namaste

5.30 a.m. … 30 minutes until the alarm goes off. I roll onto my stomach, bury my face in the pillow and groan. If I doze now, it’ll be harder to wake again … I roll back and throw off the duvet. Four steps and I’m in the bathroom.

I hear my dog pad up the hallway, signaled by the hum of my electric toothbrush. He yawns, stretches, waits patiently outside the bedroom door … is she or isn’t she? I duck into my closet and reappear in sneakers and running pants … she is!

Whispering good morning to him, I slip his collar over his head, and we step outside into the silence of early autumn fog.

Two-hundred steps and we’re on the beach. “Morning ladies!” I greet the Canadian Geese as I walk through the gaggle at the water’s edge. “Any good gossip today?” As usual, they stick their noses in the air and turn their backs on me.

Pebbles crunch underfoot as I stretch out up the beach throwing sticks into the water for Dylan. We climb up and over the rocks to our usual meditation spot, where we each take up our position.

He sits upright in the water, looking yonder for signs of anything unusual. I sit cross-legged on the 30-foot tree trunk that long-ago crashed from the hill above, and now spans across the beach and into the water. I close my eyes, circle my thumb and forefinger and take a deep, cleansing breath.

Sometimes I meditate on a specific topic. But this morning I think about nothing. Just the sound of my breath. Just the sound of lapping water. Just the sound of wind rustling through the trees and the brittle leaves they are preparing to shed.

In and out. Calming and cleansing.

I am grateful for this day.

I am grateful for my family and friends and appreciate having them in my life. I’m grateful for the interesting projects I work on and appreciate the opportunities I have. I’m grateful to feel excited by life and appreciate the choices I can make.

In ... out. I am grateful for this day.

Namaste …

… WHAT THE *!@#?

I shoot forward off my perch, reaching around to my lower back. Ack … it’s wet!

“Really, really, sorry about that! Bad boy!” shouts the sleepy-eyed man with bed-hair, who stands red-faced on top of the cliff behind me.

“No worries” I reply. But didn't mean it. Bad enough I have to scoop poop. Now I have to search my pockets for a tissue and dry off the spray his Labrador squirted up my back!

In ... I smile … Out. And mean it.

I am grateful for this day.

someone new

There’s someone new in my life. Don’t get me wrong, he hasn’t replaced the other someone. Let’s just say he’s added a renewed sense of energy and some ... tantalizing new tricks.

We’ve been together only a month, and already, I’m crazy in love! I kept it quiet (until now) because … well … I wasn’t sure it would work out. He’s been around the block a few times—you know how baggage goes—but I thought he was worth the risk.

He’s tall, dark, handsome, and incredibly smart. He's strong, well-traveled, well-mannered, kind, and responsible. Yet he’s wild, adventurous, free-spirited. Very creative. Tons of fun. And he makes me laugh from morning till night.

We’ve kayaked together; sailed, hiked, and climbed rocks. On Wednesday, we watched a grey whale puff his way up the narrows during our early morning constitutional. On Thursday we picnicked on the beach, snuggling close as the sun set. On Friday he brought me crab. Saturday, a seal’s flipper. And this morning … a half eaten fish.

His brows knit together and his soft amber eyes fill with confused disappointment as I squirm at the delicacy of the day, so proudly dropped at my feet. I kiss his nose and ruffle his head, “Good boy Dylan. Come on … let’s go chase seagulls!”

I renamed him Dylan, derived from Welsh mythology: Dy = Great, Lan = God of the Sea, very appropriate since he's of Welsh origin, loves the ocean, and Dylan Thomas is one of my favorite poets. This Great God of the Sea was rescued from an abusive situation in Nebraska. He then spent several months traveling with his rescuer in an 18-wheeler across the States. But it was unfair to keep a working dog confined in a cab, so the trucker reluctantly turned him into PAWS. He was fostered out to a lovely foster mom down on the WA/Oregon border, and then I adopted and brought him up to Seattle. He's a Welsh Border Collie mix, about 2 years old. And he's a keeper!