Enter Harley Girl

Twelve Pictures That Prove Gina Had a Childhood

My sister Gina has been complaining lately that she doesn't have any pictures of her as a child. 

A rare photo of baby Gina.

Gina skiing.

Gina with our step-mom Lynn (Yes.  This could be Ren.  If there was a time warp).

Gina on stairs.

She still looks this way if you give her a cookie.

First day of kindergarten, I'm guessing.

Lynn and G in the garden.

I believe my father entitled this, "The Face Of Enlightenment"

And grown up sisters on the water.

A Girl's Best Friend

 

When we first met her, Sammy was a six year old rescued Rottweiler in need of a permanent home.  The kind of dog that, on paper, maybe not that many people would feel safe about bringing in to meet their kids and other pets.  

And in that case?  Their loss.  Because Samantha was easily the sweetest, best natured, most kind and patient dog I have ever known.

She never gave me one moment's worry.  I knew that she would tolerate every kind of toddler hugging and grabbing and riding and climbing.  That FF could stretch out and lay on her like a pillow (and often did).  That no matter how wildly the children around her were acting-  she would always keep her cool.  She was a nearly perfect dog.

I am so grateful that Sammy was the  dog that introduced my daughter to dogs.  I know that even if FF doesn't remember Sammy over time, my daughter will always be comfortable around dogs, know them as loveable beings, because of the first year home she spent with this trustworthy good friend with such a soft, great heart.

 

 

Spike will always remember Sammy.  Down the line she'll be in his dreams as the dog who curled up on his bed, affectionately leaned against him, ate his scraps under the table, sprawled out in the hammock with him, showed him that the best kind of dog is all about love.

And I will remember her as my constant companion and shadow.  The dog I could let off leash to run alongside me in the forest, knowing that one word from me would bring her back to my side.  The dog that followed me from room to room, leaned against my legs, placed her beautiful head under the palm of my hand.  The dog that I never worried about.  The dog who I always introduced by saying, as she rushed up to greet some new person, "Don't worry, she's totally friendly!" 

Sweet, sweet girl with your immeasurably great and loyal heart. 

We were so lucky to have you.

And we will miss you so much.

 

Thank you for being the best dog.

I'm So Grateful for Poetry's Return

Praise Song for the Day

Each day
we go about our business,
walking past each other,
catching each other's eyes,
or not.
About to speak, or speaking.
All about us is noise.
All about us is noise and bramble,
thorn and din, each one of our ancestors
on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem,
darning a hole in a uniform.
patching a tire.
Repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom-box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, "Take out your pencils.
Begin."

We encounter each other in words,
words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed.
Words to consider, reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways
that mark the will of someone
and then others who said,
"I need to see what's on the other side.
I know there's something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe."
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: That many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks,
raised the bridges,
picked the cotton and the lettuce,
built, brick by brick, the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle.
Praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thyself."
Others by "First, do no harm,"
or "Take no more than you need."
What if the mightiest word
is love?
Love beyond marital, filial, national.
Love that casts a widening pool of light.
Love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this
winter air, any thing can be made,
any sentence begun.
On the brink,
on the brim,
on the cusp,
praise song for walking forward in that light.

— Elizabeth Alexander

American

 

My whole life, I have often felt lucky and grateful to be an American, but never very proud.  I often feel like America is my bully older brother - someone who I love, who maybe keeps me relatively safe, but whom I'm slightly distrustful of because I see how mean he can be to other people.  I am apt to describe myself as an Oregonian or a New Yorker - but rarely as an American.  Chants of "U.S.A!  U.S.A!" give me the cold shivers in an unpleasantly nationalistic way.  And the American flag has always been suspect to me - -something that I often felt like belonged to them - not me or mine. 

But this morning I woke up fairly certain that an African American man named Barack Hussein Obama was going to be elected as our next president.  That the America I have always longed for but never really believed in would finally make its presence known.  That we would finally live up to our potential.  And I finally had that moment - that "This could only happen here, in America," moment. 

And so, my husband and I, we took our children to the polling station.

 

And I held my daughter, herself a new American, as I entered the voting booth, and I put her hand on the lever, and I wept as we pulled it for this great man. 

And later, in the dark of our living room, with our children sleeping on either side of us, I sat with my husband and I wept again as I listened to President Elect Obama make his incredible speech, as I saw the unadulterated joy and hope on all those people's faces in the crowd.   And I thought about what this will mean for my children, I thought about how this honestly changes everything.  And I was proud.  Proud to be American.  Truly proud of America, without hesitation.  Maybe for the first time in my life.

    

VOTE

Vote. Vote for him. Do it for your kids. Do it for my kids. Do it for yourself. But please, do it.

Somehow, I Find This So Soothing...

I stole this from Muffy who stole it from Susan. And it makes me feel...calm.