Trixie

For the past six months I have been mourning and coming to terms with the loss of my companion of over 15 years, Trixie. A few months ago, when Jessie of Diary of a Self-Portrait announced she was beginning to do Dog Portraits, (Go see her website, Stray Dog Arts) something in me just YELLED out "Do it! Commission a painting of Trixie! Do it now!"

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So I did. I cannot tell you the healing it has brought about for me to have this done. Jessie worked from the few photos I have of Trixie. Trixie hated having her picture taken. Most of the photos show her barking or arching her back, angry about the flash, or ... we never quite figured out what she didn't like about the camera. Maybe she thought it was stealing her soul.

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Jessie has imbued this painting with Trixie's soul. My heart is overflowing with joy to see it. I am moved, touched, absolutely beyond any words by the wonderful love with which Jessie worked in order to bring Trixie back to me in this way. She will be home soon, but already in seeing this photo of the painting, I just feel such peace, such affirmation that the spirit of my precious Trixie lives on and can be felt, not just by me, but by others.

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Thank you, Jessie. Thank you, my wonderful friend. Thank you.

Stray Dog Arts

Many of you will already be familiar with Jessie of Diary of a Self-Portrait. Just in case you are not, I wanted to let you know about her recent new venture. She's begun to make animal portraits and has a show of her dog portraits opened recently.

I've been so taken with what she's been doing, and was thrilled when she agreed to paint a portrait of my beloved, sadly departed Trixie. She'll be starting work on it soon, and I'm so looking forward to its arrival.
Here is some of what Jessie says about why she has chosen this work: Isn't this inspiring?

I paint pet portraits because I have more love for animals than I know what to do. I paint because there is something beautiful to be captured in those transitory moments we share with the pets who have stolen our hearts for good. I paint to tell a story. I paint dogs (and cats and horses) because now I cannot stop.

For me, it is not just about getting a painting to look like a specific pet; it’s about capturing his or her personality. I believe that an animal’s spirit is conveyed through its eyes, a particular expression, and even the subtlest of gestures. My goal as an artist and animal lover is to create artwork that honors the beautiful and unique life-force within each of us. I find pet portraits particularly rewarding because, in short, they make me happy. I have wanted to work with animals ever since I was a little girl and am grateful beyond words that I am able to do this through my art.

I pour my heart and soul into every painting that I do and if there is one gift I would like to give the world, it would be happiness. Often, our pets are the ones who give us the greatest happiness of all. My paintings, well, they are but a heartfelt gesture in celebration of the unconditional love and infinite happiness that our four-legged friends have brought to us.

Go on over there and read THIS POST and see some of her wonderful portraits.
If you think you might want to commission a portrait, note that she is offering a 30% discount on her regular prices until the end of April. Now, that is a great offer!

Saturday & Sunday Scribblings, Scraps, Stuff

It's been a week since I posted here, but because I blog without obligation, I know I don't need to apologise for being absent, but I did wish I had time to drop by Writers' Island, and to chase down this week's location for the Travelling Poetry Show, perhaps to post something, or even to say hello to my pals and just say "Sorry not to have time to visit properly". So, even if I know there's no obligation per se, I feel the gap and want to do something to bridge it, if only by waving and shouting "Hi there" as I rush by. When I went looking for this week's Travelling Poetry Show, I found it's winding up too. So whoever feels the urge will just continue to use Thursday as a Poetry day, and post a poetry-related something on Thursdays. I'd like to do that occasionally.
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It's been a busy week. My work's finally moved into gear. It took a long time, but I'm now up to my full complement of work, and it's going to take me some time to get a smooth schedule running.

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My sister came up for a short visit, too, so we had a couple of evenings out, and went visiting. I really enjoyed having her here. I think she needed to come to check that I really, really am ok since losing Trixie. I am ok. I still feel unutterably sad at times, but the times are becoming fewer, and shorter, and I am getting on with all the other things of life that are important for my wellbeing.

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Last Saturday, I spent at a poetry workshop followed by readings in a magical place,

with a crowd of wonderful poets. There was good food, great music, storytelling, candlelight, tears, and it fed my soul in a special way. On Tuesday evening, I got together with my writers' group, and tomorrow, I'll be away to an afternoon of poetry with a few of Ireland's best-loved poets. (Am I a lucky girl? Do I know it?.... Yes!!)

My camera and computer aren't playing nice together, so I cannot post a picture of the lovely gift that the wonderful Kara sent me. She sent one of her creative heart seeds. To hold it in my hand gives me comfort. It is a beautiful little talisman. AND she sent one of her precious daily lumps - a coyote, with just the energy that my heart and home need with the absence of Trixie so present (if that isn't too strange a contradiction-in-terms for you!)right now. I've put these two tokens on my hallway altar, just where I've left Trixie's collar for now. The lovely reaching out of blogging friends has given me great comfort. There have been emails and poems, and I know that many of you have sent prayers and special thoughts my way. I know that it has all helped. Thank you to all of you.

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And now.... There's a word used in the blogging community that I don't particularly like, even though I know it isn't always really used negatively, but LURKING (the word) smacks of something sinister to me, while I know that many people who read blogs without commenting do so for a whole range and variety of reasons. When I first discovered blogs, I read quite a few regularly, but never knew where the space really was for me to step in and say "Hi!". I felt there were groups of people who knew one another well, commented out of a familiarity with the background of the blogger, and that they were welcome to participate in the chat around any post. It felt to me like jumping in would be making myself comfortable in someone's living-room, without being sure the invitation was really there for me. My admiration for the blogs brought me back time and again, and my shyness kept me from saying anything. So I have been a lurker. I still am on a few blogs where I'm not sure what to say. Then there are Typepad and Wordpress blogs that can be just simply awkward to post comments to, and when I try, I end up seeming to be anonymous when that's not what I meant to happen.

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It's a minefield, in other words! And I understand! I have no idea whether there is anyone who visits here that's not yet commented. I don't have a sitemeter or any way of knowing how many "hits" I get. Maybe there's nobody. Maybe there are people who know me, and think I'd be bothered by their appearing here. But if you are out there, and you haven't said hello yet, come on and say hello now. I'm told it's National Delurking Week. I'll choose to call it "National Beat-your-Blogger-Shyness week" and invite you in.

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This week, for the first time in 80 weeks, there isn't a prompt for Sunday Scribblings. Some people are feeling very discommoded in the absence of a prompt, so they've turned the "Sorry, No Prompt" post into a prompt, and in a sense that's what this post has been, too. A weekend post, catching up with no particular focus, but a wish to connect in here, to let my BlogLand pals know I'm doing fine, and to just touch base with some of what brings me here. Now to finish, and try to get around to visit some of you. If I don't stop by, know that I think of all of you, and hope October has started well for you all.

200th Post

Little did I know when I said I'd like to do a creative giveaway on my 200th post that it would fall at a time when I'd be feeling like this. (Yes, I knew on one level, but I didn't want to think about it. I didn't know exactly how I'd be feeling). I'm not in a place for creating very much right now, but I do want to offer something to my friends out there, so I will have something to send to those of you who email me with your postal addresses. It may take me a little while to get it organised, but rest assured, it will happen.

Fran asked in the comments on my Sunday Scribblings post, "How are you feeling today?" Well, I'm ok. I'm sad. I'm getting on with the business of life - work and meetings. I've been cooking up a storm over the past couple of days (I do that at times of stress. Chop vegetables, stir soups. Fill the freezer). I'm carrying Trixie's collar in my pocket. My sister's bridal bouquet lies on her resting-place, but that has reached the end of its life, and will need to be taken away to the compost-bin soon.

This morning, I wrote my morning pages for the first time since last Thursday. I usually write 3 full pages, sitting on the couch, with my feet up. Last Thursday, I wrote only one page, and put them aside, as Trixie was nudging at my leg, wanting to be on my lap. She hated my writing. It kept her off my lap. That last morning, I put the notebook aside, and left her climb up, and we sat a while. I'm glad now that I did that.

Today, picking up the notebook, I felt really sad that she wouldn't be nudging at my leg, that she wouldn't be circling on the couch looking for a comfy spot, and that she wouldn't eventually settle into the crook of my knee to sleep. There's this void. This space that Trixie used to fill. This absence.
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This is such a BAD 200th post. I should be celebrating all I've gained from blogging, and thanking and celebrating all my fellow-bloggers. I should be linking to favourite places and maybe reminding you of milestones along the journey that's brought me here.

But let me say this: I am sharing with you what I haven't yet been able to share with some of my other friends. I'm finding a place here where I can process this experience, where there is understanding at a level that brings me great comfort.

The bonds of friendship forged here, in the connections between bloggers are deep, and I want to thank all of you for that. For the humour, the sharing, the being there, the accepting that sometimes we are away, and we come back; for the glimpses into your lives, for the questions you pose and the ideas you suggest; for the pointers to new writers, artists and creative paths. For all of these things I am thankful.

Namaste, my blogging friends. Blessings to you all

Sunday Scribbling: Hi. My name is...

Hi. My name is Imelda. We were offered the chance to introduce ourselves, or anyone or anything else we felt like, and part of me said "No, keep yourself out of it", but then it struck me that people drop in here to read one post at a time, and many of you haven't been with me from the beginning of my blog in January 2006. Even those who have, never got a proper introduction. They have learnt bits and pieces about me in a piecemeal fashion, and perhaps they don't know some of the things that friends IRL (in real life) learn as a matter of course.

My name is Imelda, and I avoided using it for a long time after I'd started my blog. I went by GreenishLady because I'm Irish (green... see?), and I like to do what I can to look after the environment (if you don't count driving a big petrol-thirsty car, and air travel - Hence, the "ish"), and when I began to blog, I felt totally uneducated, quite.... Green. Lately, I've realised that many online names with "lady" in them are held by people whose behaviour would be considered anything but ladylike. See... I was quite naive and green in my choice of name! And in real life, I'd rather be called a woman than a lady, but I liked the ring of GreenishLady.

At a party or social gathering, I dread that question: Tell me about yourself! What? What do you want to know? Do you want to know whether I'm gaining or losing weight? How many siblings I have? Where I'd go if I got in my car to go for a half-hour drive? An hour? A day away?

[Neither gaining nor losing. Stuck and likely to stay 40 lbs overweight unless I do something serious, systematic and sensible about it soon:

4 siblings - 2 sisters, 2 brothers, all of whom I'm on good terms with, each of whom offer something special to my life. I feel blessed in the family I've come from:

Half-hour from me is a long beach, with the bonus of a walk through woodland on the way back, so that's where I'd go within a half-hour drive (if I didn't choose to go up to Grianan of Ailleach, an ancient fort, from which the views are spectacular, and where an atmosphere of peace pervades the stones):

An hour away, I'd go to Glenveagh National Park. Mountains, lake, castle, gardens, heather, and the chance to spot a golden eagle; I might drive the back road by Muckish mountain to Falcarragh, travel back through Dunfanaghy.

A day... Too many places to choose from. But the Giant's Causeway calls me at times of sorrow. It gives me a sense of being a small part of a large world, makes me feel that time goes on, goes on, and that everything passes, even sorrows. So today, if I didn't have other plans, that's probably where I would have gone.]

Random facts about me:
I'll be 50 in December. I'm a Sagitarrian. Or else I'm of that sign the name of which I can't remember... (is it Ophiucus?).

I'm the mother of a 21-year-old son, whose privacy I protect here by not naming him, and making only glancing references to him, although he is the most important person in my life (I am immensely proud of the man he has grown into).

After 19 and a half years of marriage, my husband and I separated 4 and a half years ago. I call him my erstwhile husband, my former husband, but as we are not divorced, not my ex-husband (I know, I know... semantics).

I weep easily and frequently. I've just, just, two days ago, lost my dear little dog, Trixie (I say lost. I had to have her put to sleep. I say put to sleep. I mean put down. I am heartbroken).

[I probably shouldn't write when I'm feeling like that. ]

I love to travel. And I've only just gotten started. I've loved Israel, France, Lanzarote, Italy, Scotland... but the surprising, the unexpected love-affair that started last year is with California.

I've done The Artist's Way (following Julia Cameron's 12-week course) twice. In 1998, and again in 2006 along with an online group, (which was how this blog came into being). It was a life-changing experience both times. I credit it with my present work (in all its forms - paid and unpaid), my writing, the publication of my poetry collection; with the broadening and deepening of my experience of the world.

I don't usually write in my blog about my spiritual / religious life. I've been a Baha'i since my teens, and still, though many people want to know what that means, I'm always concerned that they'll think I'm trying to push my beliefs on them. But this is not just an important part of my life. It is the foundation, the rock on which I stand. When everything else moves and shifts, my faith is a comfort. and a sustenance. My community (to which I seldom refer here either) are a family around me. I've been over 30 years trying to develop and maintain a daily practice of prayer, of meditation, of saying the name of God 95 times, and it's a cyclical thing, to which I return over and over again. I know when I am in the habit of doing these things, I feel centred, I know what's important, and yet, I can allow the details of life to distract me, allow me to slip, to forget, until I come back, I come back, and there I find Him, waiting for me. Constant.

I watch too much TV. I promise not to, but I get sucked into Big Brother. I watch Supernanny, Grey's Anatomy, Lost, silly comedies. I no longer watch any soap operas (which doesn't count for much, since I replaced them with cookery programs, gardening programs, househunt programs...)

After my marriage ended, I took a long time to clear my home of my erstwhile husband's belongings, to repaint and refloor, to replace old furniture. It's been done, though, gradually, painfully, to the point where there are a few small remaining tasks, and by Christmas, it will be complete.

I buy art. Not big, expensive art, but it feels like such a luxury to see a piece and decide "I am worth it. I have a right to surround myself with beautiful, soul-nourishing art", and to buy it. The day before Trixie died, I bought a piece by a local young artist, to be a comfort and a reminder. During my marriage, it would have been considered a frivolous waste of money, and I relish the freedom to do this now.

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Friends, I am afraid I've given you scattered glimpses yet again. To introduce oneself is a difficult thing. I'm Imelda, and I want to know about you. I'm looking forward to going through the Sunday Scribblings list and meeting some new friends, and getting to know something more about friends I've already encountered here. But if you have questions, feel free. I'll see if I can answer!

sad

Oh... I don't know how to begin this, or what I can say, but I need to share with you that today is a very sad day for me. I've just said goodbye to my dear little companion, Trixie, who was 15 years and 5 months old. I've known for a while that it would be necessary to give her a peaceful end, and it became really clear last week that if I wasn't going to put her through surgery that it would need to be soon. I delayed a while so that I wouldn't have to bear that news to my family when we were celebrating my sister's wedding last week, but today, with my son I brought her to the animal hospital where she had a peaceful and gentle end. She is now buried in my garden (her garden) where she spent so many days enjoying the sunshine. She will have a spindle tree to mark the spot, because at this time of year every year, it will offer a flame of remembrance.

As I write, I can still hardly believe it has really happened. Maybe I shouldn't write much, as I am still in the early stages of grief, and not rational at all. I'm having flashes of denial. It's natural. So why am I writing? To help myself really believe it, I suppose, and to let you know, dear friends, because so many of you have befriended Trixie through her appearances here, and for a while in her own blog, Trixie's Days. Her last words there were last December, and I resisted the impulse to post there anytime after January, because her final illness had begun, and I didn't want to name that, to speak that in her voice.

Her final days were a confirmation for me that the time was right. She was in some discomfort, but still able to eat, so she got little treats of chicken. We had a final walk around the neighbourhood at a quiet time of day on Wednesday, and she enjoyed that so much, I did start to wonder was the time right. But then I thought about the alternative - to wait until she could no longer walk, to wait until she was actually suffering a great deal, and I knew it was a better thing to release her spirit now.

She knew I was feeling sad in these last days, and comforted me, came for extra cuddles, and licked my hand. Last night, she climbed into my lap while we were sitting on the couch, and instead of turning her back to me, to lay her paws on my knees and sleep, she turned to face me, sat on my lap, sitting up, and looking straight into my face for ever such a long time, as though she was memorising me. It was the strangest thing, like she was letting me know that it was alright. Everything is alright. She was so trusting.

I am very grateful for the time I've had with Trixie, who came to us for my son's 6th birthday. She has been a constant companion, a faithful friend, and this is just the beginning of saying goodbye to her.

Writers Island: My Imaginary Life

There is a cabin in the woods - not too deep in the woods, just far enough off the path and the road to be a quiet and peaceful place, and screened from public view by oaks and flowering trees. Apple blossom scents the air in spring, and the sounds of traffic are far enough away for the song of all the birdlife to be the constant music of this place. Yes, a stream burbles nearby, and the wildlife that abounds is healthy and well-behaved. Deer come by, to eat nettles and other weeds, but not the jasmine and bougainvillea that drape my porch.

I live here, in rooms that are airy in summer and cosy in winter. I have everything here that I need for a comfortable existence. At one side of the cabin, an area of ground has been cleared and enriched with many years of home-made compost. The range of vegetables and fruit that it produces is staggering. I make use of everything that grows, cooking and freezing, cooking and freezing.

I spend days alone, happy in my own company, with my books and writing, with colours and yarn, with paper, scissors and glue. Then, visitors arrive, and we pass time together chatting, chatting. We make SoulCollage. We walk. We take trips to the sea (which isn't far away); to the town (a town of modest size, but which has all the essentials for life: a library, a theatre and cinema, an place where good music and good art can be found, a great coffee-shop, a restaurant that I want to eat at more often than I can afford). Some visitors come for rest, some for activity. Whichever it is, we time it so that their needs and mine coincide.

While I have said that I live there alone, that is not strictly true, for my constant companion here is the magically-young-again Trixie, who has not only been made young, but become a dog who enjoys travelling so much that the flight to this wonderful corner of California didn't phase her a bit. She and I live contentedly in the place where my spirit is at peace, where my flesh and bones fit together inside my skin, where I breathe, and the air says "home".

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This imaginary life comes to you courtesy of Writers Island, where the inaugural prompt was just that: My imaginary life.

One Deep Breath - Simple Pleasures

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..................Silky golden head
..........................resting on my arm just now
..............................Trixie home again

This week's prompt from One Deep Breath is Simple Pleasures. This one was the most immediate to me - the pleasure of a presence like Trixie, her companionship. Then there's coffee, there are figs and almonds. There is October sunshine and the sound of the sea. There's sitting with friends and planning birthday treats for friends. There is the prospect of puy lentil stew for dinner. There is the feeling of my hair after it's been blow-dried smooth. There is that cedarwood candle a friend gave me last week, and there is the song of a thrush outside.

More? Find them HERE

Now look what you've started! And Other Things

Yesterday's Sunday Scribbling post started something. I can't stop thinking in Trixie's voice! What would she be saying about that? What does she make of this? And then Alexandra said she should have a blog, and I think, as an experiment, she should. So Trixie will be blogging (for a while at least) HERE. That was great fun, allowing her her say, and I've gotten so much out of reading the posts that were already up by last night - Saturday. See, it wasn't even Sunday yet, and the thing was having a big impact.

That came at the end of a week that's been busy and productive. I said that when I got back from my last trip away, I'd be beginning the grown-up business of putting a life together (as in means of income. Work. That sort of thing), and I began, and it's been wonderful that things are beginning to fall into place in very strange ways. It's another application of the If You Build It They Will Come principle. I just started to put my CV (resume) out there, and I've been getting very positive responses, and already some offers of work that suit me very well. It's not going to be as easy as having a full-time job, but what I want to try to do over the coming year is to build up the range of courses and workshops I can offer, and promote them, and this week I've had offers to do four different things. - It makes me feel very positive and hopeful and motivated to take the next steps in putting this life together.

I went shopping for something to wear at my niece's wedding in September. I got an outfit that I like. That sounds very blah. It is a very blah statement. Fact is, I've been steadily gaining weight during this summer (There! I said it! and the sky hasn't fallen down!), and I don't feel particularly good in anything. BUT - there are three weeks to go, and what I've decided is that I can't lose the weight in that time, but I can eat healthily during that time, and not feel bloated and Ugh-y when it comes to it, so I have some hope of feeling good in my new outfit. I can begin going to the gym again. (Interesting, the weight-gain began at just about the same time I abandoned my thrice-weekly visits to Curves - any connection, do you think?)

And I'm going to start something I don't do enough of. I bought the yarn to knit a pretty little bolero for my little niece, who is to be flower-girl at the big niece's wedding, and am looking forward to getting into that.






And I'm sharing a picture from a walk I took with my sister two weeks ago in a peaceful spot where we watched dragonflies and herons, and regretted we hadn't realised how pleasant the day would be, because it's just the spot for a picnic, and if we're lucky, before Summer is completely over, we'll get back there, with a flask of tea and some sandwiches!

Sunday Scribbling - A Dog's Life

Over at Sunday Scribblings, this week's topic is the Inner Life of your Pet. I've enjoyed imagining what my dog's musings might be. Here goes with Trixie's first entry for Sunday Scribblings:





It’s too late for new tricks with me. Not that there ever was much in the way of tricks in my life. My lady has always had too much respect for me, treated me as a companion animal, not just a pet, and she seemed to know that, while I might have enjoyed the attention that goes along with being a show-dog, I wouldn’t have stood still to be examined by strange hands, and certainly wouldn’t have gone in the direction some rules said I should. So we lived our lives without all that brou-ha-ha, thank you very much. The grooming would have been pleasant…. No, the result of the grooming would have been nice – a silky coat down to the ground, a little velvet ribbon for my top-knot, but all that brushing and having to wear a coat all the time, with my hair wound into little piles. – No, thanks, not for me. I may be long in the tooth, but I still prefer a no-nonsense puppy-cut, that I can roll in the grass with, and not worry about picking up “stuff” too much. My lady gets it out for me, keeps me (relatively) clean. Neither of us really want to go overboard on the grooming. Tidy and clean does us both just fine.

These days – as you gathered – it’s just my lady and me. There was a time when there were men in my life, but not any more. They come visit, the young one and the old, and I’m always glad to see them, but when they go, I don’t notice their absence until I get a sniff of a shoe or something falls from the hot press with a familiar scent. It’s true there’s something pleasant about a man’s hand on your rump, and I used to enjoy the way he’d rub my ears, but I’ve learnt to live without, and me and my lady have pleasant tummy-rubbing moments. The old, when he comes – only once in a blue moon - always says “Hello, Trixie, how are you?” and I wag and wag (to let him know I’m fine), and he rubs my head, and gives a sigh. The young comes more often, but his greeting is a strange one. He asks “Is the rat still alive?” He calls me the rat, and pretends not to like me. It’s not my fault that I’m small. That’s the nature of my breed. And he should remember my puppy days, and all the puppy-cuddling he did when we first met. In fact (and this is a secret, a big secret) he does remember. When my lady’s watching TV, and he’s on the floor, making phone-calls to his girlfriend, he puts me on his lap, and idly rubs my back, and my head, over and back, gently, very gently. And I have heard him whisper my name. Now the secret’s out!

My name. Trixie. Seems silly for an old lady like me. It suited me as a pup, but sometimes I think I should claim my full title, now that I’m a grand-dame of 14 years. Lochokell Kirsty would be a more suitable name, I think. But then, I climb to the top of the garden, sit in the sunshine a bit, and think – Get over it, get over yourself, Girl. Trixie’s always been your name. Stick with it. So I will.

I don’t have much choice anyway. My lady would never call me anything else. We rub along fine, me and her. She spends a lot of time out of the house, but she makes sure there’s water and biscuit for me. Mind you, these days, I just sleep, to tell you the truth. Life is one long round of naps and feeds. I do amble from room to room, - rocking chair nap in the kitchen, couches in the study and living-room, cushion on the patio (if the sun’s shining), patch of carpet in the hallway, just at the bottom of the stairs. Those are my sleeping spots. Yes, I have an official bed. Yes, I even sleep in it sometimes, but mostly it’s whatever room my lady is in, I like to be there too. She has allowed me to sleep on her bed, and I don’t abuse the privilege, I can tell you. I really appreciate that, because for many years I was in the kitchen, and would have to make a very undignified racket to let them know if I wanted to go outside, but now, I only have to nudge her around the knees, and I can get to go out without having to so much as whine.

Life is good. There are times I wonder about those dogs that have freedom to wander about the street, and the idea of having puppies – what would it have been like? Sometimes, I wish I enjoyed traveling in the car, but I just can’t get past the idea that we were meant to move about on four legs, not four wheels. My world is a small one, but my life has been a good one, with no trauma to speak of, and I’ve always been loved. That is what counts. To love and be loved. And… I love my lady. She is my world. And I think I am a very important part of hers. Yes. Life is good.







What I might have looked like! Imagine! Supermodel material!




See what other Sunday Scribblers had to say HERE