Marty, and he wouldn't answer or else his truck wasn't home, I was greeted by two very LOUD barking dogs, always with yellow lab Sandy in the lead.
Shepherd Duchess would be right behind her offering her full support.
A year or so passed by, and I guess I let some months slip by between visits. Suddenly I noticed that Sandy was looking older and slower. And it was Duchess that was first at the fence with the ear-shattering barking.
Marty explained there'd been another struggle, and the leadership had changed. Duchess was now First Lady of the Yard.
Sandy was getting older and frailer and her coat was getting a bit worn-looking. This had been the case for many weeks now that we returned today, Saturday April 7, 2012.
Terry and I had a very nice visit with Marty, sharing some scriptures about how close the end was, and Jah's command that we "gather together", and earnestly inviting him to tomorrow's Special Talk, "Is It Later Than You Think?" Marty reacted well, and we had a nice discussion.
Then Marty changed the subject:
"You probably didn't notice... Sandy isn't here".
Only then did I fully realize when we'd first walked up, only Duchess had greeted us, with her typical noisy barking, which had been quickly hushed by Marty, who had been right behind her in the yard.
"Remember that storm we had last weekend?" he explained. "Sandy always preferred to sleep outside, rather than in the garage. And you see these pieces of plywood right here?"
He pointed to some some thick press-board plywood sheets leaning up against the inside of the chain link fence. There were about 4 or 5 sheets.
"Well it was windy. And for some reason she chose to lay down right here that night," he said, pointing to the area on the concrete which would naturally be sheltered from the wind by the loose sheets of plywood.
"The plywood blew over and she got crushed. When I came out in the morning, I just saw her head sticking out at the end."
As I listened and offered sounds of condolence, I found my eyes getting wet and watery. Especially when Marty said, motioning to quiet Duchess who lay on the ground at his feet,
"So we've both been missing her."
We talked about the beauty of Jehovah's idea of making dogs, and that Sandy had been 15 years old, and after wiping my eyes a few times with a finger I finally admitted that it had made me cry, and that I was really sorry to hear that this had happened.
One of the reasons Wendy and I don't have pets is that we don't have the courage, the where-with-all, or whatever you want to say, to say "goodbye" to beloved animals when the time inevitably comes.
This sucks but it's been good to type it all out and now I feel better.
ps. I told Marty that I wondered if now Duchess might be more friendly to me, instead of the insane barking she-demon she'd become after she'd taken on the role of Alpha Bitch for the pair of dogs when Marty was not around. (My word choice was slightly different from how I termed it just now. Milder.)
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