I dreamed of Devon last night. We were just doing ordinary things. We walked with his hand in mine. He sat on my lap and we read a book. All the day to day things that we let pass by without even noticing. We don’t realize how precious each and every moment really is.
The Dream was so vivid and realistic! I’ve never experienced anything like it. I could smell his own Devon smell as he leaned against me. I felt his breath when flung his arms around my neck and whispered, “I love you, Oma” in my ear. If I close my eyes I can still hear his voice. I want to go back. Every inch of me yearns to be back in that moment, to savor every nuance and to trap it all in a bubble so that I can live it again and again. Treasure your time with your loved ones – every single second! Monkey.
It’s raining. Water is falling willy-nilly out of the sky! Brock takes this as a personal affront, and wants it to stop immediately. He believes that it is probably something that is banned by the Geneva Convention, along with baths, walking through wet grass, and anything that involves water other than consumption. Water obviously exists to quench your thirst. Period!
Hamilton is chasing a dangerous smelling path through the bed of Narcissus. The flower stalks wave as he passes, just like you see the tall grasses in Africa mark the stalking of a predator in nature films. The scent seems to end at the fence, suggesting a squirrel or cat that can foil a good tracker by jumping up. Not really fair, but what do you expect from such dishonorable enemies? Perhaps if he goes over it again, it will change! You never know!
In a very suspicious circumstance, the mail truck, the FedEx truck, and UPS all showed up on our block at the same time yesterday. It had to be a conspiracy! The FedEx guy approached our garden, and pulled biscuits out of his pocket. The threw them over the fence! A tribute payment? A distraction? A bribe? We have integrity in this garden. No one approaches the sacred gate without being barked at, (except Mala the Younger, Brock’s and Hamilton’s personal chauffeur). No one! No matter how many treats you pitch at our heads, you WILL receive a thorough barking! The biscuits weren’t even consumed until the miscreant fled back to his truck!
Well, most of the biscuits were eaten then. Pippin was still wary. It could have been poisoned! It could have been explosive! So, he dug a hole and buried it. Then he dug it up again. He had picked too obvious a spot. He buried it again, and dug it up again. He felt eyes watching. Squirrels? Birds? The evil Chows next door? Buried in 4 or 5 spots before he was happy and was able to settle down for a nice nap in a small patch of sunlight. All was well. So, Brock, dug it up and ate it for him. It was a kindness. It will save Pippin the agony of having to remember where he put it. As the oldest, Brock takes it upon himself to look after the younger soldiers and keep them from trouble. Brock is so generous and good hearted! Monkey!
Friend of mine, I’m going to ask you a big favor. Gun control is a very polarizing subject, and the arguments for and against are well known and predictable. Please. Don’t marshal your examples and theories against my position. Not right now.
Murder by violence, especially the murder of children, is a huge trigger for me. I feel what the families and survivors are feeling. Literally. I feel them.
I understand that you have strong opinions. So do I. But I just can’t argue about it right now. I am going to post articles in favor of stricter gun control. It is something I believe in. My boys weren’t killed with guns, but I have cried with many parents whose children were. The pain is the same. The loss is the same. I feel it all over again, and cry for the lives that didn’t need to be cut short. It’s pulling me into a very dark place that I can’t afford to be in right now.
So please, dear friend, don’t argue with my posts if you don’t like them. I already know what your arguments will be, and you know mine. Arguing is not going to change my position or yours. I just can’t fall into that right now. So, I am going to ask you to resist temptation and just pass my articles and memes by. Click on the top right hand corner and hide them from your feed. Give me time to express my outrage and anguish at the dying of so many beautiful lights. To marshal my defenses. To find my feet. I’ll argue with you again later, I promise. The arguments aren’t going to change or go stale while waiting. Let me be. I beg you. Let me be. Monkey.
We suffered a major attack yesterday. Extremely high winds decided to smite the garden with great force and howls of anger. We ignored the taunts and hunkered down in our bunker while the winds raged and tried to find a way in.
This morning we surveyed the damage. It was quite distressing. There were sticks and fronds and leaves all over. None of them had been cleared to occupy the garden. They didn’t smell right AT ALL. Chaos! They all had to be inspected, questioned, and marked with the correct smell signals. It was exhausting work! It may have to be done several more times to make sure everything is really settled.
The most suspicious thing was the drainpipe that had pulled away from the wall and was leaning in a very peculiar way out over the hedge. This has caused a great deal of consternation. Was it dead? Injured? Feigning something? Colluding with the wind? To be safe we are barking at it. That should fix it’s hash, whatever it thinks it is doing.
Speaking of collusion, we are concerned with the actions of Pippin. He was left alone to guard the house for a few hours this weekend. Merry had joined Brock and Hamilton at Fort Mala, because there was a rumor that tree rats planned to launch an attack with grenades disguised as avocados. Hamilton captured one of the missles and was forced to consume half of it before he could certify it as innert. Hamilton always does his duty.
But I digress. Pippin was guarding the house. When I returned two trash containers and a bag of recyclables had been over turned and contents thrown about. Rations container had been pulled to the floor and spilled in the kitchen, and dirty clothes taken from the hamper in the bathroom. There was damage to unmentionables. Upon questioning, Pippin declared that everything had been done by squirrels. And a cat. Now, opinions differ. Brock frankly believes that Pippin has failed to do his duty, and continues to sniff him all over in suspicion, looking for evidence of collusion. He huffs. Hamilton is turning the house upside down trying to root out the enemy, which may still be hiding behind the refrigerator or under the bed. Merry has pitched in good heartedly to help clean up all the spilled food. It’s a big job, but someone has to do it. What do you think? Monkey.
Perfidy! Treachery! The mail carrier arrived 3 hours EARLY! What could it mean? What kind of devious ploy was being perpetrated? Confusion reigned. Merry was so befuddled, he lay down like a sphinx in the grass and became temporarily deaf. It must have been some kind of battle fatigue. He was oblivious to all commands, blandishments, and orders to regroup. He didn’t even respond to the secret code word, TREAT!
Pippin took up a lookout post on my knee, while Hamilton patrolled the bushes. Suddenly, the enemies’ plans were revealed, with the incursion of an orange cat. It was unheard of! Never had an orange cat been sighted in this territory before! Pippin launched himself from my knee in full voice, and his comrades rushed to support him. The cat jumped to the top of the fence, walked along it, and hissed. Hissed!
This was just too much for brave Hamilton! He launched himself at the truck of a palm tree and attempted to gain enough height to clear the border wall, and follow the evil cat into the wild unknown beyond. It’s unknown! And wild! It’s said to be the domain of skateboards and motorcycles, and huge metal monsters that crush small dogs into jelly! I restrained him just in time!
Remember friend, mail carriers can’t be trusted. They are well known dog haters! They scout the neighborhood and report your defenses to the enemy. If your mail carrier arrives at a strange time and pretends he or she is just delivering the mail as usual, don’t fall for it. It’s a trick. It could even lead to cats! Monkey!
Quite a significant day of battle in the Garden War. Hamilton was surprised by a sneaky lizard attack, and jumped a foot in the air. He spent nearly half an hour digging through leaf litter and nosing through the bushes after the culprit. Then a squirrel stole an apple and had to be chased across the yard. He couldn’t get the apple through the slats in the fence, and abandoned it – stuck and hanging. He then proceeded up a tree, and from his secure perch delivered some very rude comments while scratching a persistent itch in a very insolent manner.
Into the battle sprang a tiny brown hummingbird, who has decided to press a claim to the territory. She fearlessly dove at all and sundry: dogs, squirrels, crows, and most especially other hummingbirds. She failed to notice that her supply depot had been discovered by bees, who were happily draining the hummingbird feeder, pushing each other out of the way like gluttons.
What the result of these battles would have been, I’m afraid I cannot say. The gardener appeared with a lawn mower Monster, and I had to insist that the brave heroes make a strategic retreat. It’s hard on a soldier’s pride to have to be content with giving the invader a good barking from the safety of a window! I had to distribute a treat of raw carrot as a balm to their wounded pride!
Must press on. Merry has a smelly patch of yellow on his head that must be attended to. A “friendly fire” incident, I’m afraid, only treatable with a (shhhhhh) bath. Monkey!
I just watched a moving commentary by Brooke Baldwin on CNN, about a child who was bullied and marginalized at school. It made me think of my Devon.
There were no bullied or marginalized children in Devon’s orbit. He didn’t allow it – didn’t acknowledge that such a thing could be. He built bridges between groups and cliques of children, and cared about them all. After his death his favorite teacher told me that if she noticed that a child was having difficulty, she would point him or her out to Devon, and he would make that child the center of his attention on the playground, pulling others along with him. I often wonder what he could have accomplished with his giant heart if his light hadn’t been extinguished at the age of 7. I miss you so much, Devs. Monkey!