Gray Sky

Glad to have a gray sky this morning--I hope
that means we're going to get some rain.
It is so very dry here that I really don't
think we'll get to see all those lovely colors
death graces us with and strews around in the fall.

*

Finally some much needed sleep for me last night.

Had my first major panic attack in over
ten years the other night, even with my
medicine in my system. It takes at least
a week to try and regroup from one.

It was terrifying, as they always are.

I may have to change meds or increase the one
I am taking, but it's worked so well for the last 12 + years
that I hate to do that.

*

Tried out something new last night--chicken
breasts stuffed with spinach and gruyere cheese.

Defrost a 10 oz box of chopped spinach
Wring until completely dry in a clean kitchen towel.
In a bowl, mix the spinach with 1 cup grated gruyere,
1/2 cup grated fresh parmesan, 2 tbps mayo, 1 tsp
crushed red pepper flakes, and a dash of kosher salt.

Blend that well. Pound out the breasts until they are
1/2 inch thick (or just flattened a bit). Put the spinach
mixture in the center of each breast and roll it up.
Secure with toothpicks and then cook in skillet in olive oil
until chicken is lightly browned. Transfer to a backing
pan and cook for 40 minutes or until juices of the chicken
run clear. You don't want to overcook and have dried out
chicken.

Then I made a white wine sauce ( 1 1/2 cups pinot grigio
or a dry white wine of your choice, 2 cups chicken stock,
1/2 cup heavy cream, and flour to thicken if needed) to pour
over that, some jasmine rice and steamed broccoli.

It was very good.

Tonight, I think I am going to make some balsamic
pork chops, brussels sprouts with cranberries,
and some kind of potatoes.

*

Still feel drained. Going to lie down and read awhile
and then take Molly for her walk.

Where The Universe Unfolds You


When he told me about the nights
spent sitting on a bluff overlooking
a valley, and how the stars were so close
to you, you felt they were simply part
of who you were, this two weeks
after her death, him crying and begging
to have one more night to sit there
on that bluff in Montana, sit there with his
dark-haired, brown-eyed woman, his feisty
tell you to go-to-hell in a heartbeat woman,
his wife of twenty years soon to be placed
in the ground, I cried too. For losing her,
the one who loved me best, for not knowing
what it would be like to have the stars
become intimate friends, for not knowing how I
would navigate through my dark nights
alone, for not being there when she fell
into the sleep she never woke from, for loving
so much too late, for not telling her
how many times she pissed me off and for
how grateful I was she did: She now eight
years in that cemetery with the stone
he and I chose as he wept, as I became
like marble, like granite, like the rock
I thought I could be for him: He whose
calls I never answer, he who has remarried,
he who spends his days mending the damage
of nature's whims, out there on rooftops,
out there sometimes late at night, where
it seems, I am sure, that the stars remember
him: a young man in love, his wild woman baying.

Taps At One

Through the muggy air it came,
meandering through the sycamore
branches, rising above the maple
and the oak, the sound of a lone bugler
paying his respects, playing
for a man who may have been
someone's father, just as someone
played for my father, at the end
of the service, before they lowered
him into the ground.

*

Can't write about this today. That's
all I can write.

Molly and I were going through her
obedience training routine at the track when
I heard the bugle, the song. Taps.

It's on the bookmark the funeral home
gave all of us. Dad's face and obit on one
side, the words to Taps on the other.

The cemetery is SSW of the track. There is
a path from the track to the cemetery
which Molly and I take when we decide
we need to walk some hills, or when people
show up at the track and I don't want Molly
all over them. I thought about taking it
today, until I heard the bugle.



*


Wilco put on an excellent show last night.
This was my youngest son's first concert.
He has the bug now, I can tell you, and I am
glad. What would life be without music?



It is still so difficult for me to drive into
Louisville now. Louisville is a city I've always
loved--so much to do and see. But I can't go there,
can't even be on 65 N without thinking
of that night, the night my father was flown
to the hospital there, the night I drove my mom
and youngest brother there not knowing if Dad
was even still alive or would make it until
we got there, without thinking
of how terrible the whole end of his life was--
the nightmarish and unethical treatment
he received in the hands of those who are
supposed to be healers, the days and nights
of him talking out of his head and pointing
at things that didn't exist, the not knowing day
to day if he was going to make it, and if he made
it, would he ever be the same, the way his
eyes looked--desperate & terrifed but glassed
over.

I just get a knot in my stomach and this feeling
of dread the minute my car gets off the parkway
and heads northbound on 65.

Maybe in time, that won't happen, but there
are some things that never really go away--some
feelings, some bodily reponses to a prior trauma.

So, it was hard, but it was good to go see my brother,
his girlfriend, and their children.

It was good to be back on Bardstown Rd., good to spend
a little time in EarXTacy--a store I once spent hours in.
Bought some Mighty Mighty Bosstones and some Elvis
Costello. Going to see Elvis Costello and Bob Dylan
(together) in Bloomington on the 21st of October.


It was good to be at Slugger Field with my son and his
friend, enjoying the music and the mood.

*

The Ken Burns series about WWII veterans
starts tomorrow night. I am going to watch it
and hope I can get through it without
getting too emotional.

Obedience Training: Lesson 2

Molly did well Wednesday at her second lesson.
She acts so much better there than at home!

Purchased a pinch collar for her and we wear
that when practicing. There is a very noticeable
difference in her these last two days.
Now, when I just pull up on her regular collar
and tell her to sit and stay, she's responding.

She didn't even go after Dante last night, which
was pretty amazing. Of course, I have to work with
her daily--at least two 20-30 minutes sessions. I can
only give her a "special" treat when she follows
my Come command (she gets pieces of hot dogs).

After she completes her other routine work--Sit, Stay,
Heel, Down, I can give her a doggie treat, but not a piece
of hot dog. According to the trainers, the Come command
is the most important she will learn so she needs that
special treat with the hope that she will respond quickly
to that command.

Getting ready to take her out and work with her now.

*

Taking my son and his friend to see Wilco tonight in Louisville.
My eldest (always want to say oldest as eldest doesn't sound
correct but grammatically speaking, it is) brother lives there,
so we're going to stop by his house for dinner before going
to the concert. It's at Louisville Slugger Field, and it looks
like the weather is going to be quite nice for an outdoor venue.
I'm taking a jacket just in case.

*

Waiting to hear back from my interview. They told me it would
be a week or so before they contact me (they have to run a background
check). I feel confident, but who knows. I can definitely see myself
as a CDW (Court Designated Worker) and hope I get the chance
to prove myself worthy of being in that position.

*

Time to do some laundry and take Molly out.

An I For An I

I think more of defiling
an abalone shell than I
do my own lungs, make sure
I scrub the pearlescent body
I claim as ashtray, wonder
why I do this, day after day,
why I play music that soothes
and hurts, how I got to this point
where I don't even know how
to discern what is what it is,
right or wrong, good or bad, why
only my left eye closes tight, oh so
tight, nearly every night,
me reaching for the drops to clear
out all the fuzzy stuff I'm not certain
I want to see anyway, why one eye
notices a blur, a flash of memory.

I move forward, turn backward,
start the oven, run the vacuum,
fold a load of laundry, eyes wide
open, mind not entirely closed.
I climb the basement stairs
wondering how this egoism
started: when, who, how.

I am here. An eye work, an ordinary
I rubbing down a chicken breast
with ginger, slathering asparagus
with olive oil, out of the corners
of my drying eyes watching the comings
and goings of the neighbors next door,
across the street, rubbing with fury
now, I am. Rubbing and basting
with everything I have in me, knowing
the night will come for me, and I,
I will pretend I am not afraid,
that I am strong, I am this woman
who watches carefully, who cooks
and doesn't let the chicken burn,
who makes sure the oven is off
before she sleeps, who says, night
after night: I can make it.

Roger Hodgson... Even In The Quietest Moments

For my friend, who just told me today there will not be another doctor's appointment, who told me Hospice will provide, who told me what a good friend I am...

This, from Supertramp, a group I've never listened to...

Break

We put the puzzle together piece
by piece, loving how one curved
notch fits so sweetly with another.
A yellow smudge becomes
the brush of a broom, and two blue arms
fill in the last of the sky.
We patch together porch swings and autumn
trees, matching gold to gold. We hold
the eyes of deer in our palms, a pair
of brown shoes. We do this as the child
circles her room, impatient
with her blossoming, tired
of the neat house, the made bed,
the good food. We let her brood
as we shuffle through the pieces,
setting each one into place with a satisfied
tap, our backs turned for a few hours
to a world that is crumbling, a sky
that is falling, the pieces
we are required to return to.

Dorianne Laux