Great Loves, Present and Past

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This is Coltrane, our newest family member. We rescued him from the local pound--he'd been there for 30 days and we adopted him on day 31. He's about 7 months old, and full of beans and love. I've never met such a dog who *loves* to cuddle more than anything. I suppose 30 days in jail will do that to a fella.

And forever in our memory and our hearts is our Mingus, who past 23 December 2006. We love you Mingus!


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Happy Belated Valentine's Day, everyone. And thanks to you all for your sweet, kind comments on Rusted Root. I've missed you, one and all, and I'm so grateful that you're still reading :)

ox,
K.

The Forecast: Raining Cats and Dogs

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So Forecast is finally blocking...FINALLY!!...and the Eyelet Skirt disaster has been averted (I'll show you the reblocked skirt this week, along with Forecast modelled, and provide all of the knitty gritty details of both projects: I PROMISE!!).


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I just need to choose which buttons to use; there are three choices here and I think I already know which ones I'll use. But just so y'all can have a say in the matter, here's a close-up of the button choices:
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And didn't I say the Forecast was "cats and dogs"?


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Why, yes I did. Cats and dogs indeed.

The two cats are ours. The two dogs are our friends' who have gone on vacation. Let's just say our tiny household is in a constant frenzy right now. I'm getting an up-close and personal look at why world peace is so hard to achieve...*sigh*

Happy Birthday Marj

Today would be my Aunt Marj's birthday. She passed away a few years ago, but I always honor her on this day by eating her favourite candy bar--a Mars bar (or a substitute since coming to the US)--and by having a Kahlua & milk (or a substitute if no Kahlua is on hand). So, while chewing on Milk Duds, I raise a toast (of a gin & tonic) tonight to a wonderful woman who was the grandmothers I never had a chance to know. * I love you Aunt Marjorie, my lovely grandmother.

ETA: Now look down to give me some flannel advice in the next post-- :)

"A Dog Has Died"

10 December 1994 -- 23 December 2006

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"A Dog Has Died"

--Pablo Neruda

My dog has died.

I buried him in the garden

next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I'll join him right there,

but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,

his bad manners and his cold nose,

and I, the materialist, who never believed

in any promised heaven in the sky

for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.

Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom

where my dog waits for my arrival

waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes

filling me full of his hair or his mange,

he never rubbed up against my knee

like other dogs obsessed with sex.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,

paying me the attention I need,

the attention required

to make a vain person like me understand

that, being a dog, he was wasting time,

but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,

he'd keep on gazing at me

with a look that reserved for me alone

all his sweet and shaggy life,

always near me, never troubling me,

and asking nothing.

Ai, how many times have I envied his tail

as we walked together

on the shores of the sea

in the lonely winter of Isla Negra

where the wintering birds filled the sky

and my hairy dog was jumping about

full of the voltage of the sea's movement:

my wandering dog, sniffing away with his golden tail held high,

face to face with the ocean's spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,

as only dogs know how to be happy

with only the autonomy of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,

and we don't now and never did lie to each other.

So now he's gone and I buried him,

and that's all there is to it.

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Over the holiday break, we lost our lovely, loving, joyful, darling dog. We have been sad, sad, sad, and I've avoided posting because I knew this was the post that would have to come first. And I know that I'll have to update the profile on the side, and that I cannot bear to do yet. He was truly a legend, as evidenced by the many wonderful stories that everyone who met him has of him. Indeed, the thing he knew best to do--besides loving us and bringing us great joy--was how to leave an impression. It's so hard to comprehend: how a being that made your life so full and lively can suddenly be no more. Of course, he is with us always, but he isn't--the house is so still. I know that it will fill up again some day, with time, but for now, we softly say: "Rest in peace, dear M."

[My apologies on the terrible formatting of this post. I could not (despite much grappling with Blogger) get the line breaks in Neruda's poem to show up at the correct place because when I did, the photos then moved about crazily or were lost altogether.]