Endings

 Leaves fall early in the autumn wind.

Butterflies are already yellow with August

A pair flies over the grass of the West garden.

Seeing them hurts my heart.

Li Po, Chinese poet of the 8th century, "The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter"

Summer is over. No matter the temperature, by the time we get to August it's obvious that the season is changing. It's getting dark much earlier. Everything that's green outside is beginning to look tired. A few leaves are starting to change color and some are even beginning to drop. The hummingbirds seem frantic as they swarm the feeders, devouring the sugar water as they put on weight and prepare to fly South for the winter. I wonder if, during the long winter months, they ever dream of their homes here in North America that they'll be returning to next Spring? Do hummingbirds dream to begin with? I know that they return to the same places year after year, and the ones we see at our feeders right now are likely to be back by next April. 

I think of the start of seasons a little differently than most people. Here is an explanation from one of my favorite seasonal writers, Waverly Fitzgerald:

Americans are accustomed to dating the beginning of a season from the solar holidays. We say that Autumn begins on Autumn Equinox. But in medieval England, autumn actually began on Lammas (August 2).

The clearest evidence for this ancient system of dividing the year comes from the old names for Yule and the summer solstice. The Christmas feast in England was always known as the Midwinter feast. Likewise, June 23 was called Midsummer's Eve, because June 24 was Midsummer's Day. If June 24 is the middle of the summer, then the summer must begin at the start of May. This makes August 2 the first day of autumn, November 1 the first day of winter and February 2 the first day of spring. There is good evidence for these older seasonal markers as there are clusters of ancient religious and political holidays that occur around these dates.

I have been using this new understanding of the seasons for several years now and find it much more satisfying. In Seattle, buds are apparent on the trees and a few crocuses are evident by February 1. The spring equinox is the height of the flower explosion: Daffodils, tulips, azaleas, some rhododendrons, cherry trees, plum trees, quince, hyacinths, etc. Right around May 1, the hawthorn (or may) trees begin to flower, along with lilies of the valley and lilacs.

At first I thought that August 1 was too early to consider the start of Autumn. In Seattle, we often have our most glorious sunny days in August and September and the leaves don’t begin to turn (or fall) until October. But what has changed is my understanding of Autumn. I now see it as the time of harvest rather than the time of falling leaves, which seems an appropriate signal of the approach of winter, which begins with the gloomy days of November and continues through until February 1.

I like to divide each season into two parts, for instance, Early Autumn (Aug 1 to Sep 22) and Late Autumn (Sep 22 to Nov 1). Early Autumn in Seattle is a time of sunshine and abundance, although the dark falls sooner and the nights are cooler. Late Autumn has the feel of the more traditional Autumn, that sense of scurrying around trying to gather nuts before the winter begins. The leaves will all be gone from the trees by the end of Late Autumn. My mentor Helen Farias liked to use the old word “-tide” for these segments of the year. Right now, we are beginning Lammastide.

By this old way of reckoning, here at the end of August we're only 3 weeks away from Mid Autumn, the autumnal equinox. Even though it will be a few weeks yet before the heat really begins to subside in South Carolina, you can still sense a change in the air. This year I'll be especially glad to see the arrival of a new month, a new season, and a new epoch in my life. August 2020 has been full of distress and sadness in this house, and it feels like it's time to let go and start moving on. It's a wistful and bittersweet feeling.

Some music for your Saturday

 My husband frequently watches a YouTube channel called Daryl's House, which is Daryl  Hall (of Hall and Oates) hosting musician friends at his house, and playing music together. It's pretty awesome. Last night we watched a cover of Papa Was a Rolling Stone that Hall and the guys from the band Train did together, and I enjoyed it so much I thought I'd share it with you. Enjoy!

The ugly cry

 I'm sitting here sobbing like a baby. It's a real, true "ugly cry" and my face is a mess.

I went to the vet's office this afternoon to pick up Ginger's ashes. The local company that handled the cremation made everything so nice. The container that they put the ashes in was so pretty, and there was a sympathy card, and best of all they had made a little plaster cast of her pawprint. I sat in the car and sobbed.

Then when I got home I had a message from a friend that I used to work with at the bookstore telling me to go and look on my front porch. There was a gift bag with a beautiful hand crocheted shawl for me and another sympathy card, and the card said to consider the shawl a hug from her and Ginger. I really sobbed then. I can't believe the timing....that she left the gift on the same day I picked up the ashes. 

I'm so grateful for all the kindness I've been shown as I grieve for my girl. My heart is full to overflowing. My eyes, too.

Our Lady of the Holler

 I found this on the internet the other day and wanted to share it here on the blog. Dolly Parton is an American icon, a living legend, and a national treasure. All hail Queen Dolly!

Our Lady of the Holler, Slayer of Jolene, Mother of Butterflies, patron saint of birthing mothers, champion of literacy, teacher of children, Her Royal Majesty Queen Dolly, First of Her Name.

ALL HAIL THE QUEEN, LONG MAY SHE REIGN.

(Art work done by Astrosperma aka Stacie E Williams
https://www.etsy.com/shop/Asterosperma?ref=search_shop_redirect )

Doldrums

The sadness of the last couple of weeks is settling in to a sort of dull depression in which I have morbid thoughts (3am mortality fears, anyone?), occasional bouts of mild anxiety, and a kind of plodding listlessness the rest of the time. Added to my awful grief over Ginger's death, my parents and our relationship has reached a low point these days (at least on my end). That's a story for another day, though. Compared to my sadness over losing Ginger, their selfishness and thoughtlessness is barely a pinprick most of the time. Just more background shades of gray in my life at the moment.

And I swore to myself I was going to be more upbeat the next time I posted. Sorry! 

I need to go back to work.

One good thing that happened is that I finally bit the bullet and went shopping on Tuesday. I found a great sale at the local JC Penny's because they're going out of business next month. I hate that they'll be gone, but was glad of the break to my wallet. Ginger's vet bills this month are over $1500 and we haven't paid the cremation fee yet. (Not that I'm complaining about spending so much on her. She was worth every penny and more.) I was able to buy myself 5 whole work outfits, with a couple of those pieces versatile enough to pair with other stuff I already own. I also bought some new underwear items and hose. And all in one store, and at a reasonable price! The new clothes were/are sorely needed and I can go back to work feeling okay about how I look, at least. 

I'm sure I'm "preaching to the choir" here, but I'm also so, so tired of Covid-19. I want my old life back. That feels like another kind of grieving. I miss my friends, my book club, going out in public without fear, and so many other things. I don't think anything is going to change anytime soon in that regard, either. In fact, I hate to say it, but I imagine we're going to have a second wave in the fall that's even worse than the first one. I really hope I'm wrong about that.

And I wish the upcoming election was over and done with already. I dread it, no matter the outcome, although if 45 is reelected I don't know how I'm going to be able to move forward. I'm sick of the ugliness and nastiness, the racism and upheaval of these last four years. Can we even survive four more years of this horror as an intact country? Hell, we might be on the road to ruin no matter what. We're all so hopelessly divided, and the ugliness that has shown itself won't be easily forgotten. I'll never forget (or forgive) how so many people I know enthusiastically joined the Trump train. They saw his utter lack of morals, kindness, and decency, his unfitness for the job, the criminality of every person who works in his administration, the racism, the nepotism, the vile abuse that he unleashes on Twitter every single day, and still they love and support him. I can't understand it. I'll never understand it. More stress, just thinking about it, so I try not to. At least not much.

So anyway, how are you all doing these days? I've tried to keep up with blog reading and leaving a comment here and there, but I feel like I'm very behind. I hope to do better this weekend and catch up with all of you before my job starts back on Monday. I have a feeling the first week or so back is going to be exhausting, with little energy left over for the blog. Getting back to a normal routine is going to feel so good, though. 

From The Magician King by Lev Grossman. Notice the Doldrums are very close to the Underworld, way out at sea.

Just coping

 Hi everyone. Thank you all for all the kind and supportive comments on my last post. I can't respond to them individually at this point but please know that I've read and appreciated every single one of them.  

I fear this is turning into the My Dying Dog blog, which can't be very much fun to read. I'm sorry. Life feels like it's in this weird transitional period, a kind of shitty and depressing limbo between our old life with Ginger and what comes after. In a little over a week I'll return to work full time after 5 months of being at home. Establishing new routines and getting back on a schedule will have to help. 

That said, I'm glad I have another week at home with George. He's going to be alone during the day for the first time since we adopted him, and another week with me will hopefully help him adjust a bit more beforehand. He's having a really hard time with Ginger's passing. He's confused, anxious, and sticking to me like glue. I catch him listening hard to the slightest noises in the house, and looking around the porch and backyard sometimes. It's pretty obvious he's listening and looking for Ginger, and doesn't understand what's happened. He looks at me sometimes with these big, sad, questioning eyes and it's heartbreaking. We're trying to be cheerful and matter of fact with him to help curb some of the anxiety. We're taking him for extra walks to burn off some of that tension, too. I don't know what else to do but to give him time. 

You know what doesn't help George (or us, for that matter)? Marco calling several times a day, "GINGEEEERR! GINGER!"  Every time he hears us call for George, he has to follow up and call for Ginger, too. It's really sad. (Be aware of these things if you ever get the crazy idea that owning a parrot would be nothing but fun). It makes us sad to hear him call out to her, and it's pretty obvious he's wondering what happened to her and where she went. Maybe he's missing her, too. We had her already when he came to live with us all those years ago.

I've discovered that grief is exhausting. Gregg, George, and I have all been feeling tired and listless. In an effort to take care of us all, I did some cooking yesterday afternoon. I made spaghetti sauce from scratch and let it simmer for hours, filling up the house with a delicious smell. When I looked in on the boys after finishing some stuff in the kitchen, this is what I saw.

Poor guys were both worn out. Gregg never naps, so this was a surprise. I stayed as quiet as I could and let them sleep for the next hour or so.  Later we had big bowls of delicious spaghetti, the best (and biggest) meal we had eaten in many days. We both felt a little better for it. I made a lot of sauce, so the extra is slowly heating back up in the crockpot for tonight's meal. It smells even better today.

So that's it. We're hanging in there and coping with this transition for our little family as best we can. Thanks again for all the support. It really means a lot.

Running free

 We had to say goodbye to our beautiful Ginger this morning. She went gently, peacefully, with her two humans beside her stroking her soft fur and letting her know how very loved she was (is).

 And now, I like to imagine that she's running free in the countryside where she was born, with her old pal Charlie by her side. 

                The best friends, Ginger and Charlie, years ago. I hope they're together again now.

Rest well, my sweet girl. There will never be another like you. We love you so much, and we always will.

Rough night, tough decisions

 Yesterday was a bad day for Ginger. She started swelling through the middle again, and by the time we went to bed she was hugely swollen and miserable. Not only that, but she didn't pee all day long. She could barely stand up, she was so swollen with fluid, and she didn't eat much. In the middle of the night she drank a bunch of water and then threw up the little she had eaten during the day as well as the pills we had given her. We were sure today was going to be the day we were going to have to have her put to sleep. And she had been doing so well all week!

After a terrible sleepless night for us both, we called her vet and took her up there this morning. We steeled ourselves for what we thought was coming. Dr. Causey, to our surprise, offered to drain the fluid off again and to check her again at the end of this week. We were so torn about whether to do it or not; she was so miserable yesterday that we hate the thought of this just happening again and again. But on the other hand, she felt so much better last week that she was able (and eager) to eat, go on easy walks, and sniff around the backyard after they got the fluid off. So we decided to try it one more time.

It only took a few minutes, and they got 5 pounds of fluid off her chest and belly. Doc says that her kidneys are fine despite the fact that she wasn't peeing yesterday, and he said she should be back to peeing normally today and we should continue to give her the heart pill and lasix. He wants us to bring her back Thursday afternoon to see how things are going. We do NOT want another weekend to catch us when we're helpless to watch her struggling.

We're trying so hard not to be selfish. We of course want her with us as long as possible, but on the other hand we don't want her to feel bad. Also, I'm not sure how many more times my heart can take staying up all night wondering if we're going to have to have her put to sleep in the morning, steeling ourselves to go through it, and then bringing her back home for another week's reprieve. But if she still can have quality of life, how selfish is it to put her to sleep just because the situation is causing us stress and heartache? Last night I hoped that she would just die peacefully in her sleep at home so that we wouldn't continue to be faced with these terrible choices, and so her last moments on earth wouldn't be spent in the vet's office. I feel guilt both ways. Especially when this morning she managed to climb willingly in the back seat of the car and willingly walked into the vet's office. She trusts us (and them) to fix things for her but I'm not sure how much longer we're going to be able to. This is so hard.

But for the next few days, she's at home again and already seems to be feeling better with all that fluid off her body. Hopefully we'll have another good week with her, spoiling her, but when this fluid builds up again I think we're going to have to say "enough" both for her, and our, sakes. None of the choices feel right and I feel like my heart is breaking afresh every single day.