Spring 2010
I'll be speaking about using Reiki with animals at the Fort Wayne Reiki Alliance meeting at 10 a.m. June 12 at the Georgetown branch library, 6600 E. State Blvd., Fort Wayne.
Fall 2009It takes a village ...
and Dorothy was part of my village.
She lived two doors down when I was growing up in Indianapolis. She and my mother were close friends, both of her daughters were my babysitters, and for some 25 years, my parents and Dorothy and her husband got together for cocktails every Saturday night. On my frequent errands to her house for this or that, Dorothy and I shared many an opinion over a Coke or 7-Up, always ending with one of us saying, “See you later, alligator” and the other responding, “After a while, crocodile.”
A New Jersey transplant, Dorothy was pure style — expertly dyed and coiffed (“done,” as it was called then) hair, makeup applied with a sure and practiced hand, long nails that somehow didn’t stop her from making the world’s best lasagna, velour loungewear and brocade slippers. She told it like she saw it, mincing words selectively; appetizers were “snicky-snacks” and some pajamas had “feeties,” but a load of crap was a load of crap. She could sew and actually made clothes on that Singer in her basement, a feat she passed along when I was in danger of flunking home ec in the eighth grade.
One of the most significant things we shared, though, was a love of animals. Whether it was the terrier who lived next door but roamed the neighborhood, the black cat her daughter tried to keep in the dorm, or my little schnauzer, Pepper, Dorothy was the ultimate favorite aunt and ally — a source of affection, understanding and the occasional illicit treat. With the aforementioned black cat, she shared a bond few humans, including the daughter who found him and the husband who tolerated him, fully understood. Whenever Dorothy came to our house, Pepper would do excited laps and loop-de-loops around the family room, kitchen and living room, running as fast as she could even into her senior years. Dad swore that dog was going to wear out the carpet, but she knew her buddy was here.
When I heard about Dorothy’s recent passing, the first image that came to mind was that of Pepper racing around, tearing up the turf around the pearly gates, the Rainbow Bridge, or wherever they happened to meet up on the other side.
See you later, alligator.
August 2009Spider whispering
“There’s a big spider up here!” came the call from upstairs. Since I am in charge of insect and spider relocation in our household, I proceeded to the scene.
The spider, which was dime-sized at most, was under a dresser. I got down on hands and knees and followed my usual procedure: communicating my intent to help and not harm: “Let’s get you outside where you belong.” I quickly and carefully reached under there, placed a small paper cup over the wayfarer, then slid a piece of paper underneath for transport. Only when I got downstairs and out the back door did I discover the cup was empty.
“I missed,” I muttered upon returning upstairs. Again I crouched down and peered under the dresser. If spiders can be amused, and I see no reason why they can’t, this one was. “Pretty clever, aren’t you. Ready to go outside now?”
Out strolled the spider. “Thank you!” I said, ready with the cup, and out we went. Then the little jokester didn’t want to leave the cup. Fair enough. I set the cup in one of the planters on the back deck and welcomed him to eat any and all garden-destructive pests he wanted.
The next spider I escorted outside made no attempt to evade capture. Once freed, he wasted no time scurrying out of the cup and under a clump of tarragon. Just like the rest of us, spiders have different ways of hearing, understanding, and responding.
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