Cookie

Grief is a vivid, living emotion. It is not controllable, it has a mind of its own. I've heard it described as a sharp pain, or as a dull, consistent ache, and I have felt it as either, or both. Bringing a pet into your home is easy. Giving them food, shelter, and love is easy. Giving them room in your life is easy. But I'll bet few of us who bring those babies into our warmth think at that instant about the time they will leave it. We don't think, in those moments of bliss, about the pain of leaving, the feelings of regret and loss, the terrible, debilitating, breathtaking ache of seperation. Not that anyone ever said that losing them would be easy, but who could ever have guessed it would be so hard.

We lost Cookie today. She'd been with us for all of our marriage, for so many of our wonderful moments, and our darkest ones. We will remember her walking the ledge in our old house, dragging whole loaves of bread to the basement when we weren't looking, littering the house with socks rescued from the laundry during the long hours of the night, draping herself over my shoulders, my lap, my head, my computer, or any part of me just to be closer, regardless of my feeling about her plans.

We will remember with geat tenderness the way that she let Calvin climb all over her, drag her around, tackler her, and still come back for more.

She was not your typical cat. She greeting strangers with aplomb, she came when she heard her name, she was always present. One of our old neighbors described her as "more friendly than a woman on elimidate". She was so present in our lives that she leaves an immense, gaping hole in her absence. Healthy until her last week, when a tumor closed her throat and began depriving her of breath, the most we could give her in the end was her freedom from suffering, as graceful a retreat as possible, and that is always a difficult gift to give. As I discussed with Calvin, when her suffering ended, that was when ours really began.

It is not for her that we weep, but for ourselves.

How to teach your dog to play chess

A little (too much?) help from my friends

We are nursing colds around here and have been pretty well stuck in the house, but when you're learning at home there's no worry about make-up lessons, and there's plenty of tea, warm blankets, and snuggles...like this drive-by licking that took place during a serious building session in the afternoon sun.

Family game night reinstated

Dog days of summer

We're coming into the home stretch, when the long days grow shorter and the heat begins to escape us. I'm jumping the gun a little bit, but after so many hundred degree days over the past month, the weather lately feels down right fall like, with days that are merely warm, not scorching, and nights that are downright cool. Running in the mornings is enjoyable again (even as late as seven am!), so is walking the dogs in the afternoon, and the garden is finally growing.

I say all this on a day that reached a high of 94 degrees.

We have been watching the Olympics, along with much of America, I suppose, and I will jump on the band wagon with them and express my disappointment in NBC's failure to show the events as they happen. Facebook is fraught with spoilers, and my email keeps lighting up with updates from various news sources. There's no hope for magical surprises at this rate. We've been recording the nightly digest and sharing it with Calvin sans ads during dinner or the late afternoon lull. It's better without ads, but he's pretty crushed that they don't show all the medal ceremonies. He's drinking in the swimming. Michael Phelps and Ryan Lochte are names that slip right off our tongues these days, and they've injected him with extra enthusiasm for his own lessons. This may be our first look at something like hero worship.

We dedicate the remaining month of summer to soaking up the warm rays of the sun. To hikes, and bird watching, and fun. And ice cream.