September 2004 Archives

BK has got the comments working again!

Thanks for the emails. It's better this week. Last night was a full week since we put her down, so there were times it was hard. But I've got a picture of her on my desk and one in my wallet, and they are very comforting.

In better news, I've started to move. Eek.

Putting my dog to sleep was the kindest thing we ever did for her and the cruelest thing we ever did to ourselves.

I wanted to say more. I wanted to write more about her, how she curled up against me as we drove to the vet's, how I kissed her nose and looked her in the eyes as the life left them...and so much more. I wanted to write her a memorial.

I can't. I just can't. This hurts. It hurts so much I can barely breathe. A friend said, "it feels like you can't breathe," and she was right. It should be lessening by now and in truth it is, I can get through an hour without bursting into tears now. It's not metaphorical pain, untouchable pain, any kind of pain but the kind that is real and burns and hurts and makes me want to curl up in a ball and, well, bawl.

I even said out loud that I was hurting about it. I never do that. But there's nothing else to say or do that wouldn't be disrespectful to Cinnamon. I've gone devastated about other things and said I was fine, which anyone who knows me knows is par for the course. But all I could do was tell people that it hurts, that it was hard, that I'm not doing well, that I'm not taking it well. I wanted to scream "I'M DEVASTATED, I MISS HER," but I didn't.

This came so close after a couple of weeks in which I got so many emotional blows, each of them separate, each of them I've had to keep so cubicled, so separate from mutual people, wanting badly to get on the phone and chat to certain people but not being able to for fear of alienating others... there have been many hurts lately that I've needed to talk about with all my friends, I'll put it that way. And I've not been able to because...I don't know. Decency or whatever it is that keeps me so irreparably stupid. If I were any smarter I'd put an end to that...but I'm not. I won't lower myself because others insist upon lowering themselves. That'd be the ultimate stupidity.

Anyway, my good friends have all just...been amazing. Without them I have no idea what I'd be doing right now. One I was having a few problems with but as soon as she heard about my dog she threw them out the window and listened to me bawl for an hour - that's friendship, unequivocal. No, no - that's a friend. (All right, if this feels like airing dirty laundry I apologize, but I want anyone who might wonder who that friend was to know that it was Kathleen, and she is an amazing, amazing person who I love very much.) Two I haven't seen in a year, and they came through too. David keeps checking in on me. John called from England. Kristin has written such wonderful and empathetic emails of support I want to print and save them and read them whenever I'm down again. Like now. I'm really blessed with these people.

My family is laughing. We just watched a movie. I'm sitting in the chair by the window, and last week I was here with Cinnamon, who was quiet and tired on my lap. I feel guilty for laughing.

Maybe I can find some things to say without losing it: her dishes are still out. We kept some of her hair. My father, who has cried four times in his life, cried when she passed. We printed pictures of her. Sometimes I look at the one in my wallet and cry, and sometimes it makes me smile instead.

Maybe it'll hurt less soon. I still want to write about her. I started writing so that I'll remember the feel of her and smell of her and the way she looked until the end. I'll post that eventually, I think. Right now even doing this hurts too much...I do it because my family is letting me alone while I type, because they're not watching me cry and therefore don't think they need to intercept.

I need some mourning space. But it feels like icy fingers pulling down on my ribcage... like someone carving out my chest with a dull knife. I can't do more with it but write about it. Now it comes in waves, and the waves are overwhelming. She was mine. She was MY dog, my baby, and while I know we did her a kindness it hasn't begun to truly feel as though we didn't kill her. Maybe that will change. I don't know.

I guess life goes on. Little Nicky G is running around my house in his new Spider-Man costume. He's such a loving little 4-year-old. I don't feel guilty at all smiling as he strikes Spidey poses. I guess that's a start.

The above line is from The American President, by the incomparable Aaron Sorkin, and I need to do no more opinionating. The following are simply quotes from today's article regarding the elapsed weapons ban:

Asked repeatedly whether Mr. Bush had made any calls to get Congress to act, [Scott McClellan, the White House press secretary] said that the president "does not set the legislative timetable" and that the "administration has a strong record of vigorously and strictly enforcing our laws, and stepping up prosecutions of crimes committed with guns."

Many Democrats believe they lost control of the House in 1994 in part because of gun control. In 1999 Mr. Gore cast a tie-breaking vote in the Senate on one hard-fought gun-control provision - background checks for people buying guns at gun shows and in pawnshops - and Democrats believe that his prominent role on the issue cost him votes among blue-collar union members, and perhaps even the election.

The assault-weapons ban, however, has support from large majorities of the public, particularly suburban women.

The wheels of deadly industry are already in motion:

US firemarms manufacturer ArmaLite Inc has been planning for several months for the expiration of the assault weapons ban today.

The company has been taking advance orders for military-style rifles, outlawed by the 10-year-old ban, for the past two months.

From tomorrow, ArmaLite plans to start making versions of its M-15 and AR-10 rifles, and variations, with magazines containing 20 or 30 rounds. Options will include collapsible stocks, and flash suppressors, which limits the flash to conceal the shooter's location.

Of course, that company sells to security firms and law enforcement agencies, so that makes it all right, right? Hm. Because we're pouring so much effort into domestic crime control right now. Right.

But how are the Americans taking it? BBC says we're split. St. Louis doesn't seem to like it. Illinois? Not thrilled. Pittsburgh expects business as usual. The op-ed articles number in the hundreds. People are angry, confused, elated, relieved, incensed, saddened, feverish.

Even Kerry went on a fiery blast against Bush about this (and none of this nonsense that Bush doesn't set the schedule - if anyone believes that he has no control over a simple thing like bringing an issue to vote, why on EARTH would you believe he has more facility over things like, you know, the armed forces, Iraq, terrorism, the economy and the environment?), and while I've no more belief in his genuine compassion for the troubles on the gun-ridden streets than I do Bush's ability to discern between right and convenient, at least he stood up and made some sense, talked about the situation and dealt out his opinion shamelessly.

And then we have our fearless leader.

Tonight, this was on my local newscast, verbatim, with video footage as proof (even featuring a burly woman stepping in front of the intrepid reporter who dared ask): "President Bush was asked why he didn't urge Congress to come to vote. He ignored the question [Bush shown chuckling and turning his back], and went back to the ice cream he was eating."

You have to love a country where this man is allowed to be president.

Just time for a quick one, as I am at work and the world is moving swiftly again.

-Maui was a wonderful rest, and now I'm tan and happier and resuming work with vigor, which is good, as I think I needed a little respite. Yet for all Maui's wonderful beautifulness the real world did manage to seep into it, now and then, curling the edges like burnt paper. For the first few days it felt like I received one emotional punch after another, and I had to quickly figure out how to shut the outside world off. Aimee had to do it as well, for she had a few (arguably) real-life issues encroach upon her too. I finally did it by turning my cell phone completely off. And I refused to check e-mail. That did it.

-I used the first five days of the trip to tour the island, and I mean really tour it this time. I went slowly, spoke to locals, hiked down to lava pools, watched old women burn taro leaves in their yard and locals fish in streams. I had lunch one day on the Kaenae coast (boy did I butcher that spelling), under a tree that was sharply bent over, almost as if it had my bad back. It cast cool shadows over the rocks and fallen coconuts, and made a perfect picnic spot from which I watched the waves crash and roll. Some of them tickled my feet and dampened my floral skirt.

-I have the pictures from 2003's trip ALMOST done in a photo album form. I'll put those up and THEN this year's. This year's are worlds better. My polarizing filter did its job, man. There are pics where you can see 20 feet out into the ocean AND down through the water to the floor, in the same shot.

-The conference was very nice. I feel as though I learned more about the business, and I had the amazing opportunity to talk with some cool authors, including Terry Brooks (who has such firm belief in Aimee's eventual success it made me even more proud to be her editor), Bruce Colville (author of 90 children's books and just the happiest guy I've ever met), and Eragon's Christopher Paolini (who does cartwheels when he's bored or has been sitting too long. You can just imagine the acrobatics performed while writing). Meeting the people behind the books always intrigues me, as it's always fairly easy to match them with their book style. I don't mean Terry Brooks carries around a staff and wears medieval robes or whatever; I mean when you talk to them, their use of language and emanating mood puts them in the same bookstore section as their books.

-I shook Aaron Sorkin's hand. I say this not as a gloat but as a statement of such incredulity that I have to write it down while I still have it ever-so-slightly in my memory, just to make sure it actually happened. I shook his hand (tight grip) and thanked him for turning my house into an all-out war zone on Wednesday nights (and for the DVD-watching festivals we have). He said it warmed his heart that my family gets together to watch West Wing the way we do. And then he was swept away by the authors and presenters at the conference, who were all just as star struck by him as we lowly attendees.

-The flying stunk, and I usually like flying in any form. Even when I am thoroughly medicated there is nothing worse for my back than sitting still for too long; it's why I always wake up in the morning in pain. So that, plus a horrendous food experience if you're doing the low carb thing (yay for mozzarella sticks in my bag), plus having the honor of being the only passenger on the long leg of my flight back whose tv screen didn't work, made it quite uncomfortable. The pills did help; I took two at the beginning of the first leg of each journey and dozed in and out. They would normally knock me out, but since I was sitting almost upright it was just enough to get me some sleep. So, the parts of the flights I missed, were good. There was no turbulence on any of them though. Oh, maybe a second or two in the beginning of the first flight back, but that's it. So, moral: yay for smooth skies and muscle relaxant pills.

-I'm back. Back to work. Saw a kid with a 300 pound rubber band ball today. It's a nice, easy re-entry process I've got.