Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather. ~John Ruskin

It’s been a year since I’ve written anything aside from journal entries.  After we had to put my Cabo to sleep, and the strife that came with that difficult time, I haven’t felt much like opening myself up.  I circled the wagons, shut things down, and just journaled.  Sharing, in any shape or form, came with too much vulnerability to criticism, and for a long time, I did not want to share anything with anyone.

As 2017 gave way to 2018, I began to heed my internal lectures about not being writer if one doesn’t actually, you know, write anything.  I came up with various excuses for the past month or so, mostly about not having time…

Then, today I walked out of my office building during the lunch hour, into weather that just invigorated me.  I doubt I’m the only one who feels this, but weather is inextricably tied to memories of places I’ve been or lived.  Today, the mix of sun, clouds, chill, and warming rays immediately transported me to my childhood in Germany.  So many days spent there under the same weather conditions…chill mornings, sun breaking through clouds, streets drying from a short rain storm.  I felt like a child again.  Weather does that for me.  Rough surf under dark skies takes me back to standing on a Dutch beach as a storm rolled in; warm, springlike days take me home to my collegiate days in San Diego, while humid, breezy days evoke the sheer joy of being in Hawaii, my soul’s home.

I am haunted by weather and memories.  A year ago almost to the day, the Southern Arizona weather was cool at night, warm and breezy during the day – sun mixed with rain and clouds, just like today.  We prepared ourselves as best we could for letting my sweet boy to go, to release him from his pain and his discomfort.  Today, the weather came back and whispered to me to release the pain again.

And so I am.

via Daily Prompt: Lecture


It’s not just a river in Egypt.

Ha. I know, it’s a very old joke.  But literally the first thing that immediately popped into my head.

The second thing was – being shaken out of denial is a painful process, one I recently went through, and couldn’t really find the words to write about…hence, my blog-silence.


I lost my much beloved senior chow mix, Cabo, in February, after battling severe arthritis and spinal disc issues for months.  It came as a shock to me that we would have to be the ones to decide his fate on “quality of life” issues.  I had always assumed that when my cherished animals passed, for whatever reason (denial?), it would be something so obvious and fatal that pressed the issue, not a matter of us making a life and death decision on pain and mobility.  For months, we resisted the decision, until we had exhausted vet after vet, treatment after treatment, and one vet finally looked at my husband and said, “He is worn out, you know.”  We knew then that despite our denial of the idea, we were going to have to decide ourselves to let him go.

20161001_063723 (1)

My sweet boy, when he still had a little get up & go

To say it broke my heart is an understatement.

Still profoundly grieving from the loss of Cabo, a few weeks later my very dear aunt was suddenly struck by a bus and killed.  She had been a surrogate mother to me when I was very young, and my parents divorced.  My mother lived in Korea, and my father, in the Army, was being posted to Vietnam. So I went to live with my aunt and uncle on the East Coast for nearly two years, while my father was overseas.  They raised me as one of their own, and even after my father remarried and I left to live with him and my stepmother, they continued to stay very close and dear to me.

I had not seen my aunt in years, thinking all the time, “I need to go see her.”  But there was always something that got in the way, and I always pushed it off.  Denial. Denial of the relentless march of time, eating away at our opportunities.


The best day I ever had with my aunt – Summer, 1987

I made it home, back to the East Coast, finally.  For her funeral.  I would like to think my aunt was okay with that, and just happy that I was once again clutched in the bosom of my family, embraced by my surrogate siblings – her children, my cousins, and their kids, loving them, enjoying them, ready to stop denying that we all have an expiration date. Because no matter how much we deny it, we all do.


via Daily Prompt: Denial