Category Archives: balance

The Father Ghost of Jane Snitly by Matt Carlson

She had never really considered it. It was something that she’d just decided to do. One day Jane Snitly bought the auburn hair coloring treatment, went home, read the instructions on the box, locked herself up in the bathroom and one hour later it was done. She’d become a redhead at twenty.

On top of it all, she looked good as a redhead. It wasn’t the flashy bright red of some, but more classy, like Katherine Hepburn in the 50’s and 60’s. And so it was, she’d chosen this look seemingly out of the blue – thinking it gave her an aura of the beautiful actress. And yet, even while she looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t ignore the pressing images that assaulted her there…

It was a gorgeous Buick of light blue sitting outside on the street under the front yard maple tree  – to keep under the shade. It was a hot summer day in the valley. There’d been a woman sitting in the passenger seat. She was very pretty, quite well dressed and she’d come with her Dad who was now in the house. He was having a conversation with Jane and Jenny’s Mother. The two little blond girls were 9 and 12, Jane was the youngest; Jenny the oldest. The two little girls were intrigued with the woman but didn’t dare speak to her. They’d been playing jacks in the driveway.

Blue curling up smoke from the woman’s cigarette went into the tree itself – seemingly dancing with the leaves – and Jane wondered who she was: this silent friend of her Father’s. Jenny felt it too and the girls left long lingering looks in her direction while halfheartedly spinning and catching. Voices were suddenly raised within the house and Jane and Jenny knew what that meant: another argument between their Mother and Father. They’d known something was up as their Father had ordered them to ‘stay outside and play’ upon his arrival and that he’d ‘wanted to speak to their Mother alone.’ Hearing those words had created a stir in their young bellies, but they had no clue as to why.

The wailing coming from within was low at first: a kind of moaning. Was that human? They both wondered while looking simultaneously at the house where their Father was now exiting. He didn’t say anything to them except that he loved them and would talk to them soon.

Jenny being older asked,”Daddy, where are you going? Why is Mamma crying like that?” She asked while chewing on her fingernail. Her Father stopped and seemed to reconsider something. The woman in the car was watching intently.

“Honey, Daddy is going to go and live somewhere else for a while…. but I’ll come back soon and we’ll do something fun, okay?” This was a lie, of course yet he wanted to give them a warm fuzzy of some kind. A lie was better than nothing. And perhaps he’d made himself believe that his words were true. Jenny didn’t say anything and he got into the car and started up the engine.

The wailing from within the house went up a notch and Jane suddenly found herself standing in front of the running engine, standing in front of the car where her Father sat with a strange & beautiful woman. Jane knew what it all meant. He was leaving. Leaving their Mother; leaving them. Leaving with the woman with auburn hair. Her Father stepped out of the car and asked, “What is it Janie?” But a paralysis overtook the little girl and no words would come. “Honey?… Okay, I’ve gotta go now sweetie – move out of the way.” And just like that she did what was asked of her. Her Father drove away. The woman gave her a sad smile and a slight wave of a manicured hand.

“Don’t go Daddy,” she whispered as the car drove out of sight. She’d forgotten to breath for a moment and felt slightly dizzy. Jenny had run inside to see her Mother. Janie stood there for a long time. Watching, waiting, trying to figure out what had just happened. Her tears and the low moaning were suddenly hers. Her Father had left her. Had left her Mom and sister. Only a Father Ghost would remain now….

**** Explanatory Note:

Almost sixty years later, Jane Snitly (her name has been changed to protect her identity) would die of Emphysema at the age of 68. According to a certain psychiatrist, she chose this hair color because unconsciously she chose to be the woman that her Father left with. That means she wanted to be the woman he chose to be with. (To be the woman that her Father loved). At the same time, she also chose to be the Mother that her Father left. The woman scorned and angry. Probably too,  that both of these identities  co-existed subconsciously within.

That being the case,  the two inner personalities or roles were at constant battle with one another; that the Mistress hated the Mother and that the Mother within hated the Mistress…The Father reassures and helps in developing a sense of identity to children in a family. When a Father abandons his children or is absent, the child will constantly search out that Father image – an image that he or she needs in order to construct their identity. The child (and later on adult) will do this subconsciously, of course and unknowingly will set up repetitive failures with people, people that the unconscious mind will perceive as a potential Father image. This is called the Father Ghost. Many of us have a Father Ghost, though we don’t realize it. He hoovers there constantly and is played out within the people around us, especially family members or other potential father-type images. Because it failed with their own father’s, and is an unconscious functioning, it will fail time and time again. No matter if you are a perfect Father figure, the scorned child will find fault with you somehow. Until the child becomes consciously aware of what is happening (and learns to make a conscious effort to change) he or she will continue to destroy potential Father figures. It is something imprinted within and a vicious circle…Some people will find other ways of creating identity with the pathology of the Father Ghost haunting them. Some will choose to work in psychology, health services and even religion…Anything that will give them a strong sense of belonging and reassurance…

*** ‘A noted sociologist, Dr. David Popenoe, is one of the pioneers of the relatively young field of research into fathers and fatherhood. “Fathers are far more than just ‘second adults’ in the home,” he says. “Involved fathers bring positive benefits to their children that no other person is as likely to bring.”  Fathers have a direct impact on the well-being of their children. It is important for professionals working with fathers— especially in the difficult, emotionally charged arena in which child protective services (CPS) caseworkers operate—to have a working understanding of the literature that addresses this impact.

Such knowledge will help make the case for why the most effective CPS case plans will involve fathers. This chapter lays out the connection between fathers and child outcomes, including cognitive ability, educational achievement, psychological well-being, and social behavior. The chapter also underscores the impact of the father and mother’s relationship on the well-being of their children….

THE IMPACT OF THE MOTHER-FATHER RELATIONSHIP ON CHILD OUTCOMES One of the most important influences a father can have on his child is indirect—fathers influence their children in large part through the quality of their relationship with the mother of their children. A father who has a good relationship with the mother of their children is more likely to be involved and to spend time with their children and to have children who are psychologically and emotionally healthier. Similarly, a mother who feels affirmed by her children’s father and who enjoys the benefits of a happy relationship is more likely to be a better mother. Indeed, the quality of the relationship affects the parenting behavior of both parents. They are more responsive, affectionate, and confident with their infants; more self-controlled in dealing with defiant toddlers; and better confidants for teenagers seeking advice and emotional support. One of the most important benefits of a positive relationship between mother and father, and a benefit directly related to the objectives of the CPS caseworker, is the behavior it models for children.

Fathers who treat the mothers of their children with respect and deal with conflict within the relationship in an adult and appropriate manner are more likely to have boys who understand how they are to treat women and who The Importance of Fathers in the Healthy Development of Children are less likely to act in an aggressive fashion toward females. Girls with involved, respectful fathers see how they should expect men to treat them and are less likely to become involved in violent or unhealthy relationships. In contrast, research has shown that husbands who display anger, show contempt for, or who stonewall their wives (i.e., “the silent treatment”) are more likely to have children who are anxious, withdrawn, or antisocial.

THE IMPACT OF FATHERS ON COGNITIVE ABILITY AND EDUCATIONAL ACHIEVEMENT Children with involved, caring fathers have better educational outcomes. A number of studies suggest that fathers who are involved, nurturing, and playful with their infants have children with higher IQ’s, as well as better linguistic and cognitive capacities.Toddlers with involved fathers go on to start school with higher levels of academic readiness. They are more patient and can handle the stresses and frustrations associated with schooling more readily than children with less involved fathers.

The influence of a father’s involvement on academic achievement extends into adolescence and young adulthood. Numerous studies find that an active and nurturing style of fathering is associated with better verbal skills, intellectual functioning, and academic achievement among adolescents. For instance, a 2001 U.S. Department of Education study found that highly involved biological fathers had children who were 43 percent more likely than other children to earn mostly As and 33 percent less likely than other children to repeat a grade.

THE IMPACT OF FATHERS ON PSYCHOLOGICAL WELL-BEING AND SOCIAL BEHAVIOR Even from birth, children who have an involved father are more likely to be emotionally secure, be confident to explore their surroundings, and, as they grow older, have better social connections with peers. These children also are less likely to get in trouble at home, school, or in the neighborhood.13 Infants who receive high levels of affection from their fathers (e.g., babies whose fathers respond quickly to their cries and who The Link Between Marriage and Fatherhood Caring, involved fathers exist outside of marriage. They are more likely, however, to be found in the context of marriage. There are numerous reasons for this, not the least of which being the legal and social norms associated with marriage that connect a father to the family unit. That may also explain, in part, why research consistently shows that the married mother-and-father family is a better environment for raising children than the cohabitating (living together) mother-and-father family.

It is interesting to note that, contrary to stereotypes about low-income, unmarried parents, a significant majority—more than 8 in 10—of urban, low-income fathers and mothers are in a romantic relationship when their children are born.

Most of these couples expect that they will get married. One study found that more than 80 percent expected they would get married or live together. However, only 11 percent of these couples had actually married a year later.

Why they do not marry is an interesting question open to conjecture. However, as Dr. Wade Horn, Assistant Secretary for Children and Families at the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services has pointed out, it may be because these couples receive very little encouragement to marry from the health and social services professionals with whom they come in contact.

Fathers and Their Impact on Children’s Well-being play together) are more securely attached; that is, they can explore their environment comfortably when a parent is nearby and can readily accept comfort from their parent after a brief separation. A number of studies suggest they also are more sociable and popular with other children throughout early childhood.

The way fathers play with their children also has an important impact on a child’s emotional and social development. Fathers spend a much higher percentage of their one-on-one interaction with infants and preschoolers in stimulating, playful activity than do mothers. From these interactions, children learn how to regulate their feelings and behavior. Roughhousing with dad, for example, can teach children how to deal with aggressive impulses and physical contact without losing control of their emotions.19 Generally speaking, fathers also tend to promote independence and an orientation to the outside world. Fathers often push achievement while mothers stress nurturing, both of which are important to healthy development. As a result, children who grow up with involved fathers are more comfortable exploring the world around them and more likely to exhibit self control and pro-social behavior.

One study of school-aged children found that children with good relationships with their fathers were less likely to experience depression, to exhibit disruptive behavior, or to lie and were more likely to exhibit pro-social behavior. This same study found that boys with involved fathers had fewer school behavior problems and that girls had stronger self esteem.

In addition, numerous studies have found that children who live with their fathers are more likely to have good physical and emotional health, to achieve academically, and to avoid drugs, violence, and delinquent behavior. In short, fathers have a powerful and positive impact upon the development and health of children. A caseworker who understands the important contributions fathers make to their children’s development and how to effectively involve fathers in the case planning process will find additional and valuable allies in the mission to create a permanent and safe environment for children.’

https://www.childwelfare.gov/pubPDFs/fatherhood.pdf

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OMG! What Have I Done?? by matt carlson

March 14th here in Clovis California….I woke up in Fresno (where I’m staying) and I woke up with a stomach ache. I am feeling misplaced & lost. I have left my zone of comfort on every level here. I Have left France (for a while) to return back to my roots, to reconnect. Now, I just want to go  back home and take care of the fish in the pond, take a solar shower outside while looking at the Saint Victoire, feed the birds, sing in my wooden chalet…. see some of my friends…spend some time with my other half….oops! I Wanted, Wanted, Wanted our love to be real : https://elledge.bandcamp.com/track/wanted

BUT That other half has turned out to be a monster in Borderline Personality Disorder clothes!! The lamb now a wolf has taken off his clothes and tried to eat the person who cared for him. I have become its favorite dinner and TALL TALE. I  have left to save myself, to recreate a new life here, to reconnect and to qualify people, places and ideas. I want NO REGRETS. I am full of intentions here in the land of the raisin…..OMG!

Fortunately, I haven’t had any expectations; nothing has happened that has surprised me. I learned alot living in France for 27 years and today I know and understand people: their motivations, their hypocritical ways, their words within words….As well as those that show true friendship and love. True generosity comes with NOT expecting something in return. It is not about getting something, or working out your own personal problems against someone, nor should it be a way to manipulate someone further down the road for gain…

I know when someone is being sincere with me or not.

Six weeks are coming up this week since I’ve been here and I’m still searching for my nitch. My nitch might be in Palm Springs, or perhaps even in the mountains nearby or perhaps on a tropical island….hmmmm Hawaii? Will my dogs be happy over there?

I am at the moment here in Clovis California at the PARISIEN, a French bakery http://www.yelp.com/biz/parisian-bakery-clovis… How funny is that? Maybe I could work with the owner by organizing French music concerts around his food…maybe we could organize events together….See? My mind is trying to figure out answers, trying to find my tribe. Palm Springs is a nice idea – had alot of fun there this weekend at the Indian Wells ATP/WTA tournament, with all the stars of tennis and located in a sublime place. On top of that, terrific company with a new friend orginally from Vietnam. I was treated like a king and also met up with some friends from the past, one who lives in Palm Springs….

In the meantime, I feel better after eating a French meal here in old town of Clovis, California. Funny too that name, Clovis. It’s French. Clovis was known as the first King of what would become France….https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clovis_I

 

Intentions by Matt Carlson

At an angle from the gallery window in my alcove at Le Château de la Reine Blanche, looking upwards I can see a terrace with its stone walls, overhanging plants swaying in the breeze, one of two towers, the closed apartment windows of neighbors. The weather is grey, humid ; still undecided. A bit like my heart. Should I stay or should I go?

Yesterday, I was certain of my departure: Being an alien in an alien world where language and culture are constantly at odds with one another, I want to run home where life might be less complicated, surrounded WITH loved ones. I want to share life with them.  I know that that idea of running home is not what it used to be. Mom is dead. Dad is dead. Aunt Muriel, Uncle George  & Aunt Jackie too. All dead. All the grandparents that I loved too. If I want to visit with any of them it will be at a cemetery.

Everyone has procreated too and those kids are young adults now with lives, jobs and yep you guessed it: kids of their own! These kids know me mostly through Facebook, though I visited briefly this summer and got to meet a few of them in person – which was terrific. Looking forward to meeting/seeing the rest of them…

And then there are those that are maybe mad at me for leaving. Maybe too for something else – who knows as they haven’t made any statements yet (or perhaps I’m just imagining all that…)  In any case, the dynamics of the family have changed since I left the states over 26 years ago. Internet was just kicking in…

So, I want to focus on my INTENTIONS; an essential to me. Intentions are the hows and whys we do things. So my intention or desire is  to spend more time with my family and HOW to do that! Being that I’ve lived thousands of miles away for several years adds brain clutter to the equation. That and social security/health care….

And now that I’ve seen the ugly heads of some that I never imagined possible before, I’m weary of that possibility. One brother has already showed signs of ‘non- reception’ . Maybe that’s changed…I hope so!

Stay tuned to following FUN chapters on Fresno Times and Paris Times!

 

 

 

“BE HERE” & Life At Le Pin Pastèque

BE HERE  (& Life At Le Pin Pastèque)

by mATT cARLSON

May 19th, 2014. Approximately day 3,328 at Le Pin Pastèque (the watermelon pine tree) in the south of France.

It was a blustery day: the wind rattled so much that even the screws safely secured in wooden posts trembled. Branches bended & leaves sang. Squirrels and birds huddled safely in their nests; cats in their country hotels slept, dogs too on their masters or mistresses beds. Outside hanging on the home made wall of a wooden veranda – a small square mirror. It had been rescued from the trash. Tiny red tiles framed it – though a few were missing. It went “bang, bang” and then “scrape, scrape” :  a  dance of wind & an old mirror.

A large grey  barrel sat on the dirt nearby pushed up against the wall beneath the mirror. “Gloup, gloup, gloup,” went drops of rain into the barrel. The wind had freed the drops from their pine needle prison on the plastic roof. There were always a lot of pine needles on that roof.

The barrel didn’t mind more drops joining the party, it just sat there full of water. As a matter of fact, the barrel didn’t think at all: it was only a container – left there in that exact spot to collect rain water. But it was steadfast sitting and a comforting sight. The ensemble : an outside bathroom of sorts. There was an old iron brasserie stem too (next to the barrel) used as a small table, though the marble had been broken long ago, with enough room to put a glass and a few tooth brushes. Tooth brushes that were now laying in the dirt.

With the television off, I could attend my ears to those sounds around me. An instant ago, they had been mere background noises, but now I could hear them. Joining the mirror dance, the thin door of the laundry room banged too as the machine inside shook my clothes angrily in its ever revolving mouth of plastic and steel. Outside: waves of air rolling, twisting & crashing into inanimate objects. A dog barked in the distance. Someone whistled.

Each time a new noise sounded, Foebbe and Fender (2 white Jack Russel’s) jumped down from the couch and ran to the glass front door. They jumped onto it excitedly with their front paws or in realizing an absence of anything worth discovering, would return to lie down, each in separate corners. “Of course”.

I took a deep breath. Aside from the dogs, I was alone. Of course Truc (Thing) the cat was there and the fish in the pond, but for all practical purposes, I was alone. And I desperately wanted to bring myself back to me! Back to my own thoughts – not those that were once again clamoring at my brain’s doorstep. Those were NOT my thoughts.

It was as if I wanted to read a book, but instead of the first page of a book I’d chosen, there were 1st pages of other books opening at the same time in my mind. Books from other people. “Read this one!” They yelled simultaneously, or almost. Similar to one door opening and suddenly shifting into perspective:  another door! Way the fuck too many doors- or books! I took a deep breath and with impatience yelled at the dogs to go and lie down again.

“Breath in deeply,” I told myself. “Count to four.” Wait four seconds. “Exhale,” and I did while still counting “1, 2, 3, 4″… There was no need to be anywhere. I mean, I didn’t have any obligations outside of the house, the animals, taking care of the home front kind of stuff. O had left a couple of months earlier and I had had little news.

Today I would just try and exist. To breath. To listen to the wind. I would not even try to focus on that first page of any book. I would not sing. I would not write. I would not try to figure anything out.  I would just sit here with Foebbe and Fender. Together we would listen to the wind.

“Be here,” I said .

mATT cARLSON

Change In The Air at The Château de La Reine Blanche by Matt Carlson

Cars sped by on the cobble stoned road. People ran around inside the Rene La Gall Square in their jogging clothes & earphones. Gelledge with slumber in his eyes, similar to having a sleeping bag on his head, walked around & outside of the square. It was chilly early morning: the leaves already carpeting the dirt  but mostly cement floors. His two small off leash dogs sniffed and peed alongside while visiting the row of trees on the outside of the square. Inside the park, two men were holding canon-like devices and blowing leaves and other debris off into a corner. The noise was annoying to say the least.

A woman with large breasts and a large basset hound walked by smiling at the two small white dogs. The three dogs stopped, sniffed butts, each taking a pee, then went away from each other – apparently there wasn’t much to communicate today. The woman wished Gelledge a nice day and walked off – her breasts rising as she did so. Gelledge spoke briefly to a pleasant man in black while their dogs made acquaintance with one another: this time a beige blind Pug.

Back at Le Château, Patches lay in bed half asleep,  knowing that someone would be coming soon to get her up. She had as usual, peed on herself during the night but the huge diaper with double protection absorbed most of it. She didn’t really care about things like that any more. Her brain was on a defensive roll. It kept her from realizing what a horrendous state she was in, constantly keeping her from seeing the hard reality that was.

A few weeks ago she had stated to Gelledge who rented her alcove, “I’m thinking about getting an electric car subscription…” Gelledge had looked at her with mild surprise. “You do realize that you are in a wheel chair and that you can barely use your right hand to stuff food in your mouth, right?” There was a pause. “I don’t wanna break your bubble, but you know that’s impossible right?”

It was brutal perhaps, but with everything in perspective, it was only very honest. Patches was ‘out of her hat’ so to speak and no one was saying anything. She spent her days, from the time getting up until going to bed in conflict with everyone around her. Unfortunately, her mouth& tongue still worked – not very well but enough to piss everyone and the queen of England off, so to speak.

If it wasn’t “Merde, merde, merde,” it was “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” or telling the poor cat  named Bat-cat, “Get down Bat-cat, down, down…,” from where ever the cat was. Or it was “No, Bat-cat, no, no Bat-cat!” and so on. Or she would make phone calls, which sounded always the same: “Phuckett. P-H-U-C-K-E-T-T…my number is….” It was always about an order for something, pills, diapers, clothes… And often times the person on the other line had a hard time understanding what she was saying. During the day as she had nothing to do but eat, go to the toilet and make green stools and piss (she did that a lot) she tried to tell people what to do & constantly. Needless to say, the hired help (mostly paid through the social system) were always leaving. No one could put with her for very long…And in Patches’ mind, all was well. She refused to see her true state of ineptitude on all levels. In her mind she was still designing rocket engines to go into space and the people picking up or cleaning her inert body were secretaries, assistant engineers or associates of the firm.

Brandon, her live in helper was also at the end of his rope. He could hardly speak civil like to her any more; and it was rubbing off in other directions and onto other people. His self imposed 24/7 enclosure in his bedroom was getting to him – that and no girls! Yes, all work and no play was not healthy and the word work wasn’t so easy to define anymore either. He felt like he was always working, but in truth he was unfocused. Nothing was really getting accomplished. Dealing with Patches just made things worse.

And Mahta, the tall, beautiful black as night Camorian had left the fold, or rather had been fired months before. She hadn’t told him about the baby. a little baby Brandon of sorts, named Ahmed jr.

Maybe if he’s known that he’d had a son, life would be very different. Patches yelled from downstairs, “Rob, wil yi tk mo t th tlet pleeze..?” It was hard to decipher what she was asking, but he knew. He waited for the phone to ring, the answering machine to pick up, then finished reading his article before going downstairs.

Mind Babble: WHO THE Fx££%K AM I ? by matthew carlson

Mind Babble: WHO THE Fx££%K AM I ? by matthew carlson

I closed my eyes. Then tighter and listened. I could hear my footsteps on the sidewalk & the ‘click-click-click’ of the dogs toenails beside me…..Then the other sounds too; cars passing by on a busy street a block away, a whirling of some kind, a buzzing too, people talking, parents taking their kids to school on foot or on skateboard or trottinette. A dog barked, the leash pulled and i opened my eyes. Merdre (shit) ! I had almost walked into a tree. The mind babble was taking over – I was trying to shut the voices down with some meditation. while walking Foebbe and Fender – the guardians of my soul.

“What do i want?” I asked as I inhaled. The Chokra Center MP3 meditating files from Carlsbad California were on the computer I was using upstairs in my alcove where I was renting. I listened to it ALOT. I was getting better at meditating, but still the voices would take over – always before I’d realized it. The voices were thoughts of course, but were they mine? Did I think those thoughts before uttering them in my head or aloud in the streets? And was I any different from the multitude of people I saw daily who were muttering aloud to themselves? And I’m not talking about the ones hooked up to their phones actually talking to ANOTHER person either.

Sam Harris the very intelligent brain scientist/atheist and book author of ‘Letter To A Christian Nation’ and other unsettling books says we have no free will. Oh yea, and he wrote a book about that too. (‘Free Will’) He explains to us that we don’t have any (thanks Sam!) – that we’re all basically a bundle of DNA and constructed cells and imprinted memory stuff whereby we think we are creating our own thoughts, but it’s all a bunch of baloney: free will. Makes you want to kill yourself doesn’t it? Knowing that… Or at least stay on the couch with your smartphone in front of the TV (& Netflix) with a case of Pringles & beer next to you along with the ice cream waiting in the freezer of course.

But in spite of Sam’s wise and devastating words of advice (or lucidity) I still want to feel that I’m the captain of my ship. Somehow. But it’s not working for the moment. If my body is a ship, then it’s been out to sea for a long time in some kind of surreal storm. But not an open sea – a large container with a sea inside of it.

The voices have taken over once more, competing for my attention. I don’t know which one I should listen to first. If my thoughts had weapons, my head would be a bloody mess, a third world war of sorts where logic doesn’t count – never did. It was only to win, to be the victory thought. AND that would entail killing off the other thoughts that wanted to be THE ONE CONTROLLING THOUGHT.

Meditation time again. As you can see – not an option. If I wanted to stay sane (or at least give an outward appearance of sanity) then I would have to meditate. Deep breaths, one after the other. A virtual wand of my hand scatters the attacking mind babbling thoughts. “No more thoughts! Be gone you bastards!”

Back to breathing deeply: in and out, in and out. Then focusing on my physical being: toes, feet, ankles, shins, knees, thighs, buttocks, groin area, waist, lower back, chest & upper back, shoulders, neck, arms, elbows, wrists, hands, fingers,head, ears, eyes, temples, nose….Still breathing: In and out. In and out. Breathing to find myself once again. Those thoughts are not me. Not mine.

I am here. Standing next to this tree. Next to Foebbe and Fender. They are looking up at me wondering why we are STILL standing in the same place. It’s hug time. I bend down and tongues and lips and fingers & paws meet. Several hugs, kisses, belly rubs, head shakes, & pawing paws later, we are ready to walk some more.

I remind myself to keep breathing. “What do I desire?” I ask myself not waiting for an answer. The universe will answer soon enough. In the meantime I would go home and sing a song. Or maybe write another one.