Connie Brooks loves her bookstore and works brutal and difficult hours there, but when her son Henry comes in from school or to visit, she drops whatever she is doing, asks him to go pick out a book and the two of the sit in the chair by the door in a reading chair and she reads the book to him. Henry picks out one or two, and then he goes home and Connie goes back to work.
Looking at this image, I did have a stab in the heart, thinking about what this kind of moment would have meant to me as a child, or to any child. Every Saturday, I took my daughter to the Open Door Bookstore in our town and read stories, and she has loved books every day of her life. Connie always remembers what is important, life is about moments of connection, the building blocks of our own humanity.
At the core, Red and Dot are similar, both are gentle and quiet. Their connection is also gentle and quiet, but also powerful. It is understated, no shouts, squeals, bars or exclamations. But it is so think you can see it and touch it.
There was a different feeling in cardiac rehab today, one of us is going into the hospital next week for surgery, I don’t feel comfortable saying what for, but I felt the change in the room when I walked in, there was hugging and quiet. Red visits Dot when she gets fitted for her heart monitor, as we all do. It is difficult and painful for her, but Red sits still while she leans over to pet him, or kiss him on the head.
I believe he gives her strength and comfort. After rehab, Dot is picked up by a special van and driven home, Red sits with her by the door. At cardiac rehab, he sits on a stretch of carpet in the middle of the room, and each of the patients comes and pets him, talks to him, hugs him when they come, when they leave, in between workouts on their machines. It was quiet today in rehab, we thought of our friend and wished her well next week. I did 25 minutes on the treadmill today at level 10, my highest. I am getting stronger, surer.
Red sat on the carpet watching me, he has become a part of cardiac rehab, a quiet presence, he fills the room with love and connection. This is what Karen Thompson saw in Red and could not provide for him, this is why she sent him to me, this is the commitment I am proud to honor.
When I signed up for cardiac rehab, I told Maria I would only go for two or three times, but I will see it through to the end. On a day like today, Red once again showed the power of an animal to heal us and touch our hearts.
I will be honest with you, I view sheep in much the same way Red does, I guess we are just too close to one another. Ma is biggest sheep we have ever had, and by far, the dumbest. She is sweet and easy going, but as I told the somewhat shocked crowd at the Open House, Ma may be the dumbest animal I have ever encountered.
Maria agrees that Ma is dumb, but she is fond of her. Ma nearly died during lambing, she had a rough life before coming to us and nearly died in childbirth. She has rebounded from that, but more and more, I think she is suffering from the sheep version of dementia. She wanders around in circles, stares blankly out over the horizon, wanders off with Deb away from the block and completely ignores Red unless he gets right in her face.
If you are a sheep with dementia, you will be fortunate to have Maria as your guiding human, Ma will get to live our her life in comfort and security, she will get her daily back rub, treats and loving care. Red is already beginning to ignore her, to pretend she doesn’t exist, he does this when appropriate and necessary. Ma was happy to pose for her portrait, everybody else was off eating.
Tomorrow, a chapter in my creative life. I begin teaching my four-week short form writing class (stories and essays) at Hubbard Hall, the beautiful old arts center/opera house in the middle of my town, Cambridge. Someone asked me why I’m teaching a short story class and I told her this is really about singing my own song and encouraging others to sing theirs.
We are taught in our culture that we must be a slave to money and fear, that our stories are not important. That we need to be secure rather than happy, wealthy rather than fulfilled. The idea of a fulfilled and meaningful life has been shunted aside, we are asked instead to give up what we love for what we are told that we need. The first death, I think.
I believe that our stories and songs are important, and I will tell my students that we are each going to sing our own songs in my class. Usually, when people describe the writing classes they have taken, they sound like they’ve just had an enema.
I hope that will be different in my class.
More than half the class are returning students, which I take as a great compliment, others new. The class is full, Red will be there as the writing dog, I see that he has become my partner in just about everything. I will be doing more hands on editing in this class, but as in previous classes, we will quickly become a community of encouragement and help one another.
I love teaching in this way – there is no lesson plan – just as much as I disliked the politics and bureaucracy of teaching college (NYU) when I taught for several years. I am just not cut out for large institutions, or for other people telling me what to sing.
I have been trying to sing my song my entire life. When I was little, my parents and I were never singing the same song, they never much cared for mine, we were never headed in the right direction. My teachers never liked my song, they were always trying to get me to sing their songs and those of other people.
The idea of singing my own song is sacred to me, it is the found of creativity, of spirit, of spirituality and of a meaningful life, it was the point of my long trek on the hero journey, it is what the animals have always sung to me, what the carriage horses of New York sing to me now, what Chief Avrol Looking Horse taught me on that park bench in New York City this summer, what I strive for in my writing and my photography.
Every photo, every blog post, every book and story is a verse in my song, I will sing my song to the last breath, and will not again let anyone tell me that my stories are not important, that my song should not be sung.
Maria and I are committed to this idea, our life is our song, and it is a joy every day to be able to sing it. In my class, we will talk about structure and language and emotion, but more than anything else, I hope each student will leave the class believing that his or her story is important, that it deserves to be heard. I hope they will be singing their song.
