My Dog Needs Pants and Other Musings

If it weren't for Richard's attention to detail, the following photo, in it's unedited version, would have made center stage on our 2011 Family Christmas Card.  In fact, the cards were printed and ready for envelopes and shipping. 

Now I finally understand why people put clothing on their dogs.  Ours needs a pair of pants.

 Richard must be psychic because he seems to find this situation hilarious before he even realizes what's going on.

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Afterthoughts   When I was younger, the holidays made me cranky.  This year is already different, because I'm learning to let go of ingrained tradition and experience the flow of abundance that surrounds us.  This Thanksgiving weekend was full of love.  Perhaps it is selfish not to travel, but staying home allowed us to make time for friends and neighbors.   Our friend Tom is now in a rehabilitation center, receiving care for a complication due to a tumor in his throat.  In between the days of feasting, cuddling, dancing and leaf raking, we were able to visit him in Meadow View, where there are no views of a meadow. It was the only place where he could receive care for his trachea.  I know he did not want to go to that place, and as his son Gary related,
"tears were shed at the thought of it." We will return to that place, as often as we are able through the holidays and beyond.  Two days before Christmas, Tom will be receiving another dose of Chemotherapy, a dose that might send his heart into cardiac arrest. While in Meadow View, we walked the halls.  Elliot covered his nose, and hid behind me when one lady approached him with her arms out.  It was a startling situation, as she seemed to have no boundaries even from her chair. The rooms and halls were full of people in really unfortunate conditions, and it nearly sent me to my knees in sadness.  So many stroke patients.  So many whose gaze drifted to the ceiling in a state of unknowing.  Then, we saw Elizabeth. She was dressed in a matching purple sweat suit, with her hair pulled back.  Her eyes were bright and sparkling.  Within that ancient face, weathered and soft, her smile beamed when Richard held out his hand and said hello. We followed his lead, and held out our hands out too.  We asked her name, and then introduced ourselves.  She noticed Elliot hiding behind his dad, and said "may God bless you and that baby." She told us her story of being the last.  Her children grown and "gone away".  Her husband dead, her friends gone too.  "Me and God, just me and God" she said.   I know I'll never be the same after being blessed by her prayers for us. Through Elizabeth, I felt God's love.  For a fraction of a second, I could see her face surrounded by light. It is not often in my busy life that I remember how close the afterlife is to all of us. Her love sent me to that place of silent reverence for life now, for life to come.