The Solstice angel got her wings this week, thanks to a generous neighbor who donated the deceased fronds of her Chamaero Palm. Andie and I trust that she will bring a practical hope with peace of mind. At this very moment I think, exercising my critic’s will, of Emily Dickinson’s: ” Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm that could abash the little bird That kept so many warm.” While to me this piece of drool is probably one of her most egregious and insipid pieces of hermetic solipsism, it certainly captures the instinctive desire to be relieved. It was a rough week.
But, I do understand the hermit’s reflections, especially of we elderly, who live in pain and manage the disassembly of our physical and emotional lives, either with a noble acceptance or with a stalker’s view to wander our shrinking environs like hungry ghosts shrieking out to any who might listen to the injustice of it all. Andie will have none of this nonsense however, and so I am gifted by her natural loving instinct to travel the path of noble acceptance as we head mid month into the old pagan celebration of Saturnalia, a week long period of lawlessness, licentiousness, and indulgence celebrated between December 17-25th.
There is much to be considered concerning the self centered old pagan fun filled celebrations, which in modern America expresses itself in Black Fridays, Cyber Mondays, and adulation of an obese sugar daddy named Santa, whose attraction to children in our times makes him suspect. However appalling this late stage capitalism might be to the sensitive soul, there is that lotus growing out of the muck, the birth of Jesus, which, getting back to my point is the very essence of hope.
Hope was in high dungeon and desperation this past week as Andie got her self in a pickle. She ate something that knocked her for a loop. Usually I take Andie with me in the car whenever short runs are warranted for stock-ups, but when I have to travel into the city for major items I leave her at home, because Mall kidnapping of cute little dogs is not uncommon. When I returned after about 40 minutes, I came in to find her unsteady on her feet, wide eyed and stoned as hell. WTF! Oh Andie! It scared me to death. Boy did that moment ever wrench me out of a would be complacency called peace of mind.
I rushed her to the Vets, where she was given blood work and the contents of her stomach examined. Poor little thing! I was absolutely frantic and they bribed me with Werthers caramels to stay out of the way. Blood work was normal and the stomach contents contained a small piece of breath mint wrapper, an apple bit and some kibble pieces. She was sent home to sleep it off. My guess is that in her wandering about the cottage alone she probably found a pain pill tablet that had long since been dropped behind the desk or under the bed. Once home, she did some awkward ‘rolly’ dog on the bed fleece and then curled up under my arm and slept for ten hours. It’s the first time in four and a half months I have had a full night’s sleep, waking to find my little one sane and sound as she stood on my chest and licked me awake.
Who needs hope, when gratitude is so much more glorious! Come to think of it, perhaps gratitude is the fruition of hope.
Who? Me?
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As I read this, I wonder if the presence of a dog like Andie is the thing that truly pulls us out of ourselves. When I cut my finger SO badly, I felt I had to postpone getting a doggie because a new pup (of whatever age) might require the use of both of my hands. But now that I see the work that Andie does, of drawing attention away from the this and that to the here and now, maybe I should reconsider. Glad she is okay and back to her usual beautiful self.
What a lucky, wonderful thing for some little dog being to come into your house and lives.
That is so scary as we love them so much. Glad it all worked out. She is so adorable as usual