Water Smooths Rough Edges

My aunt who lives in Moscow, Idaho came to visit over Thanksgiving. She also brought her dog, Gus, a husky-yellow lab mix who fills out with this incredibly, gushy, soft, thick coat come winter. His eyes are soulful and soft. He moves slow and sometimes it feels like he can read what I am feeling. I often got the impression he was looking at me and his eyes just said, "You're missing something, aren't you?" Gus stayed home on Thanksgiving and Nancy came over to the school, saw the campus, and ate dinner with all the kids. Afterwards, on our way home we stopped in Clarkfork to visit my friends Erik and Kendra and made room for a second round of pie. I continued my favorite Thanksgiving tradition and we all played Cranium (Speaking of, I hope the Pogacich family Thanksgiving did not let that slide this year with my absence. I would be very disappointed!)

The next day we had a movie marathon. It felt great to slow down, but it was hard at times. I kept looking for, aching, and missing Buck. He would have loved the walk we went on. It was his favorite place to go. I bet he even would have gone swimming in the ridiculously cold water. I do not know how many times I imagined him running around the corner, his shaggy hair flying flat around his face and that sappy grin he always seemed to have. As I have mentioned previously the water level has dropped in the lake, and it was mesmerizing for me to see a different landscape of rocks and driftwood laid out before me. On the way back, I started walking along the water's edge, punching through the thin puddles of ice in the sand with the tip of my red boots. I began to notice all the driftwood collected on the sand. I could not stop looking at it. There were pieces of all shapes and sizes; long sticks, little knobby knots of wood, larger, thicker logs, teeny little pieces - but all of it was incredibly smooth. Something about it just moved me. It seemed too simple; water smooths rough edges.

I thought of Buck, I thought of myself, I thought of the water, and I thought of my dad. I have known for a couple of years now that being on, or just being near water rejuvenates me. I know I got that from my dad. He speaks of moments where he needs "time on the water" to center himself when he finds himself getting short with people, or just feeling in a funk. For me, water is soothing, and it also smooths out my rough edges. I relax, I breathe and I feel myself take on the quality of the water. Waves give me energy and a light heart, whereas flat, calm water turns me inward and contemplative. I have this sense that Buck needed water, too. As a stray, and with his flamboyant personality there were definitely some rough edges that needed smoothing with him. He loved his walks around town, but when we would drive towards the lake he would whine from anticipation. Water meant something to him. On our first playdate we went to a beach, and as I walked into the water to show him it was safe, he tucked himself right behind me and would only go as far as I would go. Once I swam, and let my feet leave the bottom, he swam, and then there was no looking back.

As I am writing, I am aware that I am not sure if I have a point to this post. I keep going back to all that smooth, but strong driftwood. It seems to be so much more than just sticks and hunks of wood. I feel close to Buck when I think of it. In this strange way he is one of those pieces, and I know I am, too. As I led him into the water, without hesitation on our first day together, to my place of peace and love, I let him into my world. I let him into my heart. That is something I have not done in years. Maybe Buck and I both needed to soften up a little, to feel a little love, but maybe it is not one another we were meant to love. Maybe we were not meant to drift to the same shore together.

Snow!

I love it when it snows for the first time, especially when it snows so much it leaves everything covered in white. I cannot help but see it as a new beginning, everything is white and innocent. It started snowing last night and had not stopped when I went to bed. There is also something ridiculously exciting about seeing the first snow fall in a new place. It is as if Sandpoint has transformed itself right before my eyes, changed its clothes, or dressed up in a costume - a beautiful costume. I had dinner and drink plans with my neighbor and I ran almost the whole way to his house. I was just so excited about the snow. When we walked out of the pub it seemed only natural to start a snowball fight. When it comes to throwing anything my aim is about as good as my ability to match a tone when singing. It was a painful loss, but I played dirty and tied it up by saving a little snow in my hand and whitewashing his face once we got back in the car. It was a great way to get me laughing and smiling. I know I needed it. I cried almost the whole way home from work as I realized that the grown-up, rational part of me has dealt with Buck's absence admirably and with grace, but the little girl part of me did not understand any of this and just wanted her puppy home. As much as I learn about myself, my emotions, and how to express them "appropriately," I think there still comes a time when I just need to cry and let all the junk out. I went for a walk this morning, or I attempted to walk this morning but the ground was so slippery I decided to just go play in the snow. When I started slipping and sliding all over the sidewalk I started to laugh out loud at myself. I immediately thought of Buck. It would have been great to have him with me today sliding all over the sidewalk as well. A perma-grin stuck to my face as I walked home knowing that Buck was going to be with me the rest of my life regardless if he came home or not - he taught me to laugh at myself and all the little things in life that used to frustrate me. When I got back to my little house I went in the backyard and made my first Idaho snow angel. Snow!

Another Lesson

On my drive home tonight I passed a truck on the side of the road that had blinking lights on it and there were men doing something in the ditch. My first thought, as morbid as it is, was that they were scooping Buck up off the side of the road. Let me explain this by saying that one of the tips I read in "How to Find Your Lost Dog" was to call the area's department of transportation daily to see if the dog had been killed on the side of the road. I also search the side of the roads as I am driving. I do not want to believe he is on the side of the road, but if he is I want to know. He could also be there barely breathing waiting for me to scoop him and get him to a veterinarian. This is only one of the many scenarios that has played through my mind the last few days. I have gone through them all: mountain lions, wolves, a nice family taking him in as their own, him joining up with a coyote in eternal neutered bliss, losing his collar and ending up in a shelter that does not scan for microchips. I imagine him shivering, lost, and scared running across highways. I think about where he sleeps, or if he even sleeps. I think about if he is eating and thank myself and Erik and Kendra for all those times we fed him more than the recommended two cups a day. I imagine his cuddly coat keeping him warm as he curls up in some grass or maybe an abandoned barn. I think of how much build-up there is in ears now that I have not cleaned them for days. I imagine rolling him over onto his back and rubbing his tummy as I cradle him between my legs; his whole body goes limp as he completely relaxes and slows down from the excitement of me seeing me. I wonder if he is aching for me as I ache for him.

Now that you know what runs my thoughts as I drive and interrupts my attempts to distract myself all day long, I'll share the most recent lesson I have learned from this experience. I called my mom as soon as it hit me. You may have guessed by now. I called her and began to apologize for all the times I was out past my curfew, or drove across the state when I was only 16 and forgot to call her when I had arrived. I apologized for all the times I made fun of her for worrying. I apologized for all the times I said I would call when I got there, and never did. I told her I got it. I do. I now know what it is like to hate the morbid thoughts that enter my head. I know what it is like to jump at every phone call that comes from a number I do not recognize. I feel my heart quicken when I check my messages and hear I have a new voicemail. I have cursed him and loved him more than ever in the same moment.

I think almost every girl talks about how she will never be like her mother when she grows up one day. Whether I was happy about it or not, I think in some ways I have always known I will grow up to be like my mother. I am ok with that. I am proud to grow up and be like her someday. I am proud that I have learned to love with all my heart, and know that with that sometimes comes worrying with all my heart. I am proud to be my mother's daughter.

My Puppy

Buck is missing. He went hiking in the mountains in Montana with one of my coworkers and his dogs. His dog and Buck ran off after something/one another. An hour later his dog came back and Buck never did. He searched for hours and called and called. He picked me up from work and we searched for another 2 hours. This was Wednesday night. He had Thursday morning off work and went out again. No luck. I went out there today with a coworker and hiked the whole trail calling for my boy. No luck. I told as many people as possible about him and I am getting some fliers made up as we speak to post in the area. He also has a microchip in the event that he loses his collar he can be scanned to retrieve my phone number. I am dealing with this better than I was earlier. I feel better having done so much for him today and my Ginas have been incredibly supportive.

Yesterday I just broke down as I was leaving work because I did not want to go home to an empty house. I found so much support from my colleagues and the kids at the school. I wanted to hold this all in, but everyone at work knew and the kids were hugging me all day. I can see the mountains he is lost in from work and I just kept imaging him up there. I just kept alternating between distracting myself to a point of "being fine" and then crying when the truth snuck up. I know I have only had him for a bit, but he has just been my constant companion here. He is there when I come out of the shower, he comes into the bathroom when I pee and lies down on the bathmat, he wakes me up in the morning if I do not get out of bed when my alarm goes off. He tries to cuddle with me when we're in the car. If I sit on the floor and watch tv he lays his head on me. I can see so many lessons in this, and I am grateful for learning them, but I want him back. I know I have kept myself away from intimate relationships because I do not want to feel the pain if the relationship did not work out, but as I sit here and ask myself if this pain right now is worth the joy Buck brought my life, I know it is. I know in some ways these things are not comparable, but what I'm speaking about is loss. Loving like you have never been hurt. I know losing him has made me more vulnerable at work. If this had not happened at work I know I would have tried to go through my day like nothing was wrong and told people I was tired if they asked what was wrong. Having so many kids come up and hug me, just silently hug me was so good for me. I never want people to see me sad, to see me vulnerable, but all those hugs today felt so good. Repeatedly going to that space of pain in front of people was worth it for all the support it brought. So now I am asking for your support. Even if you just say a prayer, or do whatever you do, put positive thoughts in the universe. He craves love so much I still believe the little rascal might come home.

My Drive

At night my drive from Heron, Montana to Sandpoint, Idaho is like driving through a river gorge. Shadows loom around me. The mountainside rises along the side of the road and as the moonlight illuminates the rock-face I swear for a moment I am once again rafting on the Salmon River through Idaho watching the world carve out before me. There was a time the moonlight was so bright as it flickered through the trees alongside the road, and my eyes were so tired from a long day of my own emotional growth with the kids I was desperately trying to find the disco ball that could create so much light in complete darkness. There are times as I've made the drive late at night that I feel like I am driving through black jello. The blackness is unlike any other I have experienced before. It is only I that create light. When I step on the brakes, my rear window brake light almost startles me as it pierces the darkness. The darkness is a blanket that cloaks my car, and carries me home safely.

On the morning drives into Heron I am amazed by the undeniable beauty that spreads before me. The mountains take on this unbelievable purple hue as the sun rises, softened with translucent clouds and mist that sit just above the ground. The frost on the wheat fields sparkles like diamond encrusted blades of grass. The peaks of the mountains are hidden by the low lying clouds and fog and I try to convince myself that maybe, just maybe the mountains never end, they just go on forever beyond those clouds. There is also a quiet that is filled with peace and the slow, warm movements of morning and awakening.

Driving home in the early evening, I watch amazing sunsets on the lake across the mountains. Oranges, purples, blues - where do I begin? The numerous pine trees all turn black as they become silhouetted against the luminescent sky. The mountain peaks begin to reflect in the lake at just the right time and it is as if this hidden door to a world of amazing natural beauty is opened up. And oh, if there was a way to walk across that reflection into the mountains, into the beauty then that world would be one of eternal sunsets.