My favourite sort of day are the ones that begin dismal but improve in increments. Such was yesterday. Snowing and gray in the morning, yet once the sun wrestled its way out from the clouds, I scurried upstairs and got dressed and me and the FurryB went on a beautiful brisk walk through town. She trotted beside me as I swirled down Catherine, onto Charles again and down that lane of old childhood memories. I was not even quite 4 when we moved their from Grandma’s – this house I’m in today was Grandma’s house. Mom journeyed back home to Canada, she left Dad down in North Carolina. She came up for a girlfriends wedding and just decided not to go back. I’m not sure when she decided that…but it happened none the less. She came home. Brave, scared, ashamed probably, but she came anyways.

I had never thought much of that part of my parent’s life, back when I first learned the story. It wasn’t until I was married and we were sitting in this very kitchen, it was late, and she said something to my ex that resonates still to this day. It resonates because as much as she was saying something to R about how he should see his Mom, within her words she spoke of something about her own story. She said to him, “R, your Mom couldn’t go back home, your Grandmother wouldn’t allow her – I could, there is a world of difference”.  I also understand now she was going home under my Grandmothers unspoken “I told you so”. My Grandma felt Dad was too wild, too young, too not at all what she wanted for her daughter. A boy with barely a job, from another country so far away from Dodge it may as well have been on the moon. Just under a year later Dad came up after her, he went off to California for a while I guess to get rid of some of those oats.

My Dad was forced to become a better version of himself if he was going to be with my Mom. She made that clear when she left him down there.

My Mom and I are not so different. If there is anyone in this world I know in my heart would have understood Tim, it would have been my Mom. I know she would have been just as scared as my Dad, just as worried about me, but damn she would have seen herself. She would have seen and understood how her own Mom felt. She wouldn’t have liked it, but she would have understood. Thing is, I wouldn’t even have been where I was to even meet Tim, if Mom hadn’t died. But would I change that? If I could? No. Much as I miss Mom it scares me more actually to imagine where I would have been instead if Mom had lived. So much would have been different, and I wouldn’t be me now.

I am beginning to sorta like who I am. I don’t think I have felt that way since I was about 6. Back than it was me and Dorothy the Mop. LOL, you do no what I’m thinking … I’ve replaced my mop with a four-legged version of Dorothy.

And good news on the FluffyB front, BTW – Lil’Sis finally caved and let Irish in without her undies. That makes me so happy. I mean, just clean it up. It wipes right up with a paper towel. Irish just cleans it up herself. She’s fastidious cleaner-upper, and Lil’Sis appreciates that – which is sort of hilarious if you understand what she is cleaning up and HOW she is doing it. There is something kind of primal about watching a female dog keep her coucou nice and clean, and accepting that. Plus we’ve established that Irish isn’t allowed upstairs, and Irish has accepted that (usually), finally.

In some strange way Irish has softened her up. When you have a dog in the house it is always a constant that your life will not be neat and tidy. So get over it. What they add in return is so much more valuable. They add a sweet mess, an unconditionally loving wag of joy the moment you arrive home from your day from hell. They bring a zen state, if you give into it, the moment you re-enter their world. They are truly four-legged guru’s.

So now Lil’Sis has been seeing Doberman’s everywhere. We grew up with Dobs, and they have always had a soft place in our hearts. They are so beautiful and majestic looking…or fat and frumpy like our one Jinx became. But we love them tubby, pixie, tall, chunky, husky or otherwise…there is just something about them.

Irish is not the sort of dog we had growing up. But none the less she has wiggled her way into their hearts. She is sweet and loving, kind and usually very obedient, too a fault; except when she’s not. That 5% is her “persian flaw” – that flaw which is put their by traditional carpet makers because nothing may be perfect but Allah. So in other words, that 5% was put there by God. God has a sense of humour sometimes I believe.

As you can see, it is a subtle conceit that only the very best “place” their flaw, suggesting at their otherwise “flawless” talent. We all I believe have that potential to choose our flaw(s). I think by recognizing our flawed nature, we can more easily embrace that which is otherwise “flawless”. For we all have the potential to accept ourselves for who we are and otherwise give ourselves the ability to more easily see our goodness, our loving nature, our true selves.

So yesterday, as I swirled and looped down and over the bridge, by the high school, down Queen, and back onto Ham Rd and across the new bridge – in a giant ∞ infinity – the wind blew and I threw away more of my garbage anger I realized was clinging to my skin. The sun shone down and with my new spring bonnet took that pooch on a military paced walk-about Dodge.

She is learning how to keep pace with me, stick to my side, and NOT bark at other dogs that may very well be going ape-shit behind the doors or fences but that does not mean I’m going to have any of that from her. Nope. She’s learning. More of same today me thinks. Do us both some good. Not near as nice out today, but oh well, I’ll just dress warmer.

We all need lessons in discipline I think. I certainly do, that’s for sure.