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Rice and Ink

To the artist HS Chang-Tsai -- please accept my appreciation and thanks for your art. I did not know of it until a package sent from you arrived at my home. It was a curious thing, to receive a package from a stranger. I opened it and, on seeing the print of a Shiba Inu looking skyward while the moon laid on the left corner, began to cry. My best friend had purchased the print and a pad of sticky notes. It was her way of showing sympathy for the loss of Ryu, my Shiba Inu and adventure partner.  Ryu lived for 15 years. 12 of those years was with me. He was a constant companion. I often joked that he was my soul mate. Sometimes, it was not a joke. Ryu passed away a month ago. It has been six weeks and I still cry when thinking about him.  Today, I placed your print into a frame. My boyfriend asked where I would put it. I immediately said that it would go onto the desk of my home office. I wanted to see it as much as possible. But after a moment, I reconsidered the decision as a ...
Recent posts

Ryu Inu

I have the profoundly unhappy responsibility to write the news that Ryu Inu passed away on August 24th. He was in my arms when he trotted over the Rainbow Bridge.  Some of you knew of Ryu's recent diagnosis of kidney failure made earlier this year, just shy of his 15th birthday. His prognosis was quite good, although our veterinarian made clear to me at the time that his at-home treatments would only manage the situation rather than cure it. At the same time, his cognitive abilities worsened over the summer. His eyesight was going dark and his ears were falling quiet, making the recognition of his surroundings very difficult. It was funny the first few times that I found him stuck behind a toilet or closet door. It quickly stopped being funny as the plainness of his growing helplessness became clear. Overall, his body was telling anyone who could see it that it was saying goodbye. I had no idea it would happen so quickly, as his condition worsened precipitously two weeks ago. Ryu w...

Graduation Day

Patrick graduated from high school last week. I had been jazzed for the ceremony for a while. He stayed cloistered in his bedroom the morning of, getting his clothes and face just right. Senn High School put on a fun, outdoor, and socially distant event for everyone involved. Cars also moved slowly around the school grounds for those families who preferred to keep up their caution. I buzzed around the grounds just thrilled to chat with teachers, staff, and some other parents; in contrast, Patrick's demeanor was on par with any other Friday. Teenage cool is as alien to me as lunchables. Maybe he perked up after I returned home, free to socialize with his friends while far from the reach of his dad's camera.  That morning, while getting ready to get Patrick to his school he asked for my help with tying a necktie. I tied the one he wanted to wear around my own neck, intending to loosen it and then slip it around his own -- when it happened: I had a flashback. I remembered getting ...

A season of firsts.

I was not sad when I hung up on my mom. It was a FaceTime video call that started badly, moved into hostility, then ended with my disconnecting from it. Disconnecting from her. It was about time, even if a long time coming. Before Thanksgiving, my oldest brother sent an email to me asking for my new address. I ignored it and he didn't contact me again. For Thanksgiving, I took Patrick to our church so that he could participate in the volunteering of putting on a holiday dinner for 120 people. It went really well. The logistics seemed to fall into place more easily this year than the last. I stayed in the kitchen working the food with other church members. Patrick began at the industrial sink washing dishes with another person; then, when the event officially began, he moved to working as a server for the people seated at the table assigned to him. The time passed very quickly, with the end arriving a bit anti-climactically. The constant movement of people, dishes, and food did ...

A good morning

This morning, I woke up with James -- having stayed the night at his place. I'm on vacation for two weeks (a "stay"-cation, meaning that I'll take advantage of the time to wander around Chicago). James and I decided to stay at each other's place twice each week. He made coffee and switched on the local news while I figured out how to get hot water out of the shower. Patrick showed off his responsiblity-muscles, looking after himself at home in addition to the two dogs under our care. Kygo, a bottle-rocket doofus of a dog, is staying with us while his humans are out of town: Gohar has gone to Kazakhstan to visit her family, while Andrew was sent to a work training program in Indiana (or, Ohio?). We are looking after Kygo for the next week. Patrick hasn't been feeling his best, so I was relieved on hearing from him this morning that he had woken up early to get himself ready for school as well as walk both dogs. On the parent side of the spectrum, his success ...

Fall Fête

Patrick and I were guests at the Fall Fête of Lawrence Hall, an annual fundraiser for the various therapeutic services that the organization provides to kids in care. The night was a big success for a handful of reasons: 1) Patrick dressed up in his finest to sell raffle tickets. To this point, I sent him after Toni Preckwinkle (the current president of the Cook County board of commissioners) after she walked past us. It seemed an easy mark. 2) Patrick sang in front of a big group. He had worried hell out of me earlier in the day, on asking me to print the lyrics to the song he had chosen to sing. He had not been practicing so still hadn't memorized them. He sang (very well) from the printed lyrics. 3) I gave a little speech to a very large crowd. This also worried hell out of me. I modified a short essay written earlier this year and shared with LH and DCFS. The original essay focussed on domestic events, so its usefulness to a large general audience wouldn't fit. I edit...

The Same Faces

I see the same faces. Yesterday afternoon, I was on the Red Line going home from grocery shopping. He was seated in the right row of the first train car. It was Mark Dykstra. It was an impossible, later-30-something Mark balancing a Trader Joe's bag between his ankles while hunched over his phone. I recognized him without thinking much of it, turning my attention to the Loyola students seated directly across from not-Mark. Of the three, the one on their far left reacted to a woman standing in the aisle while gripping a stability loop opposite him by reducing his man-spread by about 20%. A pro forma gesture. I read in (or into) her body language "thanks for nothing, asshole" as she shifted the weight of her backpack between feet.  My impulse was to confront the kid to make room for our fellow passenger. To give him a gentle lesson on the social faux pas he'd committed; but, then I turned and noticed another empty seat on the other side of the car. Her tired feet had ...