I never feel like I'm busy until I look back a week or two. Because I fill up my spare moments with reading and surfing and laying in the sun utterly content, time feels slower. But things re always happening, and there has been no shortage of that for me.
On Monday, our beloved dog Copper left us to frolic in the eternal meadow filled with millions of slow rabbits.
On Tuesday, we got some terrible news.
My cousin, Jeff, had been fighting cancer for a year. He was better for a little while, but then it got worse again. Then they found three brain tumors and he had to stop fighting. He fought long and hard, but it had taken his toll. He joined Copper and my Grandmother and Arrow and was at peace at last.
In 5 days one of my best friends is coming to visit for a week! I am so excited to see her, to show someone everything that is ours here.
Today I have a sports physical at 3pm so I can play volleyball and soccer and do track. In 15 days (15 days!) school starts, where has the summer gone? It seems like only a couple of weeks ago my friends and I were running out of school into the late-may sunshine, and celebrating the fact that we are no longer freshman. Then the new juniors came out and said, "Speak only when spoken to, sophomores."
I have homework to finish before school even starts and school supplies to buy.
What amazes me the most about all of this is it's not much to brag about, but it's life. And everyone has a story, a journey they're on and a day that their time is just up.
All these people and things dying around me scared me a little bit. I was reminded how short and precious life is, how fragile, and at any given moment it could break. I was afraid that I might die, that I could die any day and have regrets. So I've stopped. Having regrets. And I've realized that this is not my time to die, so I'll be okay.
So I better start enjoying life.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Fresh Mornings
This whole summer has been a constant battle between my body and my mind. I want to get up and run, to get into shape, to be healthier than I am. But then the other side of my brain kicks in, and I dismiss the thought of running with a lazy wave of my hand. Then the next day I wake up with the nagging thought of running again, but yet again I dismiss the thought.
Finally, today, I got up and did it. I got up and got dressed and went running. I've went a couple of times before this, but my record of running is scattered throughout the summer like a fallen deck of cards.
But this morning made up for that.
The city is at its best in the morning.
After the night has swept through and cleared it of its haze and grime and dirt. Everything is fresher, and I could actually smell pine as I ran past houses of all types. I passed several people driving to work, but mostly the world was still sleeping. Or at least our little neighborhood was. Out on the main road I could hear cars zooming back and forth as always. Those cars never stop. If I live to see a day of silent roads in Southern California, I will wonder why I'm still alive.
I ran past perfectly groomed gardens and wilting lawns. I ran past yards filled with toys and a forgotten teddy bear. I ran past house after house after house until they all blurred together into one streak of beige.
When I came to our street I pushed myself to a sprint and arrived, panting, at our door.
I pulled out my iPod to see how far I had gone, thinking it must have been a ways. At least the panting in my lungs seemed to think so.
But, what? I had only gone 1.54 miles? How could this be?
So I promptly did push-ups and sit-ups and wall sits and burpees until my muscles burned, and then I felt better about only running a mile and a half.
Finally, today, I got up and did it. I got up and got dressed and went running. I've went a couple of times before this, but my record of running is scattered throughout the summer like a fallen deck of cards.
But this morning made up for that.
The city is at its best in the morning.
After the night has swept through and cleared it of its haze and grime and dirt. Everything is fresher, and I could actually smell pine as I ran past houses of all types. I passed several people driving to work, but mostly the world was still sleeping. Or at least our little neighborhood was. Out on the main road I could hear cars zooming back and forth as always. Those cars never stop. If I live to see a day of silent roads in Southern California, I will wonder why I'm still alive.
I ran past perfectly groomed gardens and wilting lawns. I ran past yards filled with toys and a forgotten teddy bear. I ran past house after house after house until they all blurred together into one streak of beige.
When I came to our street I pushed myself to a sprint and arrived, panting, at our door.
I pulled out my iPod to see how far I had gone, thinking it must have been a ways. At least the panting in my lungs seemed to think so.
But, what? I had only gone 1.54 miles? How could this be?
So I promptly did push-ups and sit-ups and wall sits and burpees until my muscles burned, and then I felt better about only running a mile and a half.
Monday, August 12, 2013
The Love of a Dog
She was always there.
Always listening.
Never telling.
She was the best secret keeper in the world, because who could she tell? No one would understand her.
But I did.
I spoke to her through the connection we shared, through pats on the head and treats given.
Slowly but surely her age caught up with her, slowly but surely it began to show. She couldn't walk on one of her front legs. She hobbled around like the old lady she was, but then she got better. We gave her two pills a day and she could walk again, even run. We loaded her up in the car and took her to California with us, and she loved the warmth. She would lay in the sun for hours on end not move a muscle. When she got up it was because she wanted a treat, or for us to pet her. But then the age struck again, and if we had known it was cancer when we were back in Wisconsin we could have left her there, at least buried her on our farm. Bury her next to our cats and bunnies and birds. But we didn't find that out until last night. Last night at 11:40 pm we decided it was time. Time for her to go to a place where pain is impossible, where age matters not and sunshine is eternal.
The vet came in and told us that what he was putting in her leg became famous because of Michael Jackson, and then she was sleeping. Her eyes closed slowly and her breathing slowed. I had to get out of that sterile white room. That hospital grave.
We payed the vet 500 dollars to take our beloved dog from us, to take her and put her out of her pain and burn her body. It doesn't seem fair. Who will I whisper all my secrets to? Who will I take with me to travel the world?
It is said that people or animals do not leave us until they have taught us something.
She has taught me so much.
I guess it is time for her to rest.
Always listening.
Never telling.
She was the best secret keeper in the world, because who could she tell? No one would understand her.
But I did.
I spoke to her through the connection we shared, through pats on the head and treats given.
Slowly but surely her age caught up with her, slowly but surely it began to show. She couldn't walk on one of her front legs. She hobbled around like the old lady she was, but then she got better. We gave her two pills a day and she could walk again, even run. We loaded her up in the car and took her to California with us, and she loved the warmth. She would lay in the sun for hours on end not move a muscle. When she got up it was because she wanted a treat, or for us to pet her. But then the age struck again, and if we had known it was cancer when we were back in Wisconsin we could have left her there, at least buried her on our farm. Bury her next to our cats and bunnies and birds. But we didn't find that out until last night. Last night at 11:40 pm we decided it was time. Time for her to go to a place where pain is impossible, where age matters not and sunshine is eternal.
The vet came in and told us that what he was putting in her leg became famous because of Michael Jackson, and then she was sleeping. Her eyes closed slowly and her breathing slowed. I had to get out of that sterile white room. That hospital grave.
We payed the vet 500 dollars to take our beloved dog from us, to take her and put her out of her pain and burn her body. It doesn't seem fair. Who will I whisper all my secrets to? Who will I take with me to travel the world?
It is said that people or animals do not leave us until they have taught us something.
She has taught me so much.
I guess it is time for her to rest.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
This Is What Boredom Looks Like
So, today me and Grace were laying in our room thinking of what to do.
We were surrounded by scattered Lego's and half-built sculptures. So we decided to take apart all the little Lego people and put them back together all mixed up. A few days before this Grace had built an awesome Lego building consisting of two buildings connected by a bridge and ascended by a fabulous winding staircase. As I admired this earlier today I held the figure entitled "sad clown". I placed him on the first step and made his little leg point up, like he was on the way to the top. When I saw how grand he looked, standing there in all his melancholy glory, I knew I simply had to capture it somehow. And this is how we did it.
By the way it looks much more impressive with full volume and full screen! And it's only 44 seconds so you're not wasting any time by watching it!!
We were surrounded by scattered Lego's and half-built sculptures. So we decided to take apart all the little Lego people and put them back together all mixed up. A few days before this Grace had built an awesome Lego building consisting of two buildings connected by a bridge and ascended by a fabulous winding staircase. As I admired this earlier today I held the figure entitled "sad clown". I placed him on the first step and made his little leg point up, like he was on the way to the top. When I saw how grand he looked, standing there in all his melancholy glory, I knew I simply had to capture it somehow. And this is how we did it.
By the way it looks much more impressive with full volume and full screen! And it's only 44 seconds so you're not wasting any time by watching it!!
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Sad Eyes
She's changed, I'm sure of it.
Or maybe it's a process, maybe it's not over. Maybe she is changing, and this will end soon.
I can hope.
Ever since the wooden house and the house in the tree with the crooked windows faded out of our back window, the light has been fading.
It didn't happen right away, I think, but soon after.
There was at least two weeks of excitement, of happy disbelief.
But then, Sir Sadness came. I'm not even sure he deserves that knightly title.
Sadness came. He was slow to find us but he always does and always will. He crept in on silent feet in the darkest hour of the night, the one that comes right before dawn. But here, with the city lights it is hard to find a dark hour, so he had to be extra careful, extra sneaky. He crept into the house and into our dreams, infiltrating slowly at first. Those of us with strong enough minds were able to will him away, but that just left more of him for her.
He invaded her mind quickly, efficiently, leaving barely any room for her light. She began to look at us like strangers, and when she asked, "Can I go play Legos?" it came out like she was asking a random passerby the time. This simple question used to be filled with love, with joy and childhood innocence. Her eyes would be filled with the ideas already forming, with the magic of bringing things alive with plastic bricks. But they seem to have slowly lost that, and when she looks at me now I see Sadness hiding there, behind her lovely green eyes, not her at all.
So I have been trying to pull her back, keep her from drowning, keep Sadness from completely overcoming her.
And little by little I see her coming back to me, and when I see her smile, her smile, not Sadness', I feel myself smiling too.
Or maybe it's a process, maybe it's not over. Maybe she is changing, and this will end soon.
I can hope.
Ever since the wooden house and the house in the tree with the crooked windows faded out of our back window, the light has been fading.
It didn't happen right away, I think, but soon after.
There was at least two weeks of excitement, of happy disbelief.
But then, Sir Sadness came. I'm not even sure he deserves that knightly title.
Sadness came. He was slow to find us but he always does and always will. He crept in on silent feet in the darkest hour of the night, the one that comes right before dawn. But here, with the city lights it is hard to find a dark hour, so he had to be extra careful, extra sneaky. He crept into the house and into our dreams, infiltrating slowly at first. Those of us with strong enough minds were able to will him away, but that just left more of him for her.
He invaded her mind quickly, efficiently, leaving barely any room for her light. She began to look at us like strangers, and when she asked, "Can I go play Legos?" it came out like she was asking a random passerby the time. This simple question used to be filled with love, with joy and childhood innocence. Her eyes would be filled with the ideas already forming, with the magic of bringing things alive with plastic bricks. But they seem to have slowly lost that, and when she looks at me now I see Sadness hiding there, behind her lovely green eyes, not her at all.
So I have been trying to pull her back, keep her from drowning, keep Sadness from completely overcoming her.
And little by little I see her coming back to me, and when I see her smile, her smile, not Sadness', I feel myself smiling too.
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