morning gratitude

Well, it looks like a daily blog post might be a little more challenging to accomplish now than it's been. Or perhaps not; I'm sitting here now, aren't I? Le plus ca change...

Unless Max wakes up here (which he does about 68% of the time), my day now begins with the speedy brewing of a mug full of french roast and then, as soon as possible, walking the dog. Other days, Max rises at six to take care of Suki before preparing himself to catch the 7am bus to high school.

This also means no more daily sunrise yoga habit for me. But I do not feel any sense of loss; today, I witnessed the sunrise over a slowly passing landscape of lilac and cherry blossoms, bikers and joggers. Upon opening my bedroom door, I was greeted by a tail wagging, face licking, gentle creature whose greatest joy consistently seems to be me the sight of me. It's not so bad.

We've had an eventful first week together, Suki Zen Azumi and I. After returning from DC Sunday night, I rose Monday and arranged both a food and a water bowl in the corner of the kitchen by the back door. Paul took the kids to school so that I could zoom across town for an early morning rehearsal of Telemann before doubling back to pick up my new companion. Then, my friend Mary called, asking me to visit a house she wants to buy. I brought Suki along and had my first taste of ringing a doorbell, only to be ignored by the person opening it. The woman looked pleasant enough, except that her gaze was eyes locked on Suki, way down by my knees; it was nearly a minute before I was acknowledged. Then, Suki was offered water, and I was invited to tour the house while the two of them got to know one another. Hmmmm...could be worse. East time I approached, Suki's tail hit the floor more rapidly and more powerfully than it had been doing, and then, subsided again in volume and tempo as I climbed the stairs or explored the back rooms.

Tuesday, my activities were arranged around whether I could bring Suki along. I worried about leaving her alone too long to meet a friend for coffee, but found she was fine upon my return. Actually, she was overjoyed. I worried again, about leaving her in the car while I ran into the store for essentials, including doggie shampoo and conditioner, a retractable leash, a gnawy bone and a shedding comb, but my return to the car was greeted with the same tail wagging face, licking joy as my earlier return to the house had been.

Wednesday, I took her with me to therapy and, as I arrived at my therapist's office, my sister called to tell me that our Mama had passed away in her sleep. What a blessing. Even though I knew my grandmother had eagerly awaited this transition from pain to peace for some years, it was still nice to be able to process a fresh loss of this magnitude while flanked by compassionate professional and adoring canine.

Thursday, as I did housework, I realized I must travel miles as I clean up this place; crossing back and forth from laundry to bathroom to bedroom to garbage to laundry again, then to linen closet, the clicking of Suki's paws on the laminate and hardwood floors made me so much more conscious of every step I took. Never did I make a single trip without her company.

Of course, I worried that Suki would be deeply disturbed by my sudden absence were I to hop a plane to the funeral the next day, departing before dawn on only her fourth morning in our home. I decided to make the round trip to New York in one day, and to take only one family member with me - nine year old Sam - in order to rock Suki's brand new world order as little as possible. Paul works just a mile from the house, so he was able to take her out for several walks throughout the day. As I travelled from chapel to graveside, midday, I received a text from Paul saying that Suki was sending me love.

I'll tell you this: in addition to my husband's embrace, I looked forward to that unbridled, tail wagging welcome when I returned hime. At 10:30 pm, I carried Sam, who had awoken at 5, from the garage through the kitchen and all the way to his bed, for the first time in probably five years. No sooner had I deposited my 90 pound son upon his cozy nest, stripping him of jacket and tie, socks and shoes, but I was awash in dog kisses from Suki, who had trailed me every step of the way.

Saturday, I took Suki and the boys through the trail at French Park, including a long, muddy, splashy romp through the center of a creek. This was followed by a thorough toweling off in the parking lot, and then a first application of doggy shampoo, at home, which went much so better than I had expected. Result: a clean, sweet smelling, happy dog, and no muddy footprints in the house. Just many, many floating balls of hair.

Sunday came and found us picnicking on the village green, with me resting my head on Suki's flank as we lay beneath a budding tree and watched the boys toss a ball after lunch. By late afternoon, Paul suggested that I take time to practice the violin before it grew too late. We both realized that yet another whole house vacuuming was in order and, for the first time in my recollection, he volunteered to that job himself. Practicing the violin with the sound of a fur sucking vacuum in the background is much more harmonious than you might imagine. As I strained to hear the notes over the whir of the machine, my heart was flooded with contentment.

Every evening brings with it the opportunity for another walk; starlight invariably finding one or more two legged types bathed in its soft glow, with a faithful furry companion at our side.

Yes, I think I could get used to this.