This morning Facebook showed me photo’s of my old dog. There was her face, with a big doggy grin. Two years ago today we were at the vet’s in that photo and she was probably getting a dose of the arthritis medication that gave us an extra year with her. I can be sad that she is gone, but mostly now as I think back, I remember what a special dog she really was and how much we loved each other.
Three years ago I lost my car at the airport and then came home and realized there was no food in my fridge. I don’t know what I ate for dinner that night, but I bet it was either popcorn or I went to the Local and I cannot tell you how much comfort there is in knowing I have had these problems for this long and I keep solving them in the same way.
Four years ago today I can see I was complaining about the the tile order from home depot (which was a nightmare) and I walked upon that tile this morning as I got ready for work. It’s still in my bathroom and the mistake I made over by the bathroom closet is still there and it’s still ok. It’s my morning opportunity to be zen.
Five years ago today I went to Calgary to teach an ARIS class to some users. It was my first big training class. I joke – now – looking back that I went to Calgary for a week and came home almost a year later. That was the start of the big leap in my career. It was the work I did that got me my present job. It was the first time I learned that when you throw a wall in front of me, I will get over it.
On August 24th, 2009 I got a furminator, which apparently changed my life. It is good to know that I have been given to hyperbole for six years (although I am still using that brush on the dog and cats and it does still work well)
On August 24, 2007 I announced I was pregnant. I didn’t remember it was today. I remember that I couldn’t fit into regular pants any more so I had to tell people earlier than planned. Reading this update, my breath held in that space between my heart and lungs for a moment. Echoing where I hold my son even still.
August 24th is the dying days of summer. The very last moments where we snatch sunshine and warmth, storing it up. There is a zip in the air. Wood smoke reminds us less of camp fires and more of winter nights gathered around the fireplace.
Memories, they come back to us. They don’t hurt – rather like the last days of summer – they tug at us a little bit. Ephemeral and sweet – we turn our faces to the sun, to joy we once knew, for just a few moments, knowing that this will not, cannot stay.
It’s not so bad, these last days of summer.