“’Tales’ Of The Dog”

[Parts I through IV]

 

10/04/14

 

 

In Memory

Of

Daisy…”The best dog on the planet!”

 

In the photographic galley in my Profile site at MDJunction, you will please find two pictures of Daisy, taken when she was about nine years old. Certainly photographs of better, happier times.

 

To my always dear friends, and ever-constant readers,

 

As many of you may remember, a year ago—this past June—Daisy (my loving and wonderful canine companion) quietly—and, without pain—slipped-away, and died in my arms; and I can never thank you in full-sufficient for all of your incredibly kind comments, PM’s, hugs, cards, and condolences.

Since then, the house has been too quiet, too empty, without a canine friend to keep me company during the day, and to sleep on the rug beside my bed at night.

Nights have again become scary, and every odd or suspect noise keeps me awake, apprehensive, and afraid.

In truth I feel as if a part of my heart was taken away that day.

 

Part I

(Rest well, my dearest Daisy)

 

 

For almost fifteen years my Daisy lived.

For fifteen years…a quarter of my life.

Three years before I became disabled.

 

A partner, guide, companion, loving friend;

A selfless, kind companion ‘til she died.

As nothing lasts forever, even love.

 

My Daisy chose to live with Mom and me.

Now both are gone, gone to a better place.

A place I cannot go for now…at least.

 

A small grave marks Daisy’s final resting place;

A three-foot circle round with cement stones.

With silk, artificial flowers arrayed.

 

Those beautiful colors bright will never fade.

Her shroud, a pink, fleece spread, all-over hearts.

A quiet monument to love displayed.

 

End of Part One

 

 

Oh, my precious friends, if you should have dear and loving pets, if possible—today—please get on the floor with them at their level. Please tell them just how much you love them, and how much they mean to you.

Numerous ear and tummy scratches are in order; and—should you have them—several pet ‘treats’ would be greatly appreciated!

 

My dear friends, I wish so much for you; that you be pain-free, and relieved of all depression and despair.  Never to be lonely, or to feel isolated or alone.

I wish that you not know want, but rather have enough to ‘spare and share’.

May you enjoy peaceful, balmy afternoons, and a most pleasant weekend!

And, at day’s end, I wish for you the kind of natural fatigue that comes from a day well-spent.

And, blissfully, quiet nights of restorative sleep, watched over by gentle angels and your loving, watchful pets.

 

 

And, please know that I think of you so very, very often, and that I love you dearly!

 

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

 

“If I Were You, And Love Should Call”

(a sad and silly poem of regret)

 

 

09/22/14

 

 

To my dear, dear friends, and ever-constant readers,

 

I

 

If I were you, and love should call

might I—again—rush to its fair embrace?

Perhaps in another youthful time, another place

in seeking blissful love, and to that love give all.

 

II

 

If you were I, and should love its sorrows prove

the kiss that once was welcomed, now betrayed;

to leave a torn and reeling heart, afraid.

Forever shuttered ‘gainst all future loves to move.

 

III

 

But…since I am I and you are you

and he and she are they,

would you pursue a most uncertain love,

or else—in sadness—watch it drift away?

 

IV

 

There must be loves long-lasting, strong and true.

Alas, it was a love I never knew.

 

End

 

Oh, my precious friends, what are your opinions and thoughts regarding ‘love’.

And…as a kind of informal poll, do you believe in, “love at first sight?”

 

I wish for you blissful days and nights free from pain, want or despairing.

In full-surrounded by relatives, children, good friends (and, pets!), who love you truly for the wonderful person that you are.

And—as always—please know that I think about you often, and love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"When Silence Is A Goddamned Liar"

“When Silence Is A Goddamned Liar”

 

 

08/23/14

 

 

To my ever, dearest friends, and kind and loyal readers,

 

 

Last night was a typical one full of inescapable nightmares of being chased by monsters, unresolved exhaustion and, too-frequent awakenings.

 

I one read where it was thought therapeutic—during nightmare—to turn, and confront whatever might be chasing you; but the one time I was able to do this, when I turned around to find that I was looking at myself!

But this was a strange and evil self, feral and cunning that grinned at me with huge, gleaming, pointed teeth that caused me to awake in a sweat of fear.

Is it just a savage play by the subconscious, or can one truly destroy oneself? 

 

When I awoke, it was with eyes that snapped open, like window shades; all I wanted—then—was to fallback asleep for an hour…or two…or…for  forever.

It was—though—a gathering and rising agony of pain that was the engine that too-soon drove me out of bed to stumble-down the hall to the kitchen for pain pills.

 

Soon, I had a migraine that throbbed with every plus beat, like ice picks driven into the brain by a sledge hammer. I can hardly see which way I am going; all I can think of are opiates.  Opiates to somehow dull the pain, and—at least for a little while—soothe-away the unbearability of the pain.

I have medications for all these things and more: to quell the mounting anxiety, and to try to mitigate the despair and the depression.

I pour all my morning pills into a cup and— with shaking hands—try to swallow them all at once.  Sometimes a pill will slip out of my hand or— in my hurry—fall from the side of my mouth to bounce on the kitchen counter, or to fall on the floor.

Of course with my impaired vision I cannot see these forgotten medications; perhaps, later, my kind neighbor will help me find them.

 

I do try to say my prayers even though my thoughts are repetitive and cloudy; ill-focused, and selfish.

Instead of offering copious thanks, my prayers are full of whining and neediness.  I do have so very much to be thankful for; my precious friends at MDJunction for one.

 

I can have coffee right away, and cigarettes immediately; but food interests me not at all.  Usually I am much too queasy to even consider food until middle afternoon.

 

My thoughts are is such disarray that I hardly ever turn on the computer until later—if at all—in a day.  The computer might as well be just a big typewriter to me, as poor as my skills are.

 

The house is quiet, yet it is not quiet; my oxygen concentrator hums-along; and I put a large box fan out in the dining room for the breezes it can provide to help cool a fevered brow.

 

I spend so much of the day sitting in my desk chair out at the kitchen counter; there, I can rock—slightly—back and forth, or lower my head until it is just above my crossed arms.

I sit there minute by minute, hour by hour; eyes closed, trying to lose myself in the relative silence of the house.

The same four or five seconds of a nonsensical tune will play in my head over, and over, and over, and over again.  Sometimes I keep time to this, ‘music’, by gritting a couple of my front teeth until my jaws ache.

 

Lightening startles me, and the close sound of thunder scares me out of my reverie.

 

How very different my life once was.  Now I mourn the loss of my earlier self.

 

Yes, my friends, there is pain that makes me cry, and a further, and continued level of pain that I find so unendurable that I wonder if this is what life has become, whether it is in any way worth going further.  I now require assistance with so many areas of my life.  It wearies me.

Two things stop me.  One, my scattered, religious beliefs, and the prohibition about self-harm.

The other one is easy.  Even as much pain as I am in, depressed, agoraphobic (I have not left the house—this time—in almost two weeks), I am afraid; afraid of that which may or may not lie beyond.

 

In the uncertain quiet of the house, I think about these things.  But the silence brings forth no insight, no opportunity to explore, to discover, or, re-discover that which has been lost, but that which may have been best.

I do not trust the silence; it does not whisper truths to me.  It somehow only magnifies the emptiness within, and without.

 

 

My dearest friends, I wish so much for you to have no pain, or—if it must be—then certainly much lessened, and more controllable pain.

May you be surrounded in full by family, friends (and, pets!) who genuinely love you, and care for you.

I wish that you have enough so as to not know want or despair.

For days, evenings and nights that are peaceful and serene.

Most of all, I wish you all the love your kind hearts can hold.

 

And, please, please always know that I think of you so very often, and, that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"All The Time In The World?"

“All The Time In The World?”

 

07/16/14

 

As always, to my dearest friends, and ever-constant, loyal readers,

 

When I was very, very young, the calendar year was fixed, immutable, carved as if from stone.

There was the school term (Which—by the way—I loathed, thinking it a colossal waste of time.)  I may as well have had A.D.D., as I could not be kept to my desk, preferring-instead to look out the windows.  All my report cards from that time seemed to echo the same sentiments.

 And then, there were the blissful summers; of dawn-to-dust playing, discoveries and adventures.  The imagination could be expressed a thousand, different ways.

Once, I found and empty cardboard box which would just fit into my wagon. Into this, I cut holes for windows, and spent a pleasant afternoon down by a creek in my own mobile home! I even think I took a nap there, lulled to sleep by the rush of the creek waters.

 

But, all the summer’s fun and games ground quickly to a halt when—at fourteen—I began my first ever job; I worked in a grocery store after school on Fridays until 10:30 p.m., and all day on Sunday, from 7:30 a.m. until 11:30 or twelve, when we had to mop and clean the store.

Usually, I was out front, sacking groceries.

All for the then-princely sum of $1.10 an hour.  A tip of a dime was considered generous.

 

I did earn a couple of things, which were but an overture to jobs and employment later:

1. Sixteen hours on my feet conferred a kind of exhaustion that twelve hours of play never could.
2. From the ire of my customers, I quickly learned to never pack a loaf of bread or carton of eggs in the bottom of the paper bag!
3. More importantly, it proved to be my first introduction to ‘management ‘of a limited—yet profound scope of authority beyond, even, that of my Dad’s.  At this store, the assistant manager was nice, who ‘ruled’ with a benign hand.

The store manager—in contrast—ran the store with whip, and threats, constantly urging us to hurry, or be replaced.

I barely can remember his face now, but it seemed lined and etched with pure meanness.

 

 

Thus began a thirty-four year series of job moves, and career changes; on several occasions, I worked two jobs at once, sleeping not at all, or, never, ever having a day off.

Salaries—especially in Florida—have never been what I’d call munificent; but, one did what one could…or had to do, particularly when it became time to support myself.

I remember being so broke, that I had to roll pennies to get just-enough gasoline to get to the bank to cash my check.

 

But my priority (then and now) was to keep a roof over my head.  One year, I went without food in the house, eating a free sandwich at work at night. In the morning—in the cafeteria line, I could get two scoops of scrambled eggs, and a piece of toast for $0.20.

As long as I had a place to come home to…

 

My entire, little, clockwork life crumbled-around me in 2002.  I’ve already mentioned a stupid, botched and unnecessary dental procedure left me in an upward spiral of agony I could no longer bear; and I began to have uncontrolled panic attacks with severe depression.

 

After I had tried to return to work (unsuccessfully), I realized that—somehow, someway—I needed to file for disability.

 

Having heard of others unsuccessful applications, I hired an attorney to file for me.

 

One morning, I found myself before a Judge, with a Court Reporter to his left, a Supervisor from D. C. and F., and—to complete the circle, a Florida Employment Specialist.

I answered the Judge calm, slowly, made eye contact, and did not once vary from the truth.

 

After an extensive question and answer period which riled my nerves, the Judge asked if I would ever be able to work again.

The Florida Employment considered the matter, and then stated that….no, I would not be able to work.

 

And what a strange feeling it was to be told to not work!  In my employment history, I had applied numerous times for jobs I never got.  But to be told I would never be able to work again?  At first, I exhaled nervously; in a way relieved, and in a way labeled some kind—to me—second, or third-rate citizen.

That was in 2002.

 

What I could not have foreseen would be the cavalcade of subsequent illnesses which only added to being unemployable.

There was that year of suffering before I had my appendix removed at the very last moment.

 

 

Along the way, other ‘conditions’ developed such as diabetes type II; Fibromyalgia; Lupus; CFS; CPS; crushed vertebrae, and broken ribs from falling;  orthostatic hypertension; depression, anxiety, and panic attacks; agoraphobia.  The need for oxygen 24/7.  And—most recently—incipient blindness in both eyes.

My sleep is disrupted in a thousand ways; and the PTSD and Headaches pretty much sums up the list.

 

And I am dependent on number of medications merely to remain in place.

 

When I had occasion to contemplate old, past summers, I remember a balmy, summer night in Texas; it was late, but there were no curfews.

Some of the neighbors and my Mother and Father gather-together to perhaps discuss issues of the day; I could just seem them out on the breezeway of the house, with Dad’s cigarette glowing in the semi-darkness.

The neighborhood kids and I rode our bicycles down sidewalks, and across driveways, the sky-above an inverted inky bowl of twinkling, yellow stars.

 

Suddenly, we found ourselves amid an enormous swarm of lightning bus, whose little light merged with the stars above.

 

I was nine years old.

 

And yet, if pressed to try to remember that one day, that singular situation that made such an ethereal impression, I would have to say that night was the stuff of which pure wonderment is made.

Life doesn’t get any better, or sweeter than that!

 

Perhaps your most favorite day might be the birth of a child, or grandchild.

 

And I would kindly ask you to look inside to find your all-time favorite day…ever. Please share it with us in the comment section, below.

 

Now that I have just passed my sixtieth birthday, I realize that I have more time to look back than to look forward.

How much ‘time’ I have left…nobody save the Creator Spirit knows.

 

So I think it would behoove us to wisely use the time that we do have left.  Maybe being kinder, more thoughtful, more understanding.  Maybe, to forgive ourselves, even as we would forgive others.

 

 

Please know that I wish for you no pain, no sense of want, need or despairing.  May your kind hearts be filled with hope and…love!  And, blissful nights of restorative sleep, as ever watched over by gentle angels.

 

Since I have still having problems with my computer, please, please forgive me should I—in error—print it over (and, over) again.

 

Please know that I think about you always, and that I love you dearly!

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"A Special Anniversary That I Very Nearly Missed!"

“A Special Anniversary That I Very Nearly Missed!”

 

 

06/23/14

 

 

As always, to my very dearest friends and loyal readers,

 

 

(Wednesday, May 14, 2014)

 

A fairly ordinary day; it might as well have been Tuesday, or Saturday for the little that I do any more.

There were bouts of unspeakable pain…yes, with depression and despair taking the life from me.

 

There is always hope that a medication, or, some combinations of medication will provide at least temporary respite from agony.

It is on these days (twin to so many others) that I feel most useless, afraid and alone.

 

Last week—while I was reading yet another wonderful ‘PM’ and hug, that I noticed something a little different.

After glancing briefly at my dreadful profile picture, it suddenly hit me: Wednesday, May 14 marked my 3^rd. year anniversary at MDJunction!!!!!!!!!!!

 

I recall that late night, when I was overwhelmed by pain and suffering (hurting—perhaps—as an animal hurts, of being in global pain, but of not understanding why).

 

I turned to Google to look for ‘self-help’ groups, and—among them—MDJ was figured most prominently.

 

Now dear friends, I must confess to you that I am practically computer illiterate.

So, when I found the MDJ home page, I had completely NO idea what to do, or how to navigate the site.

 

I gave it up for a lost cause, until I received a most cordial email from Roy, welcoming me to the ‘Junction’.

Not long after that (in late July), I began writing diary entries.

 

Now in those days, I used to write them directly at the dashboard; so small, I could hardly read my own compositions.

These—too—were the days before merciful ‘Spellcheck’, and when later I had occasion to review those early entries, I was both shocked and embarrassed with the number of misspellings, and grammatical mistakes I had made; surly, a high school freshman could have done better.

 

When I did begin to keep a diary, it seemed—on many days—that I could hardly write it all down; I had NO conception of length, topic drift, relevance; I wrote and wrote until my entries seemed to reach some kind of ending.

 

I wrote on a number of subjects, and—as I did—I began to receive friendship requests.  I was always grateful (and, surprised!) that someone wanted me for a friend.

 

At no other site have I found such wonderfully caring, patient and encouraging members.  And soon, I began to write for you as much as for myself.

 

From the beginning, kind members would comment to my diary entries; and, these were—almost without exception—warm, hopeful, and understanding friends.  More so, frequently, than my local, ‘real time’ friends.

Your comments always make glad my heart.  And-should at any time—an entry proved to be of some, small hope, I gladly offered it up to the Creator Spirit as an offering of gratitude.

 

 

And I began to amass a collection of entries, many of which I am pleased with.  They consist of various exposition, the occasional ‘rant’, perhaps thirty or forty poems, and, a ’hem…the odd entry that was restructured and re-posted.

 

 

Since late July of 2011, I have written 335 diary entries, which have—altogether—received 954 wonderfully kind comments!

 

 

Now, I must confess to you may precious friends that I have NO idea what a ‘hit’ is.  Is it a click on my diary?  Does that a complete view, or just a detour along the way?

I am hoping that someone with more knowledge about these things will please explain it to me.

 

For—with the first diary entry—the ‘number’ of ‘hits’ were listed. They seemed, somehow, to be important to me; I began to keep track of them afte a month or two.

 

 

I am hoping that I may be at least a little proud of them.  A few days ago, the number of ‘hits’ was a jaw-dropping 111,329!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

It has been one of my most favorite day dreams to imagine my entries to be collected and published.  My dearest friends, often it has been you yourself who has encouraged me to have them published.

But the process is much more difficult than one might think.  However, I keep hoping that somehow, somewhere, someway, a literary agent will see my work, and want to see it in print.

Even though I have slowed considerably in posting an entry to MDJunction, I still have enough prose and poetry to fill at least one or two volumes.

I cannot tell you just how happy that would make me feel!

 

 

I thank you—my dearest friends—for so many things; for befriending me, when I though only few people cared; and for your understanding, support, and encouragement all along the way.

 

 

I wish for you no pain, distress, or depression.  May you not know want, but have plenty to enjoy, and to share.

I wish so much for you balmy, contemplative afternoons.  I wish you quiet when you need quiet, and company, when you do not want to be alone.

I wish you freedom from Agoraphobia or panic attacks.

And able to see all the natural wonder around you.

I wish that you be surrounded by family members, friends (and, pets!), who love you for the wonderful person that you are.

Not least, I would wish you quiet and soothing evenings, and a full night’s restorative sleep, as ever watched-over by gentle angels.

 

 

And, please, please always know that I think of you so very, very often, and that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’

“A Special Anniversary That I Very Missed!”

 

 

06/23/14

 

 

As always, to my very dearest friends and loyal readers,

 

 

(Wednesday, May 14, 2014)

 

A fairly ordinary day; it might as well have been Tuesday, or Saturday for the little that I do any more.

There were bouts of unspeakable pain…yes, with depression and despair taking the life from me.

 

There is always hope that a medication, or, some combinations of medication will provide at least temporary respite from agony.

It is on these days (twin to so many others) that I feel most useless, afraid and alone.

 

Last week—while I was reading yet another wonderful ‘PM’ and hug, that I noticed something a little different.

After glancing briefly at my dreadful profile picture, it suddenly hit me: Wednesday, May 14 marked my 3^rd. year anniversary at MDJunction!!!!!!!!!!!

 

I recall that late night, when I was overwhelmed by pain and suffering (hurting—perhaps—as an animal hurts, of being in global pain, but of not understanding why).

 

I turned to Google to look for ‘self-help’ groups, and—among them—MDJ was figured most prominently.

 

Now dear friends, I must confess to you that I am practically computer illiterate.

So, when I found the MDJ home page, I had completely NO idea what to do, or how to navigate the site.

 

I gave it up for a lost cause, until I received a most cordial email from Roy, welcoming me to the ‘Junction’.

Not long after that (in late July), I began writing diary entries.

 

Now in those days, I used to write them directly at the dashboard; so small, I could hardly read my own compositions.

These—too—were the days before merciful ‘Spellcheck’, and when later I had occasion to review those early entries, I was both shocked and embarrassed with the number of misspellings, and grammatical mistakes I had made; surly, a high school freshman could have done better.

 

When I did begin to keep a diary, it seemed—on many days—that I could hardly write it all down; I had NO conception of length, topic drift, relevance; I wrote and wrote until my entries seemed to reach some kind of ending.

 

I wrote on a number of subjects, and—as I did—I began to receive friendship requests.  I was always grateful (and, surprised!) that someone wanted me for a friend.

 

At no other site have I found such wonderfully caring, patient and encouraging members.  And soon, I began to write for you as much as for myself.

 

From the beginning, kind members would comment to my diary entries; and, these were—almost without exception—warm, hopeful, and understanding friends.  More so, frequently, than my local, ‘real time’ friends.

Your comments always make glad my heart.  And-should at any time—an entry proved to be of some, small hope, I gladly offered it up to the Creator Spirit as an offering of gratitude.

 

 

And I began to amass a collection of entries, many of which I am pleased with.  They consist of various exposition, the occasional ‘rant’, perhaps thirty or forty poems, and, a ’hem…the odd entry that was restructured and re-posted.

 

 

Since late July of 2011, I have written 335 diary entries, which have—altogether—received 954 wonderfully kind comments!

 

 

Now, I must confess to you may precious friends that I have NO idea what a ‘hit’ is.  Is it a click on my diary?  Does that a complete view, or just a detour along the way?

I am hoping that someone with more knowledge about these things will please explain it to me.

 

For—with the first diary entry—the ‘number’ of ‘hits’ were listed. They seemed, somehow, to be important to me; I began to keep track of them afte a month or two.

 

 

I am hoping that I may be at least a little proud of them.  A few days ago, the number of ‘hits’ was a jaw-dropping 111,329!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

It has been one of my most favorite day dreams to imagine my entries to be collected and published.  My dearest friends, often it has been you yourself who has encouraged me to have them published.

But the process is much more difficult than one might think.  However, I keep hoping that somehow, somewhere, someway, a literary agent will see my work, and want to see it in print.

Even though I have slowed considerably in posting an entry to MDJunction, I still have enough prose and poetry to fill at least one or two volumes.

I cannot tell you just how happy that would make me feel!

 

 

I thank you—my dearest friends—for so many things; for befriending me, when I though only few people cared; and for your understanding, support, and encouragement all along the way.

 

 

I wish for you no pain, distress, or depression.  May you not know want, but have plenty to enjoy, and to share.

I wish so much for you balmy, contemplative afternoons.  I wish you quiet when you need quiet, and company, when you do not want to be alone.

I wish you freedom from Agoraphobia or panic attacks.

And able to see all the natural wonder around you.

I wish that you be surrounded by family members, friends (and, pets!), who love you for the wonderful person that you are.

Not least, I would wish you quiet and soothing evenings, and a full night’s restorative sleep, as ever watched-over by gentle angels.

 

 

And, please, please always know that I think of you so very, very often, and that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles