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Cleaning the Refrigerator & Happy Ending
Jul. 6th, 2006 06:41 amThe beach is the place where the locals gather to watch fireworks on July 4th.
Which means on the morning of July 5th, the whole place has been transformed into one large garbage dump. Amusing though it is to watch pelicans fighting over Budweiser cans, still one can't help musing as one tramples through the garbage that the only real difference between Neanderthal Man and Homo Sapiens is that some time in recent history the latter invented disposable diapers.
The styrofoam containers in particular are a big puzzlement. People will go to great lengths to put their bones and half-chewed hunks of flesh into a styrofoam container, close the flap. But then they will toss the styrofoam container on the beach! How does that make sense? At least the scavenger birds would carry away the offal if it wasn't entombed in indestructible petroleum byproducts.
It's moments like this that make me long for a bird flu pandemic.
My morning mitzvah is to pick up trash I find on the beach but this is impossible on July 5th so I just walk, chin down, making lists in my head. I cleaned out the refrigerator the day before. I'd actually gotten kind of hysterical what with the arrival of the erstwhile Blackberry Tail and all the opportunities that provided for projection – poor little thing! she thought she was loved, she thought she was part of a family – but what the hell is the point of hysterics? I mean, how does it help you to cry? Far, far better to clean out the refrigerator. The shriveled mushrooms Max bought six weeks ago, the two nearly empty cans of whipped cream from the night Max decided to make hot fudge sundaes –
I miss Max.
I had fun with Max while he was here.
Max played music. Max had friends over. "Chill," Max said and that was an anchor point. And now there's just this awful emptiness in the house. I tell myself, it's a transitional stage. Keep making lists, keep cleaning out the refrigerator. It's a conveyor belt – one task at a time. At the end of it, you'll play your own music, you'll have your own friends over and you won't need someone to tell you, "Chill." You'll be cool, calm and collected without reminders.
It's hard though.
I realize hard is a relative concept. It's not hard the way a terminal cancer diagnosis is hard; it's not hard the way someone living right now in Gaza might describe her life.
Today's Large Domestic Tasks: fold all the laundry; move the stuff you want to keep out of Robin's room; put up the bead curtain. Apply Advantage on the dogs.
On a happier note: met up with a couple with two dogs. Milo played with them for a while; we stopped to talk. Doug and Terry from Corral de Tierra.
"Where did you get her?" Terry asked, staring covetously at Xena. "I want a dog like that. Where can I get one?"
"Are you serious?" I asked. And began relating the saga of Blackberry Tail. Terry's eyes actually teared up when I began describing how distraught and confused the little creature was when Lisa dumped her.
"Where is she now?" Terry asked.
"At my house," I said. "She's not really a beach dog."
"I love dogs," said Terry. "I've always had big dogs and little dogs. I lost my little toy poodle eight months ago. I was telling Doug this morning: I think I'm done mourning, it's time to move on. I want another little dog."
Well, you can guess the rest of that story. We arranged a meet-up for later in the day so that Blackberry Tail could meet Terry, Doug and their two kids. It was instant love all around. They have two acres out in the valley. It's a perfect situation. I let them take her home with them and pending some unforeseen circumstance, they will call me up today and tell me they want to keep her and I will mail them the paper work.
One happy ending at least.
Which means on the morning of July 5th, the whole place has been transformed into one large garbage dump. Amusing though it is to watch pelicans fighting over Budweiser cans, still one can't help musing as one tramples through the garbage that the only real difference between Neanderthal Man and Homo Sapiens is that some time in recent history the latter invented disposable diapers.
The styrofoam containers in particular are a big puzzlement. People will go to great lengths to put their bones and half-chewed hunks of flesh into a styrofoam container, close the flap. But then they will toss the styrofoam container on the beach! How does that make sense? At least the scavenger birds would carry away the offal if it wasn't entombed in indestructible petroleum byproducts.
It's moments like this that make me long for a bird flu pandemic.
My morning mitzvah is to pick up trash I find on the beach but this is impossible on July 5th so I just walk, chin down, making lists in my head. I cleaned out the refrigerator the day before. I'd actually gotten kind of hysterical what with the arrival of the erstwhile Blackberry Tail and all the opportunities that provided for projection – poor little thing! she thought she was loved, she thought she was part of a family – but what the hell is the point of hysterics? I mean, how does it help you to cry? Far, far better to clean out the refrigerator. The shriveled mushrooms Max bought six weeks ago, the two nearly empty cans of whipped cream from the night Max decided to make hot fudge sundaes –
I miss Max.
I had fun with Max while he was here.
Max played music. Max had friends over. "Chill," Max said and that was an anchor point. And now there's just this awful emptiness in the house. I tell myself, it's a transitional stage. Keep making lists, keep cleaning out the refrigerator. It's a conveyor belt – one task at a time. At the end of it, you'll play your own music, you'll have your own friends over and you won't need someone to tell you, "Chill." You'll be cool, calm and collected without reminders.
It's hard though.
I realize hard is a relative concept. It's not hard the way a terminal cancer diagnosis is hard; it's not hard the way someone living right now in Gaza might describe her life.
Today's Large Domestic Tasks: fold all the laundry; move the stuff you want to keep out of Robin's room; put up the bead curtain. Apply Advantage on the dogs.
On a happier note: met up with a couple with two dogs. Milo played with them for a while; we stopped to talk. Doug and Terry from Corral de Tierra.
"Where did you get her?" Terry asked, staring covetously at Xena. "I want a dog like that. Where can I get one?"
"Are you serious?" I asked. And began relating the saga of Blackberry Tail. Terry's eyes actually teared up when I began describing how distraught and confused the little creature was when Lisa dumped her.
"Where is she now?" Terry asked.
"At my house," I said. "She's not really a beach dog."
"I love dogs," said Terry. "I've always had big dogs and little dogs. I lost my little toy poodle eight months ago. I was telling Doug this morning: I think I'm done mourning, it's time to move on. I want another little dog."
Well, you can guess the rest of that story. We arranged a meet-up for later in the day so that Blackberry Tail could meet Terry, Doug and their two kids. It was instant love all around. They have two acres out in the valley. It's a perfect situation. I let them take her home with them and pending some unforeseen circumstance, they will call me up today and tell me they want to keep her and I will mail them the paper work.
One happy ending at least.
