“There is always light. If only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.”
— Amanda Gorman
It is the 2nd anniversary of the fatal slide and life-altering weather event. It seems both far and near– so much has happened since then, and we are different. It’s been a tender day. At the pool very early Lisa, the lifeguard played carols and was extra nice. Fran brought baby Harvey (6 mos.) to lunchbreak yoga and we were better for his presence. The wind let up but the ferry was still canceled. Just in case. Better safe than sorry. And I had five dogs to distract me. Rosco, the puppy is either full speed or asleep. He is so dark and furry that when he’s sleeping I can’t tell his front from his back.
At choir practice last night Nancy was out of the boot and off the crutches and only had a sporting ankle brace. It was mostly altos, as the sopranos have the cold.
At play rehearsal in the library (it’s nice that the library isn’t the hush-hush kind…)
I learned that Spot the Dog (my part) pees a lot on a pointsetta. And he sings.
I swear, not only am I living in a Booth cartoon, I have become one.
Bill is a cat man, and a needlepoint artist, and he has made this very clever and funny bookish needlepoint that the Friends of the Library are holding a silent auction for. It’s another good reason to drop in at the library (as if the tree is not enough.)
One way to think about light and dark and how we see them, and why it matters, is this story I heard yesterday. A friend has a friend who had this dog that she couldn’t stand. A puppy that was not all that endearing grew into a two year-old that was even less endearing. Nothing deal breaking or dangerous. Nothing that would allow her to drop it off at a shelter in Juneau or anything like that. She just didn’t like the dog. She didn’t think he was cute, or smart, or fun. She felt really bad about this.She realized she should have given it away when it was a puppy. So there she was. Stuck. For at least 12 years. Give or take.Then one day, they were out for a walk and something about the way the dog skipped and wagged, and related to other dogs changed the woman’s heart. She was a little proud that it was her dog, or she was his human. That they were together. Turns out, as soon she started to feel fondly for that darn dog, the dog loved her back, and the more they appreciated each other the happier they both became — and now they are such a pair that all you have to do to introduce the woman to a stranger is say–“You know her– you see her all the time walking that big white dog.”
