Porch Thoughts: 13 June 2014

Today’s weather is the definition of ‘unsettled.’ The sun comes out, goes in, thunder rumbles, the sun comes out… I am unsettled as well. I wonder if it was the distant energy of lightening that woke me with a feeling of anxiety. It was a sense of missing something, having to hurry somewhere when there was nowhere to go.

Maybe it was because of an unsettled night that hadn’t been shaken off in my dreams. Last night our dog, my closest buddy, had trouble coming up the stairs. He has missed steps before, but he missed them all. His back legs don’t quite hit the stair and he pauses, tries again, makes it, moves on. I lifted him on the bed and he breathed quickly, his heart beat fast for a long time. John and I kept petting him, afraid his little 13 year-old body was giving out. He is better today, but his health is becoming an obsession. Sometimes it takes some effort to shake it off.

Today I am going to my mother’s to help wash her hair. She is slowly becoming bed-ridden. Still refusing a bed-side toilet or Depends, my sister continues to help her to the bathroom then sometimes out to the living room to eat and doze in her chair. The gradual loss of autonomy and memory is death’s advance. Creeping.

I guess a slow advance is easier than the sudden shock of loss. Or not. The bandage is a soft unwinding, but it is also so much longer than the band aid. There are so many more moments of pause and assessment. How is she today? How far have we come? How far do we have to go?

It is unsettling. And it gives me a new appreciation for the care-taker, my sister. Being close to the process is not comforting. It is exhausting, the definition of creeping into grief. 

The clouds have moved in. Thunder rumbles. How soon will the sun return?

Porch Thoughts, 3 June 2014

You have probably heard of Punxsatawney Phil and Octorara Orphie. I would like to introduce you to Grandview Gary, if I could find him. I last saw him by the shed in our neighbor’s yard, sunning himself and chewing some clover. He – or she – is a very happy ground hog. I do apologize if Gary is a girl; we just haven’t been formally  introduced.

I like Gary. I think he is rather young; he isn’t nearly as big as those famous guys on TV. He has a lovely big nose and long brown fur. His tail is about eight inches long and furry as well. He was scurrying along the fence beside the alley when I first saw him. He stopped at the corner of the shed and stood up to look around. His paws brushed the wall while he looked up at the roof. I said, “hello,” but he seemed very shy. He ducked behind the red paneling, but poked his nose out after a few minutes. Then he stepped away from his cover and stretched out on the grass on his belly. I respected his wish for privacy and didn’t try to engage him in conversation again.

 Seeing Gary has answered a few questions we’ve had lately. We had several near sightings -those flashes at the corner of the eye, just a few leaves moving where you thought you saw something . Thank goodness it wasn’t a rat. Our bird bath is actually a row of three bowls at different levels, and the lower two have been full of mulch and soil every morning.  Apparently, Gary takes a little bath during the night. He must be tripping our motion detecting light as well. Maybe he sings show tunes while bathing in the spotlight.

I made my husband promise me he wouldn’t hurt my new friend before I told him about Gary.  I was thinking of calling the PA Wildlife Management Department, but I’m not sure I trust them. I would like to see Gary trapped and released out in state game lands. He probably lived in the area at the end of the block where new houses appear daily. He deserves a new home. There are probably quite a few animals in need of relocation from that old farm. They had squatter’s rights in my opinion. 

Gary reminds me of my Dad. Not because of his appearance! Sometimes when we were riding in the car, Dad would spot a ground hog just off the road, running out into a field. While pointing him out, Dad said that they run as though they are singing “tweedle-dee-dee, tweedle-dee-dee.”  If you ever see a ground hog run, you’ll know it’s true. Dad also called them gophers or whistle pigs; I don’t know why, but I am grateful for his lessons. For this is the magic my parents gave me as a child. Ground hogs sang while they ran, raccoons were wearing masks. Animals belonged here, and in some places we didn’t belong – the space was theirs. Dad taught us to care about animals and monitor our behavior in their world. And although we had a home in the suburbs, we had no concept of running out of space. We were surrounded by woods and farmland. We believed there was room enough for everybody, and we could all get along.

So Gary is welcomed to my yard, until we can get him to a safer place for young ground hogs. He has every right to some tasty flowers and a long, cool drink. And if he really needs a bath, I’ll see if I can find a bigger tub. Then I’ll camp out and watch for the show.