I can't remember a time when I wasn't writing, and for lots of my life, that writing included lyrics and poetry. But there have been long periods when the need for technical writing and web writing took away the lyrics and the poetry. Then, without warning, the poems come back, like premonitions of a future I can't control. Sometime in the last 18 months, the poetry came back...and it seems to be sticking around.
I wrote a poem that I buried with my father last year, saying forever some of the things we couldn't talk about as he drifted into dementia.
I wrote poetry about the dogs playing in the snow, about New York, about treatments and about cancer.
Then, last January, Leroy Sievers blogged about wanting to run away, and I realized that I run away every day for a few minutes--every morning, while I argue with myself whether to get out of bed and face the day (or not.) I wrote it down, and then on a whim, sent the little poem to the annual contest sponsored by the local chapter of the National League of American Pen Women. Somebody liked it. So I got the call that I'd taken a 3rd prize in the adult division, and was invited to the awards ceremony and reading. Unfortunately, the ceremony and reading were held while I was in NYC, recovering from surgery. So my sister-in-law Linda B went in my place, and brought home the prizes (two books of poetry, a check for $25, and my poem, hand-calligraphed and framed with the award certificate.
Full disclosure--when I was in high school, I took a prize in the teen division of the same contest. My poem, 'Suburban Park,' was a kid's memory of the deserted amusement park I passed every day on my bus ride to school. No money, but I won a copy of Kahlil Gibran's 'The Prophet' which I read often. Every 40 years, I guess my poet's voice comes back. ;-)
So here is my voice...Leroy, my friend, this one's for you. For both of us, all of us, who've ever debated whether to get out of bed in the morning, and ever wondered what has become of our time to ourselves.
----------------------
MY TIME
6:00 a.m. to 6:05--
five minutes, just for me.
Five minutes to run away, drift away--
be any place in the world but here.
Five minutes
before Madison kisses me awake,
before Casey brings me the tennis ball.
My time, alone in my head and my heart,
gathering myself to face another treatment
and another day.
Five minutes
without work,
without pressure,
without Xeloda or Kytril or radiation.
Five minutes between the first alarm
and the snooze button--my time.
At 6:06 a.m.
I will still have cancer,
but 6:00 a.m. to 6:05 a.m. are all mine.
-----------------------
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Mi Viejo
My heart-dog puppy is stretched out on the coolmat bed I keep next to the loveseat, sound asleep. I know he's hot, even though it's only 65 degrees--when he's cold, he curls up like a sleeping sled dog or cuddles at my feet.
Casey will be 14 this Thanksgiving--plenty active but no longer the little red demon I brought home during a blizzard, the english cocker puppy who fit into a 100 airline crate and chased tennis balls for hours. He'll still ask everyone he meets to scratch his stomach and toss his tennis ball--but these days, he does finally relax after 25 minutes or so. He's slowed down and sometimes tries to go his own way during our walks. It's no longer safe for him to roam around me free-ranging on his electronic collar--when we're separated by more than a 15 feet or so, he can't hear me. Using his e-collar startles him now; he's more self-absorbed and nose-focused (you gotta use the sense(s) that work!) If he's followed his nose out of my sightline, he gets visibly disoriented when he looks up and realizes he's lost me. So I decided it was time to keep him closer on walks, and reinforce the attention to me that's been standard for most of his life but is slowly losing out to his failing hearing and eyesight.
Given the chance to follow his nose, which has a direct line to his stomach, Casey would always get himself into trouble even as a youngster--only a strong 'Come' command and the reinforcing e-collar kept him safe and close. Now, it's even more important for me to be able to guide him. So outdoors, he's back on a long line so I can remind him where I am, and which way is 'here.' But mostly to others, Casey doesn't look old. Unlike a lot of red dogs, Casey's version of gray is a colort that passes for blonde...and maybe it's causing more 'blonde moments.' Moments of sparkling puppy burst out of his old dog body when I'm least expecting them. He's not too stiff to burst into a run and or surprise me with heel position or a flying leap through my tire or cavalletti--usually because he thinks Madison is getting his share of treats.
But at 3 a.m. today I woke up, riding a new speed wave from the Decodron in yesterday's chemo treatment, Madison opened her eyes, rubbed her muzzle on my face, stretched, and pushed closer to get her morning kisses. Sure, the speed woke me up a couple hours early, but if I'm up, so is my little spotted girl, mi punta nina. We hugged. We cuddled, I got up and moved off the loveseat, heading toward the bathroom with M. ahead of me, bouncing off her crate door, asking to get lifted up, expecting breakfast. I tucked her in and told her 'it's not time for breakfast yet, go back to bed, mi punta." Made my way back to the loveseat and laid down again.
Casey snored on through it all. He's still snoring.
All of the dogs--Taryn, Jazz, Muni, Nola, Bard, Reuben, Madison, and Casey (until tonight) -- always followed my movements around the house. When I worked from home, and moved to get a new bottle of water or cup of coffee, the entire dog posse would rouse themselves and follow, bumping my legs and wondering if there was anything in it for them (food? are we going out? is someone at the door? why are we getting up again?) To do anything that required a lot of moving around from room to room (cleaning, cooking, laundry), I had to put them on long downs, or put them in crates.
My clue that a dog was getting older was reluctance to limit their own beauty rest just because I was on the move. That sleepy-headed "don't get up on my account" look was always followed, sooner or later, by the day when they became completely oblivious to my movements (unless I actually touched them...)
The dogs who grew old in my house before him have taught me the next stage for Casey--he'll start waking and sleeping on his own schedule. On the days when I don't crate him together with M., Casey already protests with that old-dog, I-can't-even-hear-myself bark. He can't hear me telling him to be quiet, and he's not done making noise until HE's done. On his own schedule, he'll settle down and be curled up asleep by the time I come downstairs from my shower.
Today, Casey slept through my early morning speed-rush. When I came back to the loveseat, I nudged him and he sleepily moved up to snuggle. Now he's stretched out at my side, head resting on the loveseat arm that is his favorite pillow, fast asleep again. So unless Madison hears the mourning doves and tells me she's ready for breakfast and a walk, I'll write until Casey wakes up, and then our days will get into motion. First their breakfasts, then our morning walk, then I'll dry the dew off their feathers and put them in crates while I get ready for my own day. My new day. My time used to be controlled by chemo, then work, then radiation, surgery and now more chemo. But while chemo still chimes in, I'm now on Casey's schedule, and we only get up as a group when he sees fit.
My heart dog puppy, my red demon, my cuddler--now truly an old man, mi viejo. Sleep tight, Casey. Breakfast and your tennis ball will be waiting when you wake up.
Casey will be 14 this Thanksgiving--plenty active but no longer the little red demon I brought home during a blizzard, the english cocker puppy who fit into a 100 airline crate and chased tennis balls for hours. He'll still ask everyone he meets to scratch his stomach and toss his tennis ball--but these days, he does finally relax after 25 minutes or so. He's slowed down and sometimes tries to go his own way during our walks. It's no longer safe for him to roam around me free-ranging on his electronic collar--when we're separated by more than a 15 feet or so, he can't hear me. Using his e-collar startles him now; he's more self-absorbed and nose-focused (you gotta use the sense(s) that work!) If he's followed his nose out of my sightline, he gets visibly disoriented when he looks up and realizes he's lost me. So I decided it was time to keep him closer on walks, and reinforce the attention to me that's been standard for most of his life but is slowly losing out to his failing hearing and eyesight.
Given the chance to follow his nose, which has a direct line to his stomach, Casey would always get himself into trouble even as a youngster--only a strong 'Come' command and the reinforcing e-collar kept him safe and close. Now, it's even more important for me to be able to guide him. So outdoors, he's back on a long line so I can remind him where I am, and which way is 'here.' But mostly to others, Casey doesn't look old. Unlike a lot of red dogs, Casey's version of gray is a colort that passes for blonde...and maybe it's causing more 'blonde moments.' Moments of sparkling puppy burst out of his old dog body when I'm least expecting them. He's not too stiff to burst into a run and or surprise me with heel position or a flying leap through my tire or cavalletti--usually because he thinks Madison is getting his share of treats.
But at 3 a.m. today I woke up, riding a new speed wave from the Decodron in yesterday's chemo treatment, Madison opened her eyes, rubbed her muzzle on my face, stretched, and pushed closer to get her morning kisses. Sure, the speed woke me up a couple hours early, but if I'm up, so is my little spotted girl, mi punta nina. We hugged. We cuddled, I got up and moved off the loveseat, heading toward the bathroom with M. ahead of me, bouncing off her crate door, asking to get lifted up, expecting breakfast. I tucked her in and told her 'it's not time for breakfast yet, go back to bed, mi punta." Made my way back to the loveseat and laid down again.
Casey snored on through it all. He's still snoring.
All of the dogs--Taryn, Jazz, Muni, Nola, Bard, Reuben, Madison, and Casey (until tonight) -- always followed my movements around the house. When I worked from home, and moved to get a new bottle of water or cup of coffee, the entire dog posse would rouse themselves and follow, bumping my legs and wondering if there was anything in it for them (food? are we going out? is someone at the door? why are we getting up again?) To do anything that required a lot of moving around from room to room (cleaning, cooking, laundry), I had to put them on long downs, or put them in crates.
My clue that a dog was getting older was reluctance to limit their own beauty rest just because I was on the move. That sleepy-headed "don't get up on my account" look was always followed, sooner or later, by the day when they became completely oblivious to my movements (unless I actually touched them...)
The dogs who grew old in my house before him have taught me the next stage for Casey--he'll start waking and sleeping on his own schedule. On the days when I don't crate him together with M., Casey already protests with that old-dog, I-can't-even-hear-myself bark. He can't hear me telling him to be quiet, and he's not done making noise until HE's done. On his own schedule, he'll settle down and be curled up asleep by the time I come downstairs from my shower.
Today, Casey slept through my early morning speed-rush. When I came back to the loveseat, I nudged him and he sleepily moved up to snuggle. Now he's stretched out at my side, head resting on the loveseat arm that is his favorite pillow, fast asleep again. So unless Madison hears the mourning doves and tells me she's ready for breakfast and a walk, I'll write until Casey wakes up, and then our days will get into motion. First their breakfasts, then our morning walk, then I'll dry the dew off their feathers and put them in crates while I get ready for my own day. My new day. My time used to be controlled by chemo, then work, then radiation, surgery and now more chemo. But while chemo still chimes in, I'm now on Casey's schedule, and we only get up as a group when he sees fit.
My heart dog puppy, my red demon, my cuddler--now truly an old man, mi viejo. Sleep tight, Casey. Breakfast and your tennis ball will be waiting when you wake up.
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