A Week on the Beach

As has been the tradition for the past several years, my sister gave the whole family the gift of a beach house for all of last week. This time, we went to Scotland, MD on the west side of the Chesapeake Bay instead of the Outer Banks of North Carolina as in 2010 and 2011.

Here, the beach was smaller but it was also much less populated. 

The house was right on the beach, so at any hour you could just go out there and sunbathe, 





relax and read, 
















walk with the dogs, swim, do some birdwatching, or kayak. 

Between the houses were old deteriorated piers that the birds used for perching, watching out for their next meal, and nesting. 

The big nest just outside our house was an osprey nest, but the only critters I saw using it now were seagulls. 

It was so fun to kayak right up under it and see what it was made of--mostly branches, with a fish skeleton and some bits of rope and feathers thrown in. 

So resourceful!

The weather was incredible, so we spent lots of time outside. 

Genghis and Lamar were with us, and though Lamar is nervous around Genghis, I think he managed to enjoy at least some of his time on the beach.





Lamar, more than Fozzie or my old cattle dog girl Tashi, is a dog who likes his comforts and will generally take a nice soft bed and some pillows over any sort of outdoor relaxation situation. 








Nonetheless, he adjusted quite well to the outdoor relaxation opportunities on offer. The important thing to Lamar is to be near his tribe, wherever he is.

Lamar, I can relate to that.




There was something so wonderful about having the option to walk alone with Lamar on the beach, or space out with my brother and his girlfriend or my dad, or go kayaking with Florian or my sister, or discuss the tides and astronomy with Uncle Johnny. 







Of course we all missed my mom. Last time we were all on the beach together, I remember how much I loved watching the big spider and amazing sunsets on the porch with her, and having Science Hour with Mom and Johnny.

This was also my first birthday without Mom, my 40th no less. 

We carried on though. Though every last one of them is a certifiable wacko, my family members are all good people who love animals and nature and support each other. I loved falling asleep in a house where they were all just a few doors away.

I loved watching the stars with Johnny and learning a new constellation, Cygnus the Swan. Our necks got sore but we spent hours on the deck with the nice binoculars Johnny inspired me to buy, finding Cassiopeia and Cygnus and the Milky Way even though the moon was almost full, so the sky was too bright for maximum visibility.













What an ideal vacation, to be immersed with nature while surrounded by family. I am reminded again of how it was to be twentysomething, camping out alone with my sleeping pad on the side of a road running next to an oil field in West Texas, or camped in the sandy alcove up Left Hand Canyon of Mill Creek outside Moab, Utah, or falling asleep with my dreadlocked boyfriend on the top level of a Westphalia camper van in Vancouver after a day of busking, our bandmate and his teen girlfriend crashed out below.

Though I relished being that free spirit, and part of me still longs to roam from one beautiful place to the next, subsisting on almond butter and dried fruit and putting down roots that can be lifted in the time it takes to withdraw a tent stake from red Southern Utah sand, I know now what makes me even happier. 


Having attained the big 4-0, with a mortgage and  a couple of dogs and a pair of budgies and a steady job or two, along with a Swiss guy and the engagement ring he gave me for my birthday, I have to say that I know now what was missing even as I lay gazing up at the Milky Way with my 20/20 vision from a perfect slickrock camp site at the edge of the Grand Canyon twenty years ago. 

And I think Lamar knows too. 

The Patapsco River

Florian and I had another chance for an escape into the woods last weekend, and he wanted to go check out the Patapsco River and State Park.

He teases me when every hike we go on, I say This is the best one. But this one was definitely in the running.

It started out not so auspiciously, with a parking lot full of vehicles so I was sure we were going to be encountering other dogs and people and kids every step of the way. 

But I was wrong! A short, steep trail brought us down to the water, then another trail through the woods brought us to the railroad tracks where we could walk for a bit to get away from the heavily traversed areas. 

After a short while, we were among just one or two other hardy travelers and we went back down to the water. 

The river had opened out and was wide and clear. 















Perfect for wading and walking in the water, with the dogs happily doing their thing around us. 

There is nothing that makes me happier than a beautiful place out in nature where the dogs can run free.

Especially where there's water and the humans can join the dogs. 















Lamar loves to wade and cool off, but doesn't go in much for swimming anymore. I thought it would actually be helpful for his arthritis to be in the cool water, but he seems to prefer to lounge on the banks.

Fozzie, on the other hand, can't get enough of it. He kept jumping in, doing a lap, then going back in just for the joy of it. 

Must be that he's a lab-mastifff mix, don't you think?

Back on the Trail

With the New York apartment cleared out, things are finally returning to some sort of normal and we've been able to get out and about to some of our favorite places. 

My dad is moving in to a retirement home near me and my sister, and we've had the chance to even get him out on the trail with us a couple of times. The first place we took him was Great Falls, which is stunning no matter how many times you've seen it. 

My dad has always loved impressive views, and Great Falls is certainly that. 

We took a pretty long walk and my dad did great, and loved it. 

Another time, we decided to take my dad to Sugarloaf Mountain which afforded stunning views 













as well as a cool big bird--is it a turkey vulture?

Weekends and evenings have mostly been spent with my sister and dad, but one day recently Florian and I made a point to get out with Fozzie and Lamar for one of our epic hikes.














We haven't been to Gunpowder Falls state park for a while, so we decided to go to a part of it we've never been to before.

A gorgeous trail shaded by a sun-dappled forest canopy, flanked by verdant ferns in the understory on either side.

The trail went steeply down the side of a canyon, then arrived at a wide stream and traveled along its bank. 

It was a hot and humid day, so what a relief to see the cool water and watch the dogs jump in. 

The water was crystal clear and deep in some places, with a magical mist rising up off it that suggested warm water or even a hot spring. 

Florian and I were ready to jump right on in and join those dogs, but as we waded in and our ankles turned to blocks of ice we quickly changed our minds.












How did it get so cold? It had been hot for a while, and it had been warm at night, and its not like the stream could have been glacier-fed. 

One of those mysteries! The dogs didn't seem to mind, and that's the important thing. 














Then we walked downstream a bit and across a cool bridge then found a historic mill, which was now a private residence.












I love those historic Maryland places, love the stone architecture that reminds me of something you'd see in Switzerland.

Adding to the feeling of mystery was another small creek, a tributary to the main one, that was much warmer. 

The dogs made no distinction between the cold water and warm, but seemed to love them both. 













That's the spirit guys! You go in so I don't have to. 

An Ode to Stuff

 Last I posted, I was on my way to New York to go through my parents' apartment with my Dad and help him move what he wanted, take what Florian and I and my sister wanted, and designate the rest for donation. 

So the past month has been devoted to going through old photos and knick knacks and art supplies, old curios and collectibles and kitchenware, albums and scrap books and thank you letters, notes, and postcards sent by friends and family since the 1950s. 

There's the furniture, some of which I kept. Like the old desk that my Mom loved, where she used to sit in the evenings paying bills and making her lists.




That desk was the setting for one of my all-time favorite Mom moments, when I was in the rocking chair next to her, at age 15 or so, and lamenting how difficult it was to write a thank-you note to my grandmother after Christmas. 























My Mom looked at me, her eyes went Heavenward, her shoulders slumped, and in that scathing, exasperated voice she reserved for her kids at their most moronic, she said "You IIIIIIIDIOT!," a statement I will never forget for how it captured my mom's unique brand of love.

I'm glad I have that desk. I am using it to organize my own thank you cards and stationary, and maybe someday I can get Florian to lovingly berate me into sending them. 

I also saved a really nice loveseat, that is less spacious for the dogs but more elegant. Fozzie finds it perfect for taking a bit of Me time, you know, those moments when a dog bed just won't do.









As I have written before, my mom was incredibly artistic and creative. So there are her ornaments and trees and angels that she made every Christmas, 

as well as the hollowed-out eggs she decorated in incredible detail for Easter. 

Of course I kept all of those. Maybe at some point I'll have a holiday benefit auction, so friends can go home with something beautiful and the proceeds will go to the shelter or some other worthy cause Mom supported. Mom would like that. 

There are the albums from my parents' wedding, scrapbooks from when me and my brothers and sister were kids, sepia-toned photos of relatives from both sides of the family. 

I am actually finding it enjoyable to go through it all, to sit at home with the dogs and when I get emotional about a picture of my mom in her wedding dress, know that Fozzie will be there in a flash, his velvety head under my armpit and his hot, foul-smelling breath  enveloping me in a comforting miasma. 












A couple of weeks ago I started dreaming of my mom. The first couple of dreams were of her absence, but though she was gone I was in the ocean or in the forest, surrounded by friends, playful animals, nature, people who reminded me of her. 

In the most recent one, she was walking out ahead of me, strong, almost skipping, happy to be alive. 

The message I think is that all the things I miss and love about my mom--the kinship with nature and animals and family, the joy in life and the feeling of utter acceptance--are still present in the world and accessible to me. 

Healing

First of all, I want to say thank you to everyone for your thoughts and kindness on my Mom's passing.  In the midst of the sadness and upheaval of losing someone who was such a foundation, a huge comfort has been the support of friends and family.

Another huge comfort has been the dogs. Fozzie is sensitive to every shift in emotion. He knows the moment I have a sad thought, and is lying on top of me, pawing me and resting his head on me, before the thought is even fully-formed. 

Lamar has been a sweet goof-man. Lifting his paws at me and wagging whenever I come near, smiling a huge wet happy smile, coming close right along with Fozzie whenever I need a therapeutic dose of dog.

Lady has been her usual happy, loving, sweet self. The very night before my Mom died, an adopter came over who was all ready to take Lady home, and changed her mind when she got here as she realized Lady was probably a bit too much of a barker. 








I was not too bummed out, as I hadn't had quite enough of Lady's sweet kisses. 

Actually, I thought my Mom would really like to meet Lady. Since the plan was for Mom to come down here with my sister that weekend and look around at places to live, I thought it was perfect that I would still have Lady.

When things didn't turn out that way, I couldn't even think about letting go of Lady for a while. I needed all of my fuzzy, licking, wagging, loving therapists around me. 

Now, I am still in disbelief that my Mom is gone, still miss her unbearably, but there are days when I almost feel normal. Days when the crushing guilt dissipates into a more healthy sense of perspective. Days when I remember that my Mom was sick for a while, and that even if I had bought her an air conditioner or called an ambulance when she wouldn't come to the phone her last few days or insisted that she come down to Maryland sooner, there was nothing anyone could have done to prolong her life for very long. 

Maybe she would have died in a hospital, where she didn't want to go, or maybe she would have had a prolonged period of suffering, instead of living in relative vigor right up until her final few days. 












And no sooner had this clearer sense of perspective come, than Lady's true adopter came along as well. 

My neighbor had met Lady right after the other adoption didn't work out, and I was going to speak to her more the next day. Then disaster struck, and I didn't see my neighbor for a few weeks. Then just the other night, Florian and I were coming back from my sister's house where we've been spending a lot of time with my Dad who is going to be moving close by. My neighbor drove by, we talked, I went over the next day to see how Lady liked her house, and now Lady is in her new home!

I think she will be happy there. She has a big yard she can relax in and won't be alone much during the day. My neighbor adores dogs and her last three lived to their teens and passed away within the past year. I'll try not to go by for a while so she can settle in, but my neighbor says I have visitation rights so if I ever need a thorough facial scrub/wet tongue spa treatment, I won't have far to go. 

Florian and I are going to New York this week to help my Dad move out of the apartment I grew up in. It is going to be hard to see the familiar place, and feel my Mom there, and know I won't visit anymore. The good thing is, we get to come home with things of my Mom's so that we'll have her with us even more, and we get to bring my Dad back with us too.

And my two Wet Tongue Therapy practitioners will be with us the whole time. 

Dolly Stade, December 5, 1934 - July 19, 2013

My Mom passed away early the morning of Friday, July 19, 2013.

Although it was not unexpected, when the news came it hit hard. My dad, my brothers, my sister and Florian--none of us could really imagine life without my mom's irreverent sense of humor, her unconditional support, her overwhelmingly generous love and her uninhibited affection. 

So we told ourselves that she was doing well, and in some ways she was--right until the end.



Right up until the end, my mom embodied vibrant joy, intense love, and razor-sharp intelligence that made it easy to hold on to the hope that she would hold on. 


















My mom could bring out in me a feeling of wild, raucous joy blasting out in all directions. 































I don't think I know anyone who is so completely, thoroughly loving, who lived so completely for the sake of giving. Maybe that is why she brought out in me a sensation of being thoroughly, joyously alive and a compulsion to sing, skip, and clap my hands. 













I do believe that there is a current of joy running through the universe, and I think the love I felt with my Mom set me free to tap into it. 

I think her extraordinary love for animals, for her family, for plants and her garden and kids and babies and the world, just made it OK to be who I was, uninhibited. 

I think that maybe the natural state of things is for people to go around singing and skipping and clapping their hands and saying HI MUM HI MUM HI MUM HI MUM HI MUM, and my mom's acceptance and love and bemused, exasperated acceptance made it OK to lapse into that natural state of things.




I know that I owe some essential things to my Mom. 


My love of nature, and my feeling of kinship with trees and plants and green things that grow.















My love of animals, and my propensity to talk with them as if they understand every word. 































My belief that derision is the surest sign of affection. 

And there are other things that I will never be able to do like my Mom did. 



Her culinary talent and her knack for entertaining














Her creativity and artistry with all the things she made, the mosaics, 

the Christmas angels and ornaments, the beautiful drawings that decorated every card she sent.

I am still not sure how to go on without all that. I guess you do it by being thankful for what we had, like that one week in the Adirondacks just two weeks before she died, when she got to be in the only place she wanted to be. I am so glad I spent time with her just sitting in her garden, sitting at the kitchen table, going for short walks, driving and talking.

And I guess you do it by keeping alive all the things she represented, the irreverence, the humor, the love of family and animals and nature, and the wild, unfettered, ridiculous blast of joy. 

My Mom was this blog's most devoted reader, and she loved it when I wrote a post that celebrated her and celebrated our family. She was moved when my blog friends said nice things in response to my posts about her and about my childhood. My Mom sometimes felt unappreciated, and those posts were a way to try to fix that. 

My family has started a blog devoted entirely to her life, where my sister, my aunt, and others will post our stories, memories, and celebrations of my Mom.

Mom, we will miss having you here with us but will think of you as a bright stream of laughter coursing through the universe, a blast of energy bringing your vitality to all living things and nourishing gardens of green growing life as you did when you were here.