Traveller's Tales

There are lots of reasons to love the wintertime: snow, fires in the fireplace, lots of excuses to eat awesome food, and hot cider with rum. Mmm.

Leaving the house for work while it’s black outside, and coming home in the same visual state, however, are not reasons to love the winter.

So today, I’m pleased to announce we had a sunrise before I left the house.

To hell with the groundhog, I say. Winter, have your last big snowstorm this weekend, and I’ll toast your timely departure with one last hot cider and rum.

(Edit: as ever, the Dee does a much better job of capturing these things than I do (though, to be fair, she’s also using a much better camera and not bumbling down the road while she’s shooting): check this shot out for a better idea as to what it looked like.)

I keep wanting to say something, but I’m not sure what.

I’ve learned some things in the last couple of weeks.  I’ve learned explicitly that the will to live trumps comfort or convenience every day of the week, without exception.  I’ve remembered that the only thing that matters in life is communication.  And I’ve had it demonstrated to me all too personally that, sometimes, cures kill.  Yeah, it’s been a tough couple of weeks.

I’ve also learned that some of my advice is actually pretty good, having had an opportunity to swallow it in context.  I still believe that, no matter how a relationship ends, if it doesn’t hurt like hell you were doing it wrong.  I believe that beautiful things can’t die; when we mourn, we mourn only the loss of potential, because whatever we experienced before that loss can never be taken from us.  And, finally, I believe that when you knew what the right thing to do was, and you didn’t do it, you’ve done the worst thing you could have done, whether you did something or not.

I’ve reaffirmed that my loved ones are precious to me, and learned that when people threaten them seriously I feel absolute eye-popping spit-snarling breath-stealing rage, the kind that generates massive adrenaline surges, heroic surges of strength and coordination, and really bad decisions — undoubtedly it’s from Mom’s side of the family, where the Scots hang out.  Probably not the most useful reaction it could evoke, but not one I’m ashamed of, either.

I’ve learned that “Fading Lights” by Genesis holds up better than I thought it would.  Don’t just google the lyrics, it’s not the same without the music.

And finally, I’ve reaffirmed that no matter what else, I write.

So where am I going with this?  I don’t know, really.  2009 has come in hard and heavy, and it’s warned me that there’s change in the air, but it’s also reassured me that I know who I am and what I believe.  Maybe that’s enough to weather the coming storm.

1995 is ancient history for me, but one good thing came of that year: it’s the year mom adopted Kodi.

Kodi was a “troubled dog,” a year-old brown Husky who, according to sources, was uncontrollable, untameable, and destined for the pound unless someone could take him in and manage him. And mom, in her usual way, took him in, couldn’t see a damned thing wrong with him that couldn’t be fixed, and in helping him feel loved and appreciated, he became a great, expressive, loyal and loving companion. It wasn’t long before he was running wildly in the yard, helping mom feed the horses, keeping the local groundhog population in check and shedding all over, well, everything, and with gusto. With even greater speed he became a permanent part of the family.

Kodi was smart, both rationally and emotionally. He was one of those rare ones who always knew what you were thinking, who always knew when it was okay to bend the rules for a few scritches, and who invariably knew just what to do when you were feeling down. He helped mom through some really rough patches — and me, too — and his empathy and affection were the perfect salve for any hurt.

I’m speaking in the past tense, which, plus the title, implies he is no longer with us. This is true: this Sunday he had a pressing engagement elsewhere and had to leave us behind. I will miss him terribly: his way of leaning with all his might against my leg during a good scratch, his icy blue eyes twinkling with mischief as I chased him around the yard, the way he had of resting his chin on your knee and peering up at you when he wanted your attention.

I can’t begin to describe how large a place in our lives he had, or how ragged the tears in our hearts are with his loss, but those wounds indicate more than simple regret or mourning: they indicate a life incredibly well-lived. Only a couple of weeks ago, Shadee, mom and Kodi shared a camping trip (which I joined near the end) of wonderful, clear, sunny days. He was cheerful, active, and playful, as he always was, and that is how I will remember him. He was healthy until the very end, so there was no lingering pain or discomfort for him; it was simply his time.

I hate it when beautiful things leave the world, and yet their loss doesn’t remove them from my life; my memories of him will live as long as I do, and his devotion and affection will be what I remember most. If ever there were a gentle, loving soul, it was his, and I was lucky to know him.

Safe travels and keep smilin’, you crazy mutt.