A Lovely Gift

Last Friday was a doozy of a day; the kind that makes you cringe before your feet hit the floor in the morning.  It was Maya’s last day and I had volunteered to help my friend with her mom’s funeral reception.  I fed Maya some steak for breakfast and brewed a French Press of coffee.  When I reached into the fridge to pull out the fresh eggs that my friend, Marlena, had given me following our plant-shopping extravaganza at Garden Fever, I was struck by the beauty of the eggs.  I grabbed my camera and took a few shots.

I simply adore fried eggs and fresh eggs from a friend’s chickens are a special treat.  How is it that a simple fried egg placed on top of a normal meal suddenly makes it extraordinary?  I like to slide them on top of sautéed greens, rice, leftovers, and even the occasional bowl of soup.

The eggs from Marlena were delicious and I smiled at the day-old memory of our running around in the rain picking out beautiful plants together for her garden.  I savored every bite of the eggs and felt shored up for the day.  On Saturday, I fried up the rest of the eggs and shared them with My Pirate.  The fried eggs brought a smile to our faces as we mused over our memories of Maya. 

Marlena, thanks for the sustenance!

Saying Good-bye

Yesterday, we said good-bye to our precious girl, Maya.  And now, we grieve and celebrate her well-lived life.  Maya enjoyed every mud puddle, fresh crunchy pinecone, car ride, and day in the garden.  I’ll miss watching her smile her silly smile at me, chasing her tail, barking at aliens on the TV, and howling with me as I sang to her.  And I’ll never forget how she made me feel.

Grief is the price of love.  And it’s worth it.  Thanks Maya, for showing me how to really live.

Afternoon on the Columbia
by Laura Heldreth on April 2000

The sun falls upon her reflecting ebony
and wet sand clinging to her coat, sparkles.
Her smile splatters around a wet stick.
And quicksand drool marks her path
towards me.

Pet Names for Maya

Over the past 13 ½ years, I have collected a fair amount of nicknames for my dog, Maya. I baby talk and coo and make a big fool of myself over her.  Here’s just a few pet names that come to mind. 

• Miss Maya
• Maya Papaya
• Me O Maya
• Pretty Girl
• Baby Girl
• Baby Baby
• Turkey Burger
• Puppy Puppy
• Pretty Pretty
• My Donkey Dog
• My Little Toad
• Dragon Breath--meant with love, I assure you. 

And here are a few of my favorite greetings. 

• Who’s the pretty girl?
• Who’s the prettiest?
• What’s up dog?

When Maya was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer in November 2011, time suddenly became a precious commodity.  I have showered her with love, baby talk, sci-fi movies, steak, and pate (canned dog food).  The end is coming quickly, I fear.  So I’m making every word count to My Sweet Puppy Puppy!

A Sudden Crash

Gardening under a large fir tree is like playing Russian roulette with your darlings.  As in my darling plants.  Yesterday, I went outside, poked around the garden and took a few shots.

I took pictures of the blooming moss.

And then I moved on to capture the Indian Plum blossoms beginning to fall out of the leaf buds.

The breeze started to kick up and I hightailed it inside.  Good thing, too.  Because all of a sudden…CRASH!  Down came a tree branch. It landed right where I had been standing. 

Fortunately, it landed on the lawn and a pathway.  Only the variegated dogwood shrub got a bit munched.  I’ll prune it and it’ll bounce back.  Time to pull out one of my little electric chainsaws and cut up the branch for the fire pit.

My Biggest Pet Peeve

One of my biggest pet peeves is people that park their cars on their front lawn. I think it looks trashy and tasteless.  I grew up in a neighborhood that started out nice with young families but gradually people started parking on their lawns, and then the next thing you know, Rockwood has a reputation for being the white trash neighborhood between Portland and Gresham.  The stigma remains to this day.

Two blocks from my house, a neighbor parks their old orange pickup on their lawn, right under a maple tree.  The poor maple tree is listing to one side, because the truck is sitting on the roots and compacting the soil.  I mentally blow up that truck with my imaginary laser beam vision every time I go past it. 

The truck canopy really pops the Euphorbia martinii.  Don't you agree?

So, you can imagine my surprise when I walked out my front door today and realized that My Pirate’s truck canopy is still sitting on the front lawn.  It’s been there for seven days.  (Gasp!)  I have become my greatest pet peeve. While I was busy enjoying a week of stay-cation with My Pirate and updating the den, our front lawn decoration was bringing down the value of the neighborhood.  Now we are that house that gets targeted in our neighborhood newsletter. 

I’ll tuck the canopy in the garage. While I’m at it, I should probably leave an apology note on my neighbor’s orange pickup truck for mentally blowing up his truck so often.  And bake a batch of cookies to help sweeten up my neighbors.  I’m definitely not going to get a thank you card for our beautiful yard from the neighborhood board this year.  How did I let this happen?