The Face

“You’re doing it, you’re making “the face” “…I have heard that at least a million times from my husband over the years, and have said it to him twice as much.

“The face” can’t be faked..we have tried, and failed every single time., and we laugh and laugh at our feeble attempts.

We call it “the face of love” and it happens when we are fully engaged with our dog lovers know what I’m talking about…  not the “hey, what’s up Enzo” conversation..but the “oooooh, you are so like those ears rubbed?? You like that belly scratched?? What a sweeeeet boy!”  It’s a mutual love fest, a slobbering love beast eating it up and his human’s stress fading fast…and out comes “the face”

We always say we need to get a picture of it, since neither of us know what we look like until now..well, at least one of us knows…me.

“The face” was captured  last year while I was enjoying having this sweet black Lab snout to nose.  She wanted my apple desperately, and might have gotten a little nibble or two.

The sweet creature went to mooch from the angels yesterday .  I bet they’re all making this face…it’s not pretty..but it feels beautiful.

lenore with tess

Thank You, Dan

Whoa…I have heard about this stuff happening, but never experienced it myself until today.  This morning, a stranger reached in front of me with a twenty dollar bill and bought my milk, juice and newspaper while I stood, stunned, staring at the “out of order” sign taped to the credit card machine, my card still in my hand which was locked in the mid-air swipe position.

I had dashed to my local 7-11 before heading to work to grab the necessities that I promised my winter vacationing teen boys would be waiting for them, whenever they emerged from their hibernation.  They are lost without their morning, er, make that afternoon bowls of cereal..I swear I have purchased a Mercedes Benz worth of milk in the last fifteen years.

So, I stared blankly at the tall, 50-something man, and suddenly felt like an extra in  “Oliver Twist”…”for me Sir?”..I whispered.  The line was stacking up fast with folks with a single cup of coffee and places to go.  He stuck his hand out and said, “I’m Dan”, and off my angel went.

Now, I’m kicking myself..had my cognitive processing skills not been completely shut down by his generosity, I would have put the juice and newspaper back and replaced the milk with a smaller container…and maybe on my way to replace those things, I would have realized that the ATM, which I have used a zillion times, was in the back of the store, and I would have gotten my own twenty and paid for my own groceries.  Nope..none of that, I just stood there, feeling the tears starting to well from this kind gesture.

Thank you Dan, I will do this for someone else very soon, someone more deserving than myself , and if they thank me, I’ll tell them it was all you, good man.

People are good.

People are good.

Even The Holy Spirit Breaks A Wing Now And Then..

I’m not fond of New Year’s Eve from a celebratory standpoint.  I never really was, even when I could stay awake past 10:00 p.m..  I  think it’s because I have always rebelled against the clock as supreme ruler of my day, my week, my year, my entire life…I just don’t like being told what time I HAVE to do something or BE something, never have.  This aversion comes with a specific set of challenges that only the chronically tardy can relate schedules and mass transportation immediately come to mind, but the more abstract, and in my opinion, more difficult, time- related obstacles, like…how does a Fifty year old woman dress or act..stuff like that..makes me hate that sadistic, Type “A” cave dweller who figured out it was “time” to do something.   I was soaking in a hot tub of lavender bath salts when the ball dropped, because wouldn’t you know it, I lost track of time, and shouted my “Happy New Year!!” through the door to my loved ones. get it..the par-tay isn’t here.

What I am fond of is New Year’s Day, however.  A paid holiday. A day I dedicate to PJ’s and the afterglow of the holidays that I treasure more than the actual holiday.  My beautiful Christmas tree lit, providing me peace and beauty, not the reminder that I need to finish my shopping. Those days are behind me’s all downhill to St. Patty’s Day.

I slept in late, awakened by the licks of two Labs who were fully three hours past their usual breakfast and morning constitutional time -bless them..they are flexible with the clock, probably why we get along so well- and I left a snoring Joe to attend to all things dog.

That’s right about when the Holy Spirit showed up.

I should explain.

After I let the dogs outside I saw them run urgently to something flopping around in the yard.  A dove.  A wounded dove.  It was cold, and I wasn’t dressed, but I ran to the scene, shouting “No,no,no!!”  Oh, the poor’s wing was broken, and with two hundred plus pounds of Lab up it’s rear, it lamely hopped away, and all I could see was my Black Lab, three hours past breakfast ,dining on his first dove breast..his prey drive has taken us by surprise in the past..I wish I could erase the memory of my perfect, gentle boy chomping into the baby bunny..sigh.

Not on my watch, not today.  I raced back to my bedroom and shouted Joe awake..”I NEED HELP!” (note to self for future emergencies..very efficient way to get him questions asked, he looked like a young fire cadet in training , dressed in less than 3 seconds, slid down the pole, and was in the yard with me in less than 5 seconds).  We stood in the yard, where the lame dove had been pitifully struggling…had.  She was gone.  In the quiet of the morning, I heard the gentle “coos” of  the doves calling to each other, as they most always have a mate.  Impossible, this recovery…I couldn’t imagine how the dove took flight…even the dogs look confused as I inspected their snouts for feathers.

We went back into the house and brewed coffee while I retold the tale of the injured dove to a skeptical Joe.  Suddenly, while sipping and chatting, Joe exclaimed, “a bird!”  Probably not a huge deal for most everyone, but we have had a birdhouse, made from a beer can, (I know, classy.. Natty Boh and O’s’s a local thing)  hanging outside our door for a year ,and neither of us have ever seen a bird in it…we just figured even the birds have more taste than us.

Hey, hon...our first visitor to the beer can house.

Hey, hon…our first visitor to the beer can house.

What was with the birds today, I pondered..then I remembered that last New Year’s Day I had an encounter with Prince, a white deer, who became a source of spiritual strength for me..he died shortly afterwards, taking a little bit of that strength with him, I think.  Today, I think the dove returned some of that.

In Christianity, the dove is considered a symbol of the Holy Spirit, whose visit brings a message of hope. The Bible tells us that when Noah released his dove to search for land and the bird returned with the olive leaf, mankind was saved.  It is also believed that a visit from a dove  is a message to go within and release emotional disharmony.  I like that the injured dove led me to a theme of hope today, of all days.  I want be full of it, all year long, yes I do.

Not my injured dove, but I am hoping this was how her ordeal ended today..

Not my injured dove, but I am hoping this was how her ordeal ended today..