Category Archives: Essential Journey

Dancing on the Hands of Time

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Art Journal August 23, 2014 Dancing on the hands of time

Art Journal
August 23, 2014
Dancing on the hands of time

“Stealing a glance at time passing away, she awoke.”

I took my mother some coloured pens and other drawing materials yesterday. Don’t you love it when you have a spark of brilliance — later rather than sooner? 🙂

I remember her telling me long ago how when she was young, she loved to draw and paint. It must run in the family. Her brother,  my Uncle Jojo as well as one of her sisters, Auntie Evelyn, both love to paint as well, as do some of my cousins.

It’s in my blood.

Like so many aspects of me, my preferences today are founded on the learnings of the past, those connections that tie me inextricably to the family circle into which I was born.

While I was visiting with her yesterday, I showed her the supplies I brought, and true to my mother, the first thing she wants to make is a card for a friend of my sister, who has as my mother says, “Never forgotten my birthday.”

My mother is big on gratitude. Always.

I like gratitude too. Gratitude is good for my heart. It lightens my spirit and fills my day with blessings.

Last night, as I was leaving the hospital, I stuck my parking pass into the big machine by the parkade’s front door and waited for the instruction to insert my credit card. At the machine beside me, a woman muttered to herself as she tried to figure out what to do. Speaking to the machine and waving her credit card in the air in front of it, she asked, “so where am I supposed to put this?”

“It goes here,” I said and showed her the slot which happened to be the same slot the parking pass went into. It wasn’t very well indicated as to its dual purpose.

“Oh thank you,” she said with a sheepish grin. “I’m from Olds. I’m just a country bumpkin.” (Olds is a small town about an hours drive north of the city.)

“I’ve done it too,” I told her. “They don’t mark it very well.”

She smiled and thanked me and we parted.

It is such a simple phrase. “Thank you.” And yet, it can make the heart so light.

Last week, while at the United Way to give a presentation, I was handed an envelope someone had sent me, using the United Way’s address for my contact. It was from a man who was in one of the courses I used to teach at the homeless shelter when I worked there. He had been in a presentation I’d given last spring to at a workplace campaign. In his note he told me how well he’s doing in his life now, and how he thanks me for playing a key role in his moving out of where he was at into his life today. “Keep poking people,” he wrote. “It works.”

I smiled when I got his note. My heart was thankful and my spirit felt bright.

I don’t remember specifically what happened with this man. the details are not important. What is important is the time he took to express his gratitude and the gratefulness my heart feels in receiving his gift. I am grateful that in his remembering me, my heart has been touched by gratitude. Both for the opportunity to make a difference, and to know that difference moved someone to step beyond the boundaries of where they were at, to live free of the past.

We never know what we do or say that will touch someone in a way that will help them open their eyes and see possibility.

Once, when I was in the deep, deep darkness of that relationship that was killing me, a police detective told me that what I was experiencing wasn’t love. “Love doesn’t hurt like that,” he said.

At the time, I wasn’t ready or able to hear his words, but, once the man was arrested and I got my life back, it was his words that gave me the courage to step out from under the darkness of abuse into living freely.

I have never been able to personally thank that detective so instead, I made the commitment years ago, to express my gratitude through acts of service that make a difference in the world. It feeds my heart and lightens my spirit.

It is one of the many blessings of being free. I can choose to be and do in the world more of what I want to have — joy, love, peace, harmony — and let go of the things I don’t want, the things that don’t serve me, or the world, well — regret, sorrow, bitterness, anger…

I am grateful today for the lives I’ve touched and the lives that have touched me — all of them. Because that’s the thing about gratitude, even the touches that hurt have value. Their gift is found in the freedom I know today.

Blessings on your day.

PS. We are hopeful mom will be out of the hospital tomorrow. I am grateful for the amazing care she has received and the kindness and prayers and well-wishes of all of you here, and on FB. Thank you.

 

 

It’s not about finding perfection.

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Exploring 1 Art Journal page August 12, 2014

Exploring 1
Art Journal page
August 12, 2014

Like writing, art-making takes a willingness to move through ‘the bad’ to allow the good to appear.

It is not about finding perfection. It’s about finding the perfect moment to breathe into what appears, exactly the way it is and delight in its presence.

I have been exploring art journalling.

Ah, you may ask, what is an art journal?

Like a diary, it incorporates words and enhances/intensifies them with images to tell your story. An art journal can be used to capture creative ideas, document your thoughts, feelings and happenings along life’s journey, experiment with new ideas and techniques (one of my favourites), and/or to be present in the act of creating for the sake of creating.

I have always been hesitant to call myself an ‘artist’. The label triggers long buried memories of being a teen-ager and wanting to paint and draw but feeling inadequate in the presence of schoolmates who were amazingly talented. My desire to ‘look perfect’ right from the get-go stymied my willingness to risk sharing my creations. I judged myself ‘not as good as’ and let my desire to express myself through visual media go.

In my twenties, I dated a man who was a hobby artist. He gave me some oil paints and encouraged me to ‘have fun’. Being seriously confined by my desire to ‘look perfect’, my attempts at painting were far from fun, they were painful.

I gave up that idea along with the boyfriend and focused on my writing.

My discourse on ‘who am I’ became restricted to ‘a writer’. An artist I was not.

And then, my eldest daughter was born and from a very early age she displayed an incredible artistic ability. Her stickmen were not just lines and wobbly circles. They were identifiable human and animal creations in lifelike relief.

One of her favourite summer activities involved my lining the deck railings with drawing paper, filling pots with tempera and setting her free to paint the world in all its colours — She was Frida Kahlo in diapers!

And still, I did not pick up a brush until one day, when she was around 15, she asked if we could go to the art store. She wanted to paint and needed supplies. On a whim, I said, “I think I’ll paint with you,” and my love affair began.

There I was, mid-forties discovering a lie I’d told myself as truth wasn’t true. I was an artist.

And the question became, what other things do I tell myself about myself that limit my experiences simply because I tell myself they’re true? What truths do I not challenge in my quest to stay safe in my limiting beliefs?

After over 7 years of continuous blogging (I started my original blog, Recover Your Joy, on March 10, 2007)  with a post called, Scooping Up The Shadows), I have learned a great deal, met some amazing people and… allowed myself to write bad again and again and again.

Along the way, I’ve created a body of work that is a reflection of who I am, how I am and where I am in the world.

I am not perfect. I am me.

I learnt that from blogging everyday about what it is that makes my world shiny and bright, even when clouds are blocking the sun, even when I’m feeling fuzzy and blue or sunny and free.

It doesn’t matter how I’m feeling, my commitment is to turn up on the page and find the gift in everything. To write through the bad to find the truth and beauty in every aspect of my life.

It is not about finding the perfection. It’s about experiencing creation. All of it. And the act of creation is not a defined art. It is limitless.

I have been exploring art journalling. Some of my pages please me. Some of them give me pause to ponder the gifts of creation. They give me space to ask myself, how willing am I to let go of my need to ‘look perfect’ to simply be present to the perfection of this moment, right now.

I am learning and I am grateful for the gifts I find in every moment.

I am a writer, an artist, a creative spirit finding her expression through shadow and light.

Namaste.

To see my latest journal page and read the poem (created with it, In The Quiet Hours) click HERE.

 

Songs of Enchantment

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IMG_5673

There was once a little girl who was afraid of colour. To see the golden yellow of the sun, or the deep green velvet of the forest, or the vibrant hues of the garden filled her heart with fear.

Terrified of all the colour in the world, she walked through each day with her eyes squinted against the onslaught of beauty that she could not witness. Fearful of the world of colour  that bombarded her senses with every glance, she covered her ears to the songs of enchantment all around and cowered beneath the belief that she was right to cling to her fears.

“Give me black and white,” she pleaded in the darkness of her mind.

And the world closed in around her until all she saw were the shadows between the colours of the world.

The story above appeared in my meditation as tendrils of thoughts whispering their away into substance.

I opened my eyes and let the words flow. Let them form themselves upon the page.

It is what I find most enlivening and mystical about the creative process. When I stop squinting my eyes, when I stop fearing what might be, or not be, magic and wonder happens.

When I fear. When I force or try to push the muse into a container, to direct her into this way or that, the wonder disappears and I am left feeling left out, apart, and let down, telling myself, there is no magic. There is no mystery. there is no possibility of beauty rescuing the light from the darkness.

In fear, I fall into that place where all I see is what I fear. Where all I know is what I expect to be the mundane, the same as, the predictable of life lived in the comfort of the darkness I crave when I let go of seeing the light in every thing and everyone.

At River Rock Studio, immersed in the creative process, without access to Internet or TV, the world fell away into that place where all I knew was its beauty. There was no war, no famine, no hurricane or jet planes being shot down. There was no enemy, no terrorist, no terror.

There was only the muse and me. Connected. Committed. Creative. And in that connection, I was part of the flow of the essential essence of the Universe. I was one with life. One creative expression flowing with the expressions of everyone all around me.

It is rarefied air. Elementary. Essential.

I tell myself, it is impossible to maintain such a connection to the essential nature of the world around me when I live connected to the world through everyday happenings.

“It is much too hard work to continuously live with your senses open to being alive,” the critter hisses. “Don’t tire yourself out. It’s not worth it. The world doesn’t care if you create. The world doesn’t need more creation. It needs more safety. More same old. More conformance to staying the course so it can keep ticking along without interference from the likes of you.”

And I sigh.

I know that critter’s voice. It is the voice of self-denial. Of refusal to see, we are all essential to the evolution of life. We are all creative expressions of amazing grace.

Anything is possible as long as I do not shut my eyes to the colours of the world. As long as I stay open and available to the song’s of enchantment flowing all around, all the magic and wonder and mystery of the world is mine to explore, to see, to know.

It is the beauty of the creative process. The wonder of this space where I let go of fear and fall, fearlessly, into awe knowing, to do my best in the world and for the world, I must allow my best to flow free.

 

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I have also shared another poem I wrote at River Rock Studio during my art retreat — this one was written when I returned home and carried the memory of the joy of creativity into my weekend.  Breathing Under Water.

River Rock Studio – Painting in Words

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Day 5:  River Rock Studio – Painting in Words

Composition is like a pasta dinner, our instructor, Jonathan Talbot, tells us. If you list the ingredients from least interesting flavour to most interesting, you find that the more interesting the flavour, the less of it you need to use.

We eat our art, he says, and proceeds to enthrall us with one of his many stories of art-making and life and a series of paintings under the name Patrin (‘patron’). It is a Romani word representing the signs travellers leave for each other. Here is a welcoming place. Don’t go to that door. They have good cheese. This vendor cheats… As a teenager, Jonathan lived rough for a while and was taken in by a Romani family in the States. He is a beautiful story-teller and his story is one of family, loyalty, bonds of gratitude that pay homage to a people who treated him kindly and set him well on the road of life at a time when he was lost.

In a field of white sheep, a black sheep is more interesting, he finishes off his story-telling and I am reminded of the analogy I used years ago when teaching creativity to grade schoolers. The cat sat on the mat does not paint a very interesting story. But, when I say, the cat sat on the dog’s mat, what happens?  And the students would get all excited about the possibilities of what could happen if…

Collage-making is an exploration of ‘what could happen if…’  If I put this image next to this, if I layer this on that, if I juxtapose this thought with this idea…. what could happen?

Like life, the outcome is seldom predictable, often uncontrollable. We must stay unattached to the outcome to give ourselves the freedom to explore the context of the elements and aspects of where we’re at to find ourselves free of expectations that the journey will be anything other than….. fascinating!

Benjamin Zander, co-author with his wife Rosamund Stone Zander, of “The Art of Possibility” shares his response when life throws curve balls or he takes a left instead of the right he’d planned. Rather than judging himself, or calling himself a loser, or stupid, he throws both arms up above his head, puts a huge grin on his face and exclaims, “How fascinating!”

I make many mistakes working in a medium I’m not familiar with, learning new techniques. When I choose to judge them as ‘mistakes’, I limit my capacity to push through what is happening into that mystical place of all that is possible when I let go and fall into wonder, awe, Love.

How fascinating!

*******************

Painting In Words

©2014 Louise Gallagher
(Written at River Rock Studio, July 31, 2014)

Lost in a sea of colours and shape
painting in words
poetry pouring down
from cerulean skies
burnished with umber and quinachrodone gold
floating on a sea of Pyrrole Orange
I forget that place where right and wrong
matter as I attempt to hold on
to a design I cannot let go of.
Lost in the deceit
of believing letting go
will kill my dreams
of creating under water.

Diving into the nothing
that is left
when I let go
I fall
effortlessly
into the divine essence
of life
flowing in all directions
immersing me
in its wonder.

Letting go
I fall
free
of holding on
to nothing
but everything
I am
when I
let go.

Day 4: River Rock Studios

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Day 4: River Rock Studios 

“It is not our job to criticize our work,” says Jonathan Talbot, our instructor. “It is our job to do it.”

Art is a way of seeing. Of knowing beauty in the world and expressing it. Art is man’s nature. Nature is God’s art, or, as Aristotle wrote, “things come into being either by art or by nature.”

The discussion of what is art stems from a comment Barbara, one of the other student’s shared about the beauty of the sunset the night before. We had been speaking of women artists. Discussing how few have been recognized throughout time, yet how many there were. “We’ve forgotten the greatest female artist of all,” said Barbara. “Mother Nature.”

And immediately upon hearing her comment, Jonathan asked the group, “What is art?”

Art is language to me. It is a way to communicate with each other, to connect, to share our unique expressions through creative works and ideas and expressions. Art inspires. Evokes. Creates meaning. It liberates our inner voices, opens us to the true essence of being human. Art is the language of our human greatness, from every perspective, whether we judge it good or bad. Art makes room for us to ‘speak’ of our aspirations, to express our dreams, our yearnings, our heartbreaks, our fears and sorrows. It raises our awareness from the mundane into excellence.  The horrific into beauty. It is all possible realities expressed through the being of its creator.

What is art to you?

***********************

Every morning, Jonathan invites the group to gather outside as we light the candle to honour the artists who have come before us. We are all connected. Through time. Through our creativity, through the collective nature of the muse.

And each morning, he asks me to create the space for us to connect.

Here is the story I wrote for the group this morning.

Journal Entry, Wednesday, July 30, 2014 Mixed media on watercolour paper

Journal Entry, Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Mixed media on watercolour paper

And The Moon Beamed

Patience dear ones, the moon whispered to the stars. It will come to pass. The sun will slip into dusk and your time to shine will come, but first, you must learn to shine in the light of day believing in your own magnificence. one night, the whole world will see the brilliance of your light. But for now, you must practice patience.

And the sun shone, and the moon beamed and the stars twinkled knowing their night would come.

And then, it came to pass that the sun fell into night’s seductive embrace and the stars came out and played Twinkle, Twinkle upon the velvety blanket of night delighting in the lightness of being all that they were born to be in the light of day.

And they shone. Bright.

And the world turned and the sun slept and the moon beamed down upon the earth wrapped in eternity’s embrace.

See my dear ones, whispered the moon to the glittering stars. There is no need to be anything other than what you are born to be. Brilliantly bright and magnificent.

Shine dear ones. Shine.

Day 3: River Rock Studio

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Day 3: River Rock Studio — On the way to finding the path, I found my way.

We painted until midnight. Four adults revelling in the joy of discovery, initiation, anticipation of what happens when we let go of judgement to fall into that place where all we know is what is right before us in the presence of the present of now.

We laughed. Teased. Shared stories. Of art. Art-making. Art-treasuring. We shared ideas. Scraps of paper, “here try this piece there.” “Does anyone have any Green Gold?”

We shared ideas, thoughts, experiments that worked and one’s that didn’t.

We painted medium over magazine pages and set them to dry. We ironed on and peeled back. We worked alone and together. Separately and as one.

And through it all, the muse entwined us in her seductive call to let go, become, allow.

“It’s not only having the information that counts,” Jonathan had told us earlier in the day. “It’s knowing how to share it.”

With yourself. The canvas. One another. The world.

“Art is a visual language,” Jonathan said. “the more we play with it, the more comfortable we become with the elements.”

I am stuck. My piece is not working.

I am attached to the elements, the composition, the path I’ve chosen.

Jonathan sits on the other side of my work table. “Take the elements off the substrate,” he says. “All of them.”

I take them off.

“You have 3 minutes to rearrange them,” he says. “Make a new composition.” And looks at his watch, timing me.

I rearrange the pieces of my collage.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“It’s okay,” I tell him.

“Do it again,” he says.

And I do. Again and again, each time working to place the elements without thought, without attachment.

“None of it is permanent. None of it,” he says when I have arranged the elements into a final pose.

And in the reconstruction of the composition, I discover harmony in other ways.

There is no one right way to discover the path. There is only the path I take and always, there are many paths to find myself.

 

I had arisen early to sit outside in the morning light. In silence, I sat and heard the birdsong, the leaves rustling. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a coyote yip, an owl hoot. Somewhere in the distance, there were many things I could not hear. Voices talking. Laughing. Calling to one another, rising to greet the day. Cars passing over asphalt, a bird landing on the still surface of a pond, rippling it for a moment as it touched down.

I knew all these things were happening, somewhere in the distance, and still I sat. Alone. Quiet. At peace in the early morning light.

Another day of wonder and awe awaits. Another day unfolds in the joy of creating without any intention other than to learn and express and experience the gifts the muse has to share.

My poem, Falling Away, is about the journey to find the path. You can read it HERE.

May we all take care of our planet Earth

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Film-maker, Louie Schwartzberg, has been filming time-lapse video of flowers for years. The work, he says in his powerful Ted Talk, The Hidden Beauty of Pollination, is something he will never grow tired of. “It fills me with wonder, and it opens my heart.”

To be filled with wonder. To walk through each moment with my heart wide open is my intent every morning when I awaken. In the summer, I walk into our garden and marvel at the colour, the beauty, and the wonder of it all. How from a tiny seed set in earth, such luscious beauty can grow never ceases to amaze me. How a bumblebee can buzz around a flower, sip its nectar and go off to create honey is a constant wonder to me. I love to watch the Hops grow and climb up the wall of the garage — they grow so quickly I swear I can see each leaf unfolding! I love to hear the splashing of the water in the fountain, the rustle of the breeze whispering in the branches of the crab apple tree, the birds twittering at the feeder.

Time in the garden opens my heart to awe and wonder.

Yesterday, my beautiful friend BA sent me a link to view just the video from Louie’s Ted Talk. I knew I had seen it before so went in search of the entire presentation.

I’m glad I did.

In his words and through the beauty and wonder of his video, I was reminded once again of the incredible gift of being alive on this planet. I was reminded of how precious each and every life and life form is and of how we are all inter-dependent upon one another. How we are all connected. All breathing in the same air. All walking on the same earth.

We live on a precious planet. We live in challenging times. As I read of a plane being downed by a missile, of human beings being killed by one another, of animals being harmed by humans, of pain and desolation, destruction, and more, I can sometimes lose hope. I can sometimes lose sight of the power of life itself and forget about how precious this life is and what a gift it is to be alive, in this time, in this place, in this moment.

There are so many things in this world I cannot change, cannot undo, cannot prevent. But there is always something I can do to make this moment better, to create beauty in the world around me, to send out ripples of peace and love and joy and harmony.

There is always something I can do.

This morning, that something is to share with you Louie Schwartzberg’s Ted Talk so that you too can hear his words and watch the video he created. May we all take Louie’s words to heart:

“When I heard about the vanishing bees, Colony Collapse Disorder, it motivated me to take action. We depend on pollinators for over a third of the fruits and vegetables we eat. And many scientists believe it’s the most serious issue facing mankind. It’s like the canary in the coalmine. If they disappear, so do we. It reminds us that we are a part of nature and we need to take care of it.

… I realized that nature had invented reproduction as a mechanism for life to move forward, as a life force that passes right through us and makes us a link in the evolution of life. Rarely seen by the naked eye, this intersection between the animal world and the plant world is truly a magic moment. It’s the mystical moment where life regenerates itself, over and over again.”

May we each know the wonder and awe of being connected to life all around us and to one another. May we all take care of our planet Earth.

 

Ubuntu – I am what I am because of who we all are

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DIFFERENCES ARE NOT INTENDED TO SEPARATE, TO ALIENATE. WE ARE DIFFERENT PRECISELY IN ORDER TO REALIZE OUR NEED OF ONE ANOTHER.
~ DESMOND TUTU ~

When I first see them, they are just two men walking down the street in opposite directions on the same sidewalk.

The moment transcends ‘normal’ in one instant. As the two men pass eachother, one of the men strikes out and shoves the other man off the sidewalk onto the roadway. He falls to the ground and the other man continues to walk away.

The man on the ground jumps up. His hands are balled into fists. For one moment, he takes a belligerent stance, and then it’s gone. He’s standing facing the retreating back of the other man, his shoulders slumped forward, his arms hang loosely by his side.

I am sitting in my car, about to drive down the lane, away from the shelter where I used to work when this scene unfolded in front of me.

I am stunned. Bewildered.

I stop my car. Get out and approach the man who is still standing in the laneway. “Are you okay?” I ask.

He turns towards me. He is in his 50s, maybe 40s but it can be hard to tell sometimes how old someone who has lived the ‘streetlife’ really is, ‘the street’ can make you appear ten to fifteen years older.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” And he shrugs his shoulders and starts to walk towards the shelter.

“Is there anything I can do?” I ask.

He sighs. “No. I just got off work. I don’t wanna make no trouble. I just wanna lay down.”

I leave him, get back in my car and turn around back to the shelter. I follow him into the building. I want to make sure he’s okay.

At the security desk I wait until he’s checked in. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” I say. And I touch his shoulder with one hand.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Tears form in his eyes. I wonder when someone last spoke to him kindly when he’s been hurt. Offered comfort. A gentle voice.

“Can I give you a hug?” I ask.

He looks at me surprised. “Sure. That would be nice.”

Later, at my meditation class I am deeply relaxed when our guide instructs us to ‘walk into the desert.’

“Walk with no intention,” says our guide. “There’s a figure walking towards you. Welcome them. See who it is.”

It is the man. Not the one who was thrown to the ground. It is the perpetrator.

He is a dark shadow. Dark clothes. Dark hair. Shrouded.

As he walks towards me I want to shake him. Rattle him. Ask him why he did it. Do something to ‘make him see’.

And I realize, he cannot see me. His world is too dark. Too shadowed to see there is light all around. He is beaten down in the darkness.

I stand and hold the light around him. It is all that I can do.

It was a powerful realization. To know that there was nothing I could do to ‘make him see’, or hear or be anyone or anywhere other than that moment right there.

In that realization I knew – he didn’t see the man he shoved. He saw — his past, the pain and anger of the moment, his powerlessness to change the past, his anger at the moment.

It doesn’t make what he did right. It does make my witnessing of what he did more understandable to me.

Sometimes people do things that hurt others. They strike out — with hands and fists and words and weapons of destruction. They strike out and we rail against the injustice, the inhumanity, the cruelty of what they did believing we would never do the same.

Standing in the desert in front of that man, I knew — I was capable of those same actions. His darkness exists in me because I can see it.

The only difference is — he can not yet see there is light within that darkness.

In Africa there is a word — Ubuntu. It means — ‘human-ness’, Humanity to others — “I am what I am because of who we all are”.

I cannot be me unless you are you and you cannot be you if I am not me.

That man’s darkness cannot exist without my darkness. And my light cannot exist without his light.

For him to see his light, I must be my darkness and light. Hold true to my being, without being pulled into darkness.

May we all be inspired by the power of our ability to inspire others, to be our most incredible selves, even in the face of darkness.

May we all live the truth of Ubuntu so that each of us can live peacefully in the light of knowing, we are all connected in our human-ness.

 

A Dog’s Guide to Life.

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Ellie's Garden

Ellie’s Garden

I have been grieving. I have been wallowing. I have been creating.

I have run the gamut of tears to laughter, sadness to joy, and still that which I must accept remains present.

There is an emptiness to my home. A quietness in the garden. I stillness in my heart.

And still, I must accept.

I have been fascinated by this journey. Choosing not just to go through it, but rather, to observe myself going through it has brought me up against things I do not want to touch, or see, or feel.

The Guardian Louise Gallagher 2014 Acrylic 24 x 24

The Guardian
Louise Gallagher 2014
Acrylic
24 x 24

And still, I must accept.

They are there. And I am okay. Regardless of the presence of sadness or joy, tears or laughter, I am okay.

I removed her bed from our bedroom. I removed her bed from the den and my office. Her toys remain scattered throughout the house. Her water dish remains full. Marley the Great Cat likes to drink from it too.

And I have heard stories. Of other people’s mourning of their beloved pets. Stories that brought tears to my eyes and made my heart ache. Stories that strengthened our human connection.

And I have written. And painted. And gardened. And created.

It took but a moment for her to wriggle her way into our hearts. It will take eternity to erase her footprints.

And here are some of the things I’ve learned.

A Dog’s Guide to Life.

IMG_1159

A Dog’s Guide to Life by Ellie the Wonder Pooch

  1. Get outside. Get into nature. Go for a walk. Garden. Run. Play in the snow. The river. The mud. And don’t forget to take me with you. I like being outdoors. There’s so much out there to explore and it’s so just good doginess to share it!
  2. Smell the roses. Smell the air. Heck, smell my fur, even when it’s wet. Bury your face in the sweet, juicy aromas of life. Sure, it can be messy and prickly. But it’s always beautiful and fruitful and full of sweet smells and reminders of how wonderful it is to be alive.
  3. Pet me. Rub my belly. Fuss over me. I’m a dog. That’s what I need and it’s what you need too! Love all over me and know, no matter what, love really is the answer. Try it with the people in your life too. It really works. Why do you think I do it with you?
  4. Sit. Sprawl. Laze about. Let yourself sink into nothing but the pure joy of doing nothing. Block doorways. Lay in the middle of the room. Take up all the space you need to get comfortable. It’s your life. Your space. Fill it and do it often. Life looks better when you’re stretched out filling the whole canvas of your life.
  5. Chase butterflies. Dragonflies, even bumblebees. You don’t have to catch them. The joy is in the running about, chasing after nature and feeling the wind against your skin, or fur if you’re me.
  6. Dance in the rain. Run barefoot in the grass. Don’t be shy. Don’t tell yourself you’re too old or too proper or too whatever. You’re never too anything to act silly and free. Kick your shoes off and feel the earth — I’ve never understood why people, and horses for that matter, wear shoes. They’re so distracting.
  7. Talk to yourself – which is like… talking to me. Tell yourself all your sorrows, your secrets, your fears, your dreams. It’s okay. No one else can hear you except me and I will always listen and never judge and never tell another soul. Your secrets are mine to keep.
  8. Greet everyone you meet, even strangers and that girl with the tattoos and piercings and dog collar around her neck, with a big happy smile. I also don’t understand why people wear dog collars. They’re for dogs, people, because we’re special. But I digress. Greet people like you’re really, really happy to see them. Try some wiggles and squirms, lick them even! Or, as you humans like to do, give them a peck on the cheek, but really, really mean it! Be happy to see them. Let your happy shine, where ever you go! Heaven knows, the world needs more wriggles and squirms and happy greetings. And by the way, so do you.
  9. Always, always, clean your plate. Yup. I know. Your parents told you this. Difference is, what you don’t eat, you can give to me, I’m not picky and will eat anything you don’t, and then some! (and that’s how you clean your plate btw while also savouring every morsel of life) Oh. And no artichokes please. I don’t like the prickles. Which brings me to my final point;
  10. Only consume, buy, eat, do, speak, think, create, the things that create more joy, laughter, love and caring in your life. Be picky! Don’t settle for something just because it’s there. Make your own choices. Make your own path. Make your own waves. Remember, I chose you and you’re the bestest friend a dog could ever have, even though you’re not a dog. And you truly are great, especially when you remember to follow your heart, oh, and let me be your guide.

 

 

Thank you for the Love.

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I'm so happy to see you!

I’m so happy, happy, happy to see you!

I want to write of all the amazing, wonderful things Ellie has done, but I can’t.

I want to tell you all about her funny, silly antics.

And all I can think of is how I am here today because Ellie saved my life during those long final months of that relationship from hell. It was because of Ellie that I couldn’t let go. I was so scared what he would do to her I simply could not take my own life without knowing that hers would be saved. And I couldn’t figure it out. So we would walk for hours, just Ellie and me, and I would sit on the riverbank and cry and she would sit beside me and lean into me and put her head in my lap and listen to my pain and never once stop loving me and holding me present.

And now, she’s done it again because I couldn’t make the decision of what to do when she had seizures on Monday. She’d had two by the time I got home from the office. C.C. was feeling helpless and then, she had a third one, so we took her into the emergency clinic.

After they’d examined her and told us there wasn’t much they could do,   “It’s most likely a brain tumor,” the vet said. I knew we couldn’t subject her to tests and surgery and treatment. She was scared, absolutely terrified, of vet offices, which was why I’d started using Vets to Go. They came to the house and that allowed Ellie to do her usual, “OMG! I’m so happy happy happy to see you greeting” without fearing the unknown, smelly, strange weirdness of a vet’s office. On Monday night, we were going to bring her home after her exam. I already had Vets to Go scheduled for Thursday and  were just waiting for the doctor to come back with some medication should she have another seizure.

And then, just before we were leaving, she had a fourth seizure.

My youngest daughter was there. C.C., ne and one of my daughters’ friends who had come with us on the day we had picked up Ellie from the ranch south of the City where she was born and we knew we had to let her go. The seizures were so violent and she was in distress.

Her real name was Ella Fitzgerald, named after the jazz singer who inspired so much of my daughter Alexis’ singing. We called her Ellie for short, Buddha Bellie as a pup. She was so round and squiggly and loving and cuddly.

She was also a scaredy cat.

She didn’t like thunderstorms, loud noises, postmen or any man in a uniform for that matter. She never ever pushed a door open, that would be too scary, even if there was food on the other side of the door, she just couldn’t do it. Instead, she would stand on the other side and whine, her snout just peeking through the crack in the door, waiting for someone to take mercy on her plight and let her in. And the dreaded monster, Dr. Va-coooom. Oh no! When he was trolling the house Ellie was nowhere to be found. Under beds. In closets. Out the door. Anywhere that Dr. Va-cooom couldn’t attack her and chew her up.

She had a penchant for chasing squirrels and would patrol the backyard for hours keeping it free from those pesky marauders who simply would not stop chattering at her, giving her a piece of their mind. In her later years she did less patrolling and more one-eyed, lying on the deck watching them scoot back and forth observing. It was only when they came down from the tree and tiptoed across the yard towards her, cheekily nattering about the nuts they’d found or where they were going to hide them in the garden that Ellie would leap up, as fast as her arthritic bones would let her, and chase them away. And then, she’d do a saunter around the yard, checking out the corners before returning to the deck to lie in the sun again.

But mostly, she was just a big, loveable, friendly, “OMG! I’m so happy, happy, happy! to see” you kind of dog. She greeted everyone as if they were her long lost friend she hadn’t seen for years and years and here they were at her front door, just to say hello. At the park, all it took for one of Ellie’s wiggly, squiggly, OMG! I’m so happy, happy, happy, to see you greetings was for a passerby to simply smile and Ellie would be across the path, squirming and groaning as if they were the only reason she was there. Actually, she mostly thought the only reason they were there was to see her.

And don’t get her near water. Of any kind. Lakes, ponds, raging rivers or even just a mud puddle. They were fair game for Ellie. One whiff of a body of moisture and suddenly, she was deaf, defiant and determined to test the waters. Her favourite was to bury herself in a mud puddle with just her head sticking out. She would smile and wriggle her body and stretch her paws out and sigh. Ahhh, Bliss. She didn’t care about the mud and dirt. She didn’t care if she shook it off and it flew everywhere when she got out. Who wouldn’t love a mud covered, dripping wet wonder pooch whose face wrinkled up in smiles and simply had to rub herself soaking body against you just so you knew how grateful she was for being alive?

It was Ellie’s greatest gift. To let you know how grateful she was for being alive and to remind you that life is precious. Be grateful. Be thankful and, if you happen to see a mud puddle there’s only one thing to do, get in and roll and get dirty. That’s life and isn’t it amazing?

Thank you Ellie for the years of joy, laughter, runs in the park, sojourns by the river and always your unconditional love. And thank you for saving my life.  You are my angel.

And thank you everyone for your beautiful, loving words and thoughts and energy and kindnesses.

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