and then there were three...

We had to put one of our ferrets, Natasha, down today. The vet thinks she had a cancer.

Tasha came to us a little over two years ago and was, we believe, a littermate to Boris, one of our males. She was always a bit of a loner at playtime, keeping to her own little game of moving small stuffed toys from place to place and hiding them. This is nesting/mothering behaviour. She wanted to be a momma so much she even convinced herself (hormanally) that she was pregnant for a time. She was always very sweet natured.

She will be missed.

pagan streams

and we walked the pagan streams
and searched for white horses on surrounding hills
we lived where dusk had meaning
and repaired to quiet sleep, where noise abated
in touch with the silence
on Honey Street, on Honey Street

what happened to a sense of wonder
on yonder hillside, getting dim
why didn't they leave us, alone
why couldn't we just be ourselves
we could dream, and keep bees
and live on Honey Street

and we walked the pagan streams
in meditation and contemplation
and we didn't need anybody, or anything
then, no concepts, being free
and I wanna climb that hillside again, with you
one more time

as the great, great, great, great, great, great, great
Being watches over
and we repair, repair, shhh, repair, shhh, we repair
to Honey Street, to Honey Street

- Van Morrison, from the album Hymns to the Silence
______________________________

I love Van Morrison. He is, perhaps, the greatest poet alive today.

This particular piece is, for me, his most beautiful work, and to hear him recite it is a profound experience which, though I have heard it many times, has lost none of its impact.

It reminds me so much of the innocence of my own youth; a treasure lost but never forgotten....sorely missed.

but without

a walk was taken on a winter's day
icy silence and drippy nose

fencepost shrouded by hordes of snowflakes
bare trees and biting breeze

seeming desolation hides life and green
drift and icicle by wind made mad

i left no tracks

More Chocolate

silver dreams and calling
once there was a joy and dying not fell away
drops of rain in a sea of passing
with all there is without

silver dreams and calling
she held out her hand so fresh and knew
remembering many merry moments
driving on there is a new

silver dreams and calling
heart poured molten to a new design
no depth more precious or high
find your end and listen

Tired

Sat with S for a while this evening and tried to be a comfort. She went to the doctor this morning to get her blood glucose checked and learn how to use her new meter. Her type 2 diabeties has, in all likelihood, been brought on by the steroids she's been on for about 2 years to help combat the colitis. Sometimes the cure is as bad as the disease.

She's just tired; tired of being sick and tired. Though I can't begin to imagine how she feels, I can try. I can do my best to be compassionate and understanding, to let her know I love her. The new treatment for the colitis (Remicade) seems to be working well, and the doctor is slowly weening her off the steroid; so this is good. He hopes that this incredibly expensive treatment will cure her, ultimately. We hope he's right.

Life isn't much fun these days, S rarely has the strength to go out after a day at the office; and she misses a fair number of those. The medical bills, even with insurance, have consumed what little disposable income we had anyway. Thank God for the ferrets; they're always good for a laugh or two.

All we can do at this point is adhere to the old "this to shall pass" mantra.

Good Boy

I'm so proud of our son lately. After a couple of really bad years in school he is really doing it right this year. He's pulling A's & B's in all his classes and really has a good attitude about things.

That is all.

communion

rapt attention, eyes closed


knowing without speaking


feeling without touching


inner self complete

Breakfast with Eddie Vedder

Last night I dreamed about breakfast with my brother, Stuart and Kris; and Eddie Vedder. We were at Eddie's place, I believe, which was thoroughly unimpressive and pretty trashed. (maybe it was simply a representation of what my mind perceives a stereotypical tortured artist/rockstar's place should be, I dunno) We had Eggos and orange juice and talked about mullets and why people kill their children in China. Oh - and Stuart had lost a lot of weight. We also talked about having been astronauts in our youth. I have no idea what any of this means.

I got up this morning and had Eggos and orange juice for breakfast; but no friends, no Eddie Vedder. I did really enjoy the dream, though. Dreaming is something that's only recently begun happening for me again after a long period of empiness in that regard. But are they always gonna be this weird?