Snow Dog

Huskies and snow, a match made in Heaven!

Well...

 First thing this morning there was snow,

and at the door Denali tarried

long enough to let me know

that Princess Husky must be carried.

Fellow huskies pull their sleds

and revel in the Arctic air,

snooze within their snow-cave beds,

but The Princess does not care

for anything not warm and soft

(clearly what a Princess needs!);

thus she must be held aloft,

above the snow, for outdoor deeds,

and I'm lucky she's not large

for it's clear that she's in charge.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is TRIAL. Over to Denali for her take...

Oh, REALLY, all that snow,

it's just so plain to see

that it truly has to go,

and I mean totally.

It makes me shiver from my paws,

and ice forms on my nose,

and I think that there should be laws

on where the cold wind blows!

So my human is commanded

to carry me (it's only right!)

to the yard when it's demanded;

daytime, or the dead of night,

and though this may sound quite the the trial,

every time, I see him smile.

Four minutes. Princess Denali just set a record, claws a-clicking on the Smart Phone.

Music from George Harrison, with Gone Troppo.

Sylvia likes Sno-cones, as well as ice cream.

 

Something Of Value

"If a man does away with his traditional way of living and throws away his good customs, he had better first make certain that he has something of value to replace them. "

~ Basuto proverb

This is a different kind of post, but maybe not.

We've been losing our history, by choice.

Everything now seems to come down to feelings and outrage, seen through a lens of current academic thinking, without context or grace. Washington and Jefferson are reviled, the Lincoln and FDR monuments are vandalized, Martin Luther King is dismissed as an Uncle Tom.

There's a movement, with support in the government, to dynamite Mount Rushmore.

Terrible for society, but worse when done to ourselves.

Here at a twilight that will not see another dawn in this world, I look back on the day.

I made mistakes

Lots of mistakes, some of which tempt me to brand that person I was as selfish, egotistical, and sometimes downright cruel.

Worthy of being cast into the outer dark, unloved, unwanted.

And yet... that person is a part of what I am now. The judge I am almost longing to become is a wounded hyena, snapping at his own entrails.

I can't afford that kind of self-destruction, not with my audience in the Throne Room so very near.

I have to offer grace, forgiveness for wrongs, and recognition for what was done right, or at least done to the best of my ability.

True for me.

True for America.

We live at end of history,
and little now remains

of Manifested Destiny

and The Plow That Broke The Plains.

Washington was racist,

and Lincoln, criminal,

San Juan Teddy fascist,

and JFK just dull

for his failure to admit

that the past's not real

and can blithely be rewrit

on lines of how we feel,

and MLK and Colonel Custer

stand side by side at final muster.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is POSSIBILITY.

Is there yet possibility

this land won't find its grave,

we'll turn back to civility,

and America be saved

from those who would tear, destroy

from their place within

with any tool they can employ;

but where do we begin?

There are no brazen charioteers

on rescue-ride down yonder hill;

no, if aid may still betide

if has to come from will

and from what we choose to do;

it's up to us, friend, me and you.

Well, five minutes minus a couple seconds, and on the same topic.

Like a pat of butter, I'm on a roll.

Music from Jesus Jones, with Right Here, Right Now. A song from a better time.

Sylvia values ice cream.

 

The Answer

As I write this, it's 71 degrees in the house and I'm having bone-rattling chills, even wearing a heavy winter coat and a fur hat. Not... well, I was about to say 'cool', but maybe 'not fun' instead, yeah?

Anyway, there is an answer and antidote to cancer, at least for me. It's simply stated as just having fun, living each moment, even the shivering ones, the best way I can.

And it is a choice. First thing in the morning, I can either ask Barb about her night, or bewail my own. What I do sets the tone of the day...is it all about me, or is it about grace?

It's a choice through every waking moment, to keep things light. These days I need help bathing, to get into and out of the tub. A couple of nights ago Barb apologised that we'd run out of body wash, and that I'd have to use shampoo. "It's moisturizing," she said.

(Now, please bear in mind that I try to stay in some kind of shape, and still have a 50" chest and 22" biceps. If I were 6'4" it would be imposing. As I'm 5'9" I look like an amiable ape.)

"Well, golly," I replied, "it does make me feel soft and feminine! Makes me want to put on a tutu, and twirl down the street, channeling Bette Midler."

Barb rolled her eyes. I thought about what I'd said, and realized how wrong that was, on many levels. "No, not really. I'm more of a Cyndi Lauper kind of gal...Girls just wanna have fu-un..."

Barb, one of these days your eyes are gonna get stuck like that.

Humour may not be the answer for everyone, but I have been through a variant of Kubler-Ross' stages of dying... through denial and defiance... and I've landed here, with a Woody Woodpecker laugh.

Meet it with aggression,

fight past where hope is gone,

for hell is now in session,

so meet the foe head-on.

Laugh while you are bleeding,

dance when you can't sleep;

the devil won't be heeding

the salt tears that you weep,

but there's one thing to ensure

distress through all of hell,

and that is smiling to endure,

and live your days so well

that you put, if marked to die

a last sharp stick in Satan's eye.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is DETERMINE. Ok...

It's just lately I am learnin'

what I wish I'd known from birth,

and that's letting God determine

all my steps upon the earth.

For so long I really thought

I was smart, could find my way,

but all that pride had really bought

was a load of stable-hay,

food for cows and maybe horses,

beds for goats and maybe sheep,

but the stars up in their courses

showed me Company to keep

and led me to the Golden Door,

bade me kneel on Throne-Room floor.

Made it!

Music from The Cyrkle, with a blast from the past, Red Rubber Ball.

Sylvia's always up for a laugh, especially when it includes ice cream.

 

 

It Was Almost Like A Song

And welcome to 2022!

I hope things are going well for you and yours!

For me, well, not so much. Tumours spreading, harder to move and breathe and all that.

But I still love my life.

Cancer, you see, is not ALLOWED in Margaritaville.

Pain and sorrow, take a hike
for I just can't go wrong

when I find my life is like

a Jimmy Buffett song.

My wife Barb is quite the peach,

she found us desert land

that for sure's almost a beach;

no water, but that sand!

I have a beer at sunrise,

or maybe, yeah, a pair,

'cause, you know, the way time flies

it's five o'clock somewhere,

and I wouldn't trade for any price

my cheeseburger in paradise.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is IMPORTANT.

I shall now be forward

and give you some advice.

It's nice to be important,

but important to be nice.

It's cool to hear awe and respect

in each and every greeting,

but it's not something to expect

for earthly glory's fleeting,

and when you stand before the Throne

to tell God what you've done,

you will sure want to atone

for times you were the one

who put the fawning you were given

'fore caring 'bout His ragged children.

Okay, not Shakespeare or even Robert Frost, but, hey, five minutes!

Music, of course, from Jimmy Buffett, with Changes In Latitudes, Changes In Attitudes.

Syl prefers ice cream to margaritas.