gone to the dogs ...

I had thought I would share about my on-going obsession with canine portraiture ... and I will at another time ... but as I was thinking to myself "I've gone to the dogs" I must have inadvertently called down upon myself all manner of mishap and misfortune.

You see, this is the current state of my world.

You have to factor in the noise - handymen muttering to themselves, air stapler whapping and the concurrent hissing of a pump (for said air stapler or hammer-thingy) that makes it seem like are on a raft that is steadily deflating. 

Unfazed by it all is Mr. Moose who lies by my feet. Well, he is on pain medication which brings up another story of angst and woe. I found a black mass by a toe and trust me when I say, you do not want to Google 'black mass toe dog" unless you are prepared for some grisly images and dire reports. So immediately he went in to see the vet and the mass had to be removed - surgically of course - in order to be biopsied. So now we wait to find out what exactly that black blob was (think skin tag please.) But the Universe knows it is best to keep busy lest one's thoughts drift down dark alleys so it tossed out a curve ball with this line dropped into the post-op report "found a live flea on Moose."

Okay. So this is how it goes. As I've been in a month long practice called Messages Everywhere I now have the habit of pausing and asking myself "What is the message in this situation?" Or more appropriately: what meaning can I fashion using the caca that life serves up?  Just last week I had finally - finally! - settled into a routine of sorts with a writing project that has been fluttering about my mind and disturbing my sleep for some time now. I got butt in chair and began.

And then I had to stop in order to tend to the chaos that is life. Or my life anyway. Handymen, vet visits, flea wrangling, and all manner of inopportune events and details forced upon me.

And that is life, isn't it? I catch myself moaning "When I get my life back ..." but it was never lost or surrendered. It feels like it's been hijacked, but that is a product of my believing I am in total control of this story. The truth is, I am a co-author at best or as I think of myself, half of a dance duo. Sometimes I get to lead, but more often I have to follow, to allow the dance to swirl and twirl me about, learning the footing as I go.  It's not always elegant ... think Cloris Leachman in Dancing With the Stars. But I can still have fun, still make it mine through the way I respond to what is tossed at me.

So the writing, for now, is on hold again. I suppose something is simmering within. Meanwhile, I pull out my sketch journal and commit to a daily practice: one Moose a-day. This I can do. This brings me a small parcel of joy. I am also writing letters and engaging in the most therapeutic of all actions: doodling. I'm not changing the world, but I am changing the world within me. 

One dog drawing and painting at a time.

Maybe I'm not suppose to  figure everything out -  make sense of it all -  so much as find ways to stay in love amid the mess and confusion. In love and adding to it. 

When I am overwhelmed, when I am in fear, when I am at my wits end - a good place to be, I believe ... out of wits and into faith - then I must remember to return to what carries me through ...

I create and I pray.

I ask for what I need, I ask for guidance. I ask to remember to act, speak, and come from my heart.

And so it is. And so it will be.

Love & Woof!

 

my girl, home from camp!