Last night's dream is amusingly haunting me...

A few months back, I honored--as usual--the birthday of my late friend, John. The yearly marker normally comes and goes with some kind of eerie connection that I know still exists between us, and this year was no different than those passed. It didn't occur on the actual date of his birth, but shortly thereafter, voila.

There is far too much detail to delve into, should I care to express the specifics. Just suffice it to say that there is a means by which I know he is always with me. Some inconsequential, some point blank obvious, but he makes it known that as I will never forget him, he has not forgotten me.

Now, how do I write, on a blog which encompasses the lives of my two precious daughters, and their father--my husband--about a man who was the most dear and generous friend a girl could ever hope for? That's a question I often found myself having to explain to Jeff, after John's departure. It wasn't easy then, and it doesn't get easier now...but I've expressed to my girls that "Uncle John" was a talent and a timeless friend for the ages. I can only hope that they both will find someone to fill their lives with the unique and unending friendship that he and I found together.

Music fills my heart, it bears burden, it shares joy. In John's expression of his soul through music, he exposed his very core in a melodic and temperate tone. Notes of high and low, he played them all and created a cucoon in which he cared for his sons, his parents, and his sisters and their families. He cared for me in there, too, there was always room for me.

We colored our hair together, listened to music intently for hours on end, we drove each other crazy ocassionally, as well. He was defiant and tenacious, mild and loud. Too loud, never. He played a guitar like no one I've heard before, effectually speaking through it-or as I often described: He could make it sing. He taught me about history I'd only scratched the surface of, and I created boundaries for him that he'd only heard of, prior. Somethings were better left unspoken, to coin a popular lyric from the times.

Sometimes, a relationship between a man and a woman CAN be platonic. It can transcend the triviality of dating and physical expression in the usual manner. Sometimes, two people can befriend and confide without the confinement or pressure of a romantic interlude. John and I captured that, we abolished the stereotype that was expected of us. And we gained, in spades, from the reciprocity of late night phone calls after a good "date", or a bad one.

Like two "old ladies", we could chatter and banter for hours on one subject--offering opinion, and heated debate, but culminating to an agreement to consider and respect the the opposing thought. It was like we grew up together, though we didn't meet until well into adulthood.

Girlfriends, boyfriends, they all came and went. They all knew there was a relationship here that would not be strained--nor could tarnish--that of a romance blooming. No matter which of us found ourselves in the midst of a "Mr./Ms. Wonderful Wonderful" scenario, all parties concerned understood that John and Camille were a team, and nothing could alter that state. He embraced every date that I brought to see him perform, and I welcomed all the girls that he would invite to a performance, often sitting with them while he played. It was perfect harmony on so many levels.

And then one bitter January day, he stopped answering his phone after a series of brief calls. Frightening phone calls where he indicated a terribly heavy pain in his chest. I rushed to his apartment and with the aid of a friend, entered through the back gate. The worst fear imaginable came true, and my dearest, most trusted friend was gone. I was alone, I was devastated, I was cold, and I was heartbroken. John was dead at 45 years young.

He left his two sons--his pride and joy--to grow up without a father. His sisters to question his contentment, and his insatiable appetite to belong with someone, to get answers to his unending questions. None of us was the same after that snowfilled night.

Jeff and I had just run into each other the week before John's heart attack. I still had yet to introduce them, and to get the nod of approval from my stand-in big brother. To this day, I will never know the outcome of that introduction. I am consoled that with Jeff, I was capable of waking up the next morning and facing the blindingly bright sky that etched into my weeping heart. I was capable of exhaling and living my life in forward motion. To this day, I question what would have become of me had the cards dealt been off, by even one suit. I am humbled that God cared enough for me to truly open one door, just as another was shut. It is the only way I can surmise the series of events of those few weeks, those passing days following the wake, the funeral, the burial. Brutal, life changing memories.

Last night I was privy to one of those uniquely 'real' dreams. The one where real time conversations occur with those who have left this arena. John was speaking to me on topics at hand, and tying in past encounters in anectdotal fashion. Jennifer's guitar practice, Monika's haircut, Jeff's new bike. It was a hauntingly familiar discussion, two sided, music entrenched. I'll be carrying this one with me for some time to come, as I haven't had one like it in several years. It was soft comfort, solid strength, everlasting satisfaction.

Fraulein Dakota HaileysComet

So, I see that it's been nearly a month since my last post...Ellen, I'm sorry! I vow that the lack of interaction from the blogging audience won't hamper my continuity in writing, but it's been a little more hectic than usual around here lately.

We're introducing a new member of our family to our friends these days. On Saturday, May 30, we brought home an eight week old White German Shepherd puppy. Oh the joy! ;-) Yes, the joy!!

She has completely entrenched her way into our hearts, and the girls are beyond thrilled that mom & dad have actually allowed a dog into our lives! She nips, she sits, she drinks, and she devours (her food), all the while making for interesting conversation with all of our neighbors who walk their own canines past our house.

The best part of her break-in period? The crate training is taking place in our swank garage. We've decided to house break her from there, and she has found the peace and comfort of her cage quite appealing. It finally caught on to Jeff that the crate was necessary to her safety after she swallowed a nail/hook thing that she'd pulled off the wall in her first week with us. He is not a fan of the crate, but it's proven it's worth in the last several days alone--thank GOD!

So I rushed her to the vet that fateful Thursday morning after I discovered one of these nails on the floor-and further that their was still another missing from the wall she pulled it off of. Searched the garage, under, in between and above all the items neatly stowed and stored for her well-being, but it wasn't to be found... An hour later and $126.00 for the xray visit, it was nestled in her food stuffed belly.

Now if it had been that the nail was the worst of the danger she faced, I probably still would have been as frightened, but this thing had a hook on the head of it, which, when in the wall, was holding tight the wire of the thermostat to the wall. The vet was concerned, and didn't want to induce Dakota's stomach contents upward through her throat, so we opted for asparagus.

Yep, asparagus.

Apparently, this fibrous vegetable, in all its stringy glory, is a natural means of helping to pull a foreign object from the tummy through the intestines of our four-legged friends. Go figure. So now, rather than surgery, I'm off to market for asparagus to steam and cool, then feed her in a quantity equal to whatever she didn't turn away from.

So the marathon feeding began, and she ate nearly an entire bunch. By that evening, she was still her active and excited puppy-self, but I was horrified of the very real possibility that this nail could puncture her stomach wall, or worse, her intestinal tract. I was awake most of the night, at the ready should she have howled out in some kind of internal pain. Nothing-whew.

The next morning, it was back to the vet for another picture, and voila~the nail is moving outward in the most optimal position to avoid damage! Only two or three inches till exit~I had only to wait it out.

And it came out--with the telltale tarnish and etching from her little tummy acids. It was now in my hand, and she was out of danger. What a breath of relief! I proceeded to scrub my hands, up to my elbows.

Now she's happily confined to her monster cage with the partition which makes her space smaller now, allowing for her rapid growth. And rapid it is already becoming! She cuddles with her towel, her knotted t-shirt, her Kong, and two rawhide bones. The potty training is going more smoothly than when Jennifer was coming out of diapers--but I think Jennifer was just holding on to "baby-hood" for as long as she could. Dakota clearly wants out of "puppy-hood", and will soon be a full grown German Shepherd, as her ancestors before her.

She has a beautiful stance, both ears have now popped "up", and her demeanor is happy and social. We couldn't have asked for a better disposition in a puppy. I am eager to get through the teething stage, and onward to training school--of course, her appointment has already been set for spaying her in early July.

If I can only get Jeff to pick up after her...