Sunday, July 31, 2011

Summer Can be a Cruel Season

I have not always been like this. 
In my youth, the word that was most used to describe me was "vivacious".
I could not wait get out of my Mother's womb. I arrived in this world four weeks early.
I wanted to experience everything, anything, all things, everywhere!
I loathed sleeping, preferring to stay awake all night. So much to do and so little time.
Not any more. As Bob Dylan wrote, "Things Have Changed".
When life's party turned into a type of wake after experiencing multiple deaths and setbacks, I started feeling a touch of melancholy in the winter months. February being the worst of it.
To my eyes, the snow's beauty has long been snuffed out. The streets are dingy. Nature appears drab and the body is worn from the cold and ice.
In a twist, a quite different and dramatic melancholy overtook me a few weeks ago.
Where I currently live, this past May, the temperature soared to the upper 90s.  As I write this post, we are now experiencing our 30th straight day of temps over 100+ degrees. 
The weather forecast for the upcoming week predicts 110+ actual degrees.
Truthfully, all I want to do is sleep. 
Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

I long for a day that I can stay outside past 9:45 a.m. without feeling heat exhaustion or roasted skin. 
I do not understand this depression, irritability, frustration and helplessness. If it is Seasonal Affective Disorder, this is the wrong season. There is plenty of sun. Too much, in fact.
Perhaps this is where the idea of hell originates?
It seemed to start around the time my beloved dog died from complications of heart disease and a slight heat stroke.
The same week that I found out a favorite cousin had died. 
The same week that I learned of an old friend's death of cirrhosis.
Alcohol can be a source of comfort, even joy, but alcoholism is a special evil that I do not understand fully. And cirrhosis is not a "pretty" way to die (is there such a thing?).
When I discovered another loved one's death from cirrhosis, I was horrified to learn of the terrifying decline that cirrhosis delivers so cruelly. I had no idea of the end results of the affliction.
So, I sit alone with my monkey mind. 
Still trying to figure out the meaning of life. 
Still trying to figure out the meaning of death.
I have spent more time thinking than living!
No wonder I am depressed.....and it is too damned hot to drink!
Live and love today, as there is no guarantee of tomorrow.

In Love, Truth and Beauty....

This post is dedicated to Lea, Justin, Guy and Frank.

Image Courtesy of Wikipedia

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

A Prayer for Our Companion Animals

"For Every beast of the forest is Mine and the cattle upon a thousand hills."

"I know and am acquainted with all the birds of the mountains and the wild animals of the field are Mine and are with Me and in my Mind."

"Then the Lord showed me that Man is the custodian and caretaker of His animals while they are on the earth.........

........then they return unto Him."

Psalms 50:10-11

In Loving Memory of
Lea Lai Dai 1995-2011

The foregoing psalms were sent to me by Dr. Gloria Dodd, DVM, a kind and beautiful soul.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

The First Time I Saw an Angel

My family was fortunate to have an acre of land to roam around, so my siblings and pets had plenty of room. It seemed the best of both worlds - a beautiful house, built from field stone that originated at the Abbey of St. Meinrad, plunked on this pastoral acreage amidst a city of about 160,000.

When I was in the 3rd grade, I had a German Shepherd pup named Wolf. One night, in the middle of a deep sleep (I was 8 - no insomnia at that age, instead I had somnambulism), I woke up to see a filmy white figure standing at the foot of my bed! The figure appeared to be male and it had 'arms' crossed in front of its chest with palm fronds instead of hands.

It communicated this message: "Some one is going to die".

I was so frightened that I dove under the covers and peeked to see if my ghostly friend was still apparent. He had vanished as quickly as he appeared.

The next morning, I told my Mom, who reasoned that it was a dream.

I insisted that it was not a dream! I saw it! It 'spoke' to me!

I dressed in my parochial uniform and went outside to be driven to school. As was my custom, I went to pet Wolfie goodbye, but he ran from me. 

Something was wrong! Wolf was foaming at the mouth and frantically running around that acreage.

I was distraught. For a Catholic kid, this warranted a visit to the parish Priest.

The Priest also pooed-pooed my vision and message.

When I returned home from school that day, my dog had died at the back of our house. Poor animal suffered a horrific death from strychnine poisoning.

For many years, I did not tell anyone about my visitation. I was so scared that the visitations ceased. Later in life, they returned in various forms....and they are always a warning of impending death.

Why me?

Azrael, the Angel of Death
Image Courtesy of Wikipedia