The Night The Clocks Change

Emily is sitting cross legged on my bed, wearing a sweatshirt, corduroy skirt and knee sox. She has my headphones on and she's listening to a Tara Maclean cd. Her eyes are closed and she's moving softly, humming along to "Let Her Feel The Rain."

Earlier tonight we took a walk around the neighborhood to watch the last of the snow melt. There wasn't much, just isolated patches on the salt stained sidewalks, sad grey mounds around the bases of the trees. She's told me before that spring is her favorite time of year and this is her way of wishing for it to come more quickly.

Not only is the snow disappearing, but tonight is the night the clocks move forward, and that's always had special meaning for me. Tomorrow the sun won't set til almost seven, and winter will drift into the past tense. Earlier tonight when we were eating ice cream cones on the Promenade you could almost make out the spring constellations on the eastern horizon. I showed her Orion skulking down toward the western rim of the sky, ready to sleep for the summer. She laughed and kissed me with pistachio flavored lips. It's her favorite.

We strolled the neighborhood for a couple of hours, watching the stars and the snow and talking to people we met. My favorite was a family from Quebec, here for a birthday celebration. Their daughter Veronique was seven years old and she was in love with Em. The whole time we were talking they held hands and played silly rhyming games. I could tell by the look in the girl's eyes that she knew what Emily was, and it was perfectly alright with her. She'll keep that secret her whole life, til she's an elderly lady walking by the St. Lawrence river on a snowy night, remembering the time she met a real live ghost.

Emily just took off the head phones and stretched herself out on the striped cotton comforter. One leg is bent, the other is straight and she's lying on her side with her chin in her hand, looking at me with her eyes full of hope and laughter. I know where this is leading, because she knows I can't resist her in knee sox. God bless her devious little mind!

Casey

We put Casey to sleep this afternoon. He was thirteen years old and he was the best dog who ever lived. I know, everybody says that about their dog, but with Casey it was really true. He changed my life and opened my heart in ways I never would have believed the day we found him.

I'll never forget that morning, twelve years ago now. It was my birthday, the morning after Memorial Day weekend. Joyce was moving out that week and taking her two dogs with her. Jane knocked on my door earlier than she wanted to and told me there was an injured dog lying in the grass by the subway entrance. Still without caffeine I put my sandals on and followed her up the street.

When I first looked at him I thought he was already dead. Dirty, bony, hardly breathing, lying in the grass with utter hopelessness in his eyes. He'd been dragged by a car and his right rear leg was black and skinless. I slipped a muzzle on him and told Jane to hold the leash I'd put around his neck when I picked him up. I was sure he was hurt badly and I thought he might snap at my arms when I lifted him.

We got him into a station wagon and I sat in the rear deck with him. Jane reached over the seat and handed me the leash and said, "Happy Birthday Jim!" I grunted something like, "Yeah, right." Little did I know....He was in the hospital for a week and needed six weeks of follow up care and rehab during which he lived with me. Then Jane said to me we could start looking for a home for him and I told her he'd already found his home, with me. She laughed and said, "I've known that all along, Jim. I was waiting for you to realize it."

And now it's twelve years later, and Casey was beginning to slip. I could tell he had aches and pains and they were getting worse, so I took him to the doctor. We tried different treatments but nothing was working. Then a test revealed he had incipient bladder cancer. It was only a matter of time then. I promised him that I wouldn't let him suffer, that I'd set him free before it got bad. For a couple of months he was doing alright, slowing down but comfortable and happy. Then a week ago he began to slip more quickly. Several times I had to help him up the front steps because his legs were giving out. He was getting sick to his stomach and losing control of his bladder. Finally on thursday night I sat by his bed talking to him and he gave me that pleading look, the one that says,"Please daddy, can I rest now? I'm so tired and everything hurts and it's getting worse. Please?" I called his doctor the next morning.

When I described his condition Dr. Neuman agreed there was only one kind thing to do, and we made an appointment for this afternoon. So I took him out for his morning walk and let him go as far as he wanted and let him decide when to turn back for home. I made him his favorite breakfast, kibble with a little beef and liver cat food and some maro-bone treats. He ate most of it and lay down on his bed, looking far away. I sat on the sofa next to his bed, petting him between his ears. "I understand, puppy" I whispered to him. "We're going to take care of it all for you today. And I promise that after today you'll never hurt again. No more pain. Not ever."

Jane came down about 12:30 and we left to walk him to the doctor's office. The day was grey and cool, breezy and the clouds were moving fast overhead. Casey wanted to stop and sniff almost everything we passed and I let him take all the time he wanted. I knew it was our last walk together and I didn't want it to end. I think maybe he knew it too.

At the office he perked up when he saw Dr. Neuman, he's liked her since the day he met her. She made us tea and Jane fed Casey treats while the doctor got everything ready. Then she brought a mattress into the room and covered it with a soft towel. She gave him the shot of liquid valium and Jane and I helped him to settle on the mattress while it relaxed him. Then we sat on the floor on either side of him and petted him and talked to him while he fell asleep. When his breathing was slow and deep the doctor gave him the shot of morphine that would stop his heart and lungs and finally let him rest.

We sat with him for about half an hour, still stroking his fur even though he wasn't there to feel it anymore. I'm pretty sure I actually saw his soul leave his body and give me that coyote grin of his before he turned and left the room. Finally we stood up and reached down, touched him one last time. His fur was always so soft. Jane told him he was a sweet dog and I whispered, "See you later, Case." And we took the long slow walk back up the hill.

And now it's night time, and his dishes are still on the kitchen floor. Water and kibble that he'll never need again. I'll pick them up when I clean up the kitchen later. His collar is sitting on the table, the same one Jane picked out for him on the way home from the hospital twelve years ago. It was the symbol that he'd found his forever home.

Casey was thirteen. He was good and brave, and he was the best dog who ever lived.

100

The lights are down so low the room might as well be lit by a fireplace, and I can smell the melting snow through the open window. There's no wind on this saturday night, nothing to make the stars move faster.

And you've raised your long black skirt up to your knee, to pull your spike heel boots off, you drop them on the floor with the sound of a car door closing in the desert, keeping us safe from the sand and the falling stars. I love watching you roll your black stocking past your knee, love seeing you cross your bare legs on the bed spread.

And your hair still glitters with the night dew, and you untie the black ribbon from your throat. And the fog is rolling in the window, and your eyes are so wide in the dark.

And now you're sleeping, my flannel shirt reaching almost to your knees. And that secret smile is still on your lips, I wonder what you're dreaming. In a minute I'll turn this machine off and lie down with you, but first I had to write this. According to the counter, this is my 100th blog entry, and I wanted it to be about something really special.

The Last Night Of January

Watching in the warm glow of the salt lamp while Emily sleeps. She's curled up on her side on the bed, hands clasped on her breast like she's saying a prayer, and the softest ghost of a smile is playing on her lips. A minute ago I reached over and took her glasses off her, put them in the desk drawer for safekeeping. She looks so much younger without them. She's wearing one of my t shirts for a night gown, her skirt and sweater are folded over the back of a chair. She's very particular about keeping her clothes neat.

It's one of those nights when you're glad to be inside. Out there it's so cold and dark and brittle, the stars seem almost too close in the clear air. When we came in from walking Casey earlier she unzipped my jacket and hugged me tight, "God Jim, I'm so frickin' cold! Wrap me up in your coat!" I closed it around her and kissed the top of her head and we both laughed at how good it felt to stand there like that, no space and no time between us.

Her lips are moving in her sleep, some dreamy mantra that I'll never hear whispering through her head. When Bobthecat was alive he used to curl up against her stomach at times like this and purr his little head off; I wonder if he's doing that now, beyond my ability to see him. I hope he is.

Winter Night Prayer

Want to walk in the ocean with you again, like we used to do. Back when it was always Saturday and it was always July, and your skin glowed sandy gold in the morning light.

And your eyes were the color of tomorrow, and I could taste the salt water on your lips when we kissed. And you were feeling shy because you'd never worn a two piece before, and I loved walking with my arm around your naked waist.

Want to walk in the ocean with you again, like we used to do. Swimming out past the breakers to where the shore was just a warm dry sliver, and your hair drifted like the ghost of seaweed over your shoulders. Holding hands floating, letting the waves rock us almost to sleep. And we were feeling happy, knowing the bottom was so far beneath us that the sun never reached it.

Want to walk in the ocean with you again, like we used to do. Walking back to the beach kicking up sand and spray in the red evening light. Wrapping my shirt around your wet shoulders, watching you step into your cutoffs. Walking the cool sand with our arms around each other, and we couldn't stop laughing. And we never wasted our time remembering, because it was all still in front of us.

Christmas Night

Emily is sitting cross legged on my bed, one of my copies of A Christmas Carol open in her lap. She's holding a mug of peppermint tea, and her lips move slightly as she reads. The Christmas lights are reflected in her tortoise shell glasses, and a red velvet ribbon holds her long brown hair in a pony tail. She's wearing red flannel pajamas with feet that should look ridiculous, but on her they're adorable.

Our Christmas dinner was spinach pie and falafel with harira soup, and a fresh imported panettone for dessert. We actually ate at the table tonight, instead of sitting on the bed with trays. I cleaned the table off when I put up the Christmas decorations, Emily laughed that it was possibly the first time she'd seen the table top. Casey sat at her feet all through dinner, waiting to lick the soup bowls. He really likes harira a lot.

After dinner we snuggled under my striped quilt and watched The Polar Express. I love the way she squeezes my hand when she gets excited. During the race toward Flattop Tunnel she threw her arms around my neck and just about jumped into my lap while yelling at the boy on the screen to "Get down! Get down!" When she caught herself she turned beet red, covered her face with the quilt to stifle her laughing, then looked up at me sheepishly and said, "God Jim, I'm such a dork! How can you possibly love me?" Em, it's the easiest thing I've done in longer than I can remember....

In a little while we'll take Casey for his last walk of the evening, then we'll fall asleep together under the quilt, her head resting on my shoulder, her hand resting on my heart. It's been a wonderful Christmas.

Last Saturday Night At United Palace

Slow dancing with you on the wildflower carpet while the lightning blazed and the thunder shook the balcony over our heads, turning graceful and slow down the violet hillside into the noise and the sweat, I'll never forget that. The way you danced on tiptoes, arms around my neck, looking up at me with that faerie smile shining through your black lipstick, spinning so light and so free.
And the spotlight glowed on your black satin dress as we danced all alone with the crowd all around us, I was lost in the elf light, lost in the blood tide. And nothing mattered but the warmth of your breath, the black rose tattoo that you had on your cheek. And the only thing I heard over the music were the words that you whispered when you pulled me so close.
When you said, "This is here, this now, this is all. This is all I could wish for, this is all I could need. How did you know how to make me so happy? How do I deserve this? I must be a good girl!" I whispered back, "It's me who's the lucky one. It's me who'll thank God tonight when you've gone to sleep."
And later on, when the night had gone quiet, when the curtain had fallen and the crowd had gone home, I held your hand through the snow showers, walking on air a few inches over Broadway. And it sucked when I had to leave you at Penn Station, put you on the last train to take you away.
And I lay in my bed, replaying the night, reliving the music, reliving your touch. Soon enough darlin', see you real soon.