I Always Believed in Music

Me and my big brother, 1970

“You live your life in the songs you hear on the rock and roll radio. And when a young girl doesn’t have any friends, that’s a really nice place to go.” –Angie Baby (O’Day, 1974)





Chris and I arrived in Troy, NY last night just in time to get a table for a nice dinner at Daisy Baker’s across the street from the Troy Music Hall before the concert. I was happy to have made it. I could relax and breathe in the relief of being on the eve of a well-earned four-day weekend. As we ate, my husband asked me if I was excited about the show. Yes, I was, but it’s more than that I told him. I feel like we are here to see someone really important. I knew words couldn’t express it, I felt a lump in my throat as I tried to speak of it. Yes, anyway I told him- I am thrilled. I didn’t think she’d ever sing again.

 Helen Reddy came out of retirement this year and we were about to see her “Intimate Evening With” show right across the street. I knew she would still be good 40 years after her string of hit songs dominated the radio waves of my childhood in the early seventies. I should say- I knew, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know Helen would be so enchanting that I would completely lose myself in that theatre seat. This was special. This was one of those rare experiences when theatre magically made time stand still as performance transcended reality.

 Toward the end of the evening, Helen said she would like to share a poem that she wrote 40 years ago, I snapped to the reality that the show would be coming to an end. She meaningfully recited I Am Woman in its entirety, before singing it. “Yes, I am Wise, but it’s Wisdom born of pain. Yes, I paid the price, but look how much I’ve Gained. If I have to, I can do anything. I am strong. I am invincible. I am Woman.” (Reddy, 1971) 

Vegas, 1977, No I didn't see the show.

I thought about what I’d tried to express to my husband over dinner earlier. Helen Reddy’s importance was never all about I Am Woman for me. I know it’s what she’s remembered for, but I loved all of her songs. One of my earliest memories in life is carrying the “Free and Easy” album up to the register at K-Mart in Des Moines in 1974. I already had some of her other records at home that I’d play on my little blue record player, but this was exciting! I discovered a new Helen Reddy record in K-Mart! My mom said yes and she bought it for me! I then brought it into McDonald’s with me and stared at her illustrated portrait on the cover where we went for lunch across the street that day.

I loved all of her records when I was kid. First, it was records, then I switched over to buying music on 8-track format after my dad convinced me they’d be better… eventually cd’s, now something else… -So much for the ways of the world making sense, let alone human emotion. I’m just glad Helen Reddy is singing again! Maybe it never made sense that I loved her. Maybe it never made sense that she was important to me. Maybe it doesn’t make sense that every song made me cry last night, but I’m so glad they did and I’m so grateful that I do.

 Angie Baby, you’re a special lady. Living in a world of make-believe… Well, maybe… Well, maybe… (O’Day, 1974)

Lina's Tale

Last night I was looking at random videos on my computer, most of them shared a common subject- Lina, our extra-special basenji. I found a very personal one I'd taken with my old phone where I could be heard talking behind the camera filming Lina on the sofa. It was January 2009, a time when we were dealing with sadness and navigating options a few weeks after her cancer diagnosis.  I’m telling Lina not to worry, that we are going to have a great year and that I would just follow her lead. She is seen confirming with her eyes and nodding in agreement. Lina nods and blinks and wrinkles her forehead in the most understanding ways when she is listening. I tell her I think she is very wise, and in watching her response, there is little room for doubt. All we really had to do was follow her lead.


Lina has impressed everyone with her continuing good health. She's been a living miracle for years now.  Generally, vets and professionals say they've never seen a dog do this well with her type of cancer. Dr. Margo Roman, Lina's holistic vet told me she believes Lina's story should be shared- people should know about this and benefit from it. She asked me to write, and I recognized that I had been waiting for her to ask.

I want to share something amazing here, the thing is, every time I start to write about Lina, I’m reminded that I thought she was amazing long before she became a medical miracle. It’s so easy to blurt out her status, she remains strong and happy and healthy, even though over 3 years ago, several vets and Tufts Veterinary Hospital gave her 3 months to live after they did a biopsy on her nasty cancer- TCC. We figured we’d do our best to beat it and figured out how to beat canine cancer by being so smart, etc., blah blah blah. It’s harder to actually know that what we’ve done is so right. Besides I only take credit for being the one to give Lina all the credit. Through the seeking of professional help and finding ourselves offered terrible options, I was empowered to find something else to do. By following my instincts and taking the lead in Lina’s care, I thought, well at least I would be trying something. I wanted our efforts to be a success, but I’ll get to that later. The thing is, the story I really want to tell about Lina is the love story.

Two times in my life, I hugged someone when we first met and recognized a feeling of destiny. I will always remember that night Lina gave me a hug, back before she was even our dog. The only other “first hug” I hold a memory of was when I met Chris, my husband, Lina’s other daddy back in 1995. By the night we met Lina in 2003, Chris and I had just bought a house so we could get a dog. Our first project after moving in was fencing in the backyard so we’d be ready when the right one came along. We scanned the listings on a basenji rescue website. One contact led us to Lina. She was four years old. I saw her and I knew, but Lina wasn’t even the dog that her owner, Angel Smith wanted to give up for adoption that night.  She had two female basenjis and had to let one go. They were feuding such that there would be physical violence if one or the other dog wasn’t crated. The dog up for adoption was the black and white basenji -another female… We’d already heard their story on the phone. On sight, I knew the red and white one with the sensitive expression- Lina, was our dog.

Angel said that someone would have to offer a really perfect home for her to give Lina up as a "golden opportunity dog" again. You see, Angel had placed Lina a few months earlier with some woman who changed her mind after a month and didn’t like Lina and returned her (which I will never understand, but am forever grateful.) Lina had been given back. I told Angel with no hesitation that we could offer Lina the perfect home, I agreed to every stipulation, including keeping ours a one-dog house.

We were granted the privilege of taking Lina out for our first date that night. As we drove away from Angel’s house for our ice cream date, Lina wrapped her head and arm around my shoulder and sighed the sweetest sigh in my ear. I will never forget that hug. It was a rare moment of expression. We went on with the evening and afterward we all agreed on our return at the end of the week to bring her home with us for a trial weekend.

Over the next few days I thought how funny that Chris and I had been having an ongoing discussion of dog names all summer and one of our female name favorites was “Angelina”-  I was having thoughts of destiny…


Lina came for the weekend, it went well and I called Angel that Sunday and told her I really didn’t see the point in returning Lina only to begin the transition later. We were ready to offer Lina a “forever home”. Instead of returning her, we agreed that Angel would visit our house the following week and we could work out all the details for Lina. That’s how she became our girl.

Since then, Lina is central to our family, including our holidays- especially Christmas, vacations- especially going to Provincetown. She is comically well behaved dining out at patio restaurants. She loves the sun and sand on the beach. She relishes the change of pace and togetherness of vacationing together- truly a shining example of openness to the blessings of a good vacation. We’ve already booked our rental for June 2012. We always enjoy sharing the anticipation of holidays with her. Lina knows that we are grateful to have her, thankful for presence, and appreciate her specialness. There are many details to share about our life together and the role she fills in our lives, but I want to be clear about Lina’s confidence and sense of importance in our family. She is loved and appreciated and she knows it.

January 2009, the shattering news came from the Oncologist at Tufts Veterinary Hospital confirming Lina’s diagnosis of TCC- transitional cell carcinoma. The biopsy results left no question about it she had inoperable cancer in the bladder and it was likely to spread. They gave her 3 to 5 months to live- without chemotherapy, or with chemotherapy- best case scenario, 5 to 7 months. Possible treatment options were unpromising and risky with inevitable side-effects.

The vets at Tufts left little room for hope. It was going to be terrible. I told them I just couldn’t believe it. She was so healthy- the only indication was a slight change in pattern when she urinates. She didn’t seem sick in any way. She was 9 years old at the time and energetic and had never been sick a day in her life. The vet said, "I know it's hard to believe, she does seem strong and healthy, we’ve seen this many times. She'll live for as long as she can pee- for as long as she can get her urine out. Then, at some point the tumors will grow too large, block the flow and she won't be able to pee. Then she dies in 3 days. As cancer’s go, this is a really terrible one."

What could I say but no? No all around- no to everything they offered, no to 3 months, and no to this being everything we could do. I accepted a prescription for meloxicam, an anti-inflamatory medication. After adjusting the dosage down, it didn’t seem to hurt anything. Chris and I went over and over all their treatment options for months, sometimes agreeing about what to do, sometimes not. We considered everything that Western Veterinary medicine had to offer and nothing ever sounded right to me for Lina.

How could I opt to make a choice like chemotherapy or radiation or inserting a urethra tube that would have risks and side-effects and immediately weaken her when she was strong and healthy and seemed fine? I just wanted to keep her that way. No matter what I did, it sounded like it was to be the end of a lot of things for us (-but it wasn’t.) How could it be that we weren’t going to have a great summer together? (-but we did.) Chris and I were stunned and hurt by the news. We left in tears. The vets at Tufts were very convincing. Do I wish I'd covered my ears? -Maybe it was the harshness of the news that sprung us into action to find a better way to give Lina every advantage. Could we have done as well without fear?

I was going to ensure her the perfect diet and exercise- walks 2x a day. One thing was clear. Lina hated going to the vet, she was going to tremble and show her misery every time we took her to an appointment. All along I was gaining a wealth of information and advice online. Different things had worked for different dogs. It was clear that Lina would benefit from a mostly grain-free diet. Beyond that, I wanted to follow my instincts but I didn't know where to start. I scheduled a consult at MASH with a holistic/homeopathic veterinarian to point us in the right direction. I was hoping Lina would show her wisdom and appear more relaxed through the appointment, but no such luck. She shook and trembled in horror as we entered the door.

However, we left with renewed confidence along with Lina's first bottles of natural supplements and began adding them to her every meal. We also learned about some alternative optional therapies for Lina. I knew that I needed to do something. Doing nothing would have felt terribly wrong to me.

I don’t know why I asked Dr. Kabler at that visit about the little figure on the wall shelf marked with acupuncture points. It was for tong ren she told me- "really out there"- an energetic form of acupuncture. It sounded very strange to me, but in the coming days I found that I kept thinking about it. I was glad that I had grabbed a business card for it on the way out. I was intrigued at the possibility of tong ren as part of the spiritual piece of helping Lina face cancer. Not only did it fit the criteria of treating Lina at home, but I read some remarkable testimonials about successful results in treatment. So we contacted the name on the card- Marcia Zais. I could tell Lina responded to tong ren from the very first treatment. We started with one or two times a week. About a year later the tools for tong ren fell into my hands and I learned enough to participate in the practice. It’s so normal for us now that I tend to forget that it’s “really out there”. We have a relaxing routine doing her therapy while listening to animal healing music.

So, over three years of all of this now, it’s hard to call to mind all aspects of the journey. I’ve learned invaluable lessons about fear and dealing with fear and working through fear. Lina’s symptoms have varied from little or nothing and to very concerning at times. For much of the second year she appeared to drip blood in her urine, but she never acted sick or uncomfortable or weak. I often say that we are doing what we can but when it comes right down to it, Lina gets the credit. Whatever it is she has to deal with, she is dealing with it.

Then one day last fall, Lina was sick. She appeared swollen and weak after we'd left her home with a babysitter for a two-night getaway. I could see that she wasn’t doing so well on our return and she worsened through a sleepless night. Chris wanted to take her to Tufts in the middle of the night, which I just couldn’t see as productive or helpful for her. I wanted to hold her through the night and call Marcia Zais (animal communicator) in the morning. My plan worked out well for Lina, Marcia identified Lina’s discomfort as not being the cancer, but an infection. We got her in to see Dr. Roman (holistic vet) later that morning and it took little convincing to start her on antibiotics. Lina responded almost immediately and hasn’t been sick since.

As for the specifics with changing up treatments and supplements over time- I leave it to instinct. One supplement with multiple types of algae in it that was effective in treating survivors of the Chernobyl disaster, as well as cancer survivors was central for a long time. Now we’re doing cranberry extract with a couple of nutritional ones and regular drops of “Tinkle Tonic”, before that it was an essiac tincture. Certain recommended healthy options appealed to me as they sounded like they would taste good for her. Her after-walkies snack every morning consists of 2% yogurt with fish oil. Lina has always loved to eat a variety of healthy foods including fruits and vegetables and I didn’t want to get to adding so much stuff to her food to compromise her pleasure of eating. She loves real food and she gets it. Meat, fish, eggs and vegetables (although we also use high-quality canned sometimes), fresh vegetables (raw green beans are her favorite) combined with rotating supplements, two walks per day along with regular tong ren treatments.

I’ve learned a lot about love and energy, visualization and anticipation, and faith and belief too. Every event becomes a milestone. Birthdays. Holidays. Christmas. Summer Vacation. I’d never have guessed it, but these really were to be the best years. Lina has blown away her odds for survival and continues to live a very happy life. I will forever be inspired by her success and her energy.

Like the Weather

The Weather Channel says we’ve got a major hurricane hitting tonight. I believe them, I’m just not buying into belief that I personally have anything to worry about. I think we’re going to be ok. Could this kind of weather really be so much worse than anything we’ve seen before? I can accept the weather. I can accept it as mood. Changes in weather once played a part in a much needed lesson for me.

Concepts of weather and mood were coming to the forefront when I first made the big move from Phoenix to Boston after I graduated from ASU in 1994. Growing up in Phoenix, I wasn’t accustomed to seeing much variety in the weather. It would get to the point each year when it went from hot to hotter and so on. Rain in Phoenix was kind of a big deal, not only because it was wet, but because it was something of a rarity for any day to day variations to factor in. In Phoenix, the weather was rarely a consideration, and in New England it always is. Locals here would say to me with a laugh, “If you don’t like the weather in New England, wait a few minutes!”

I arrived in Massachusetts in September of 1994 in my old Toyota. The season was turning to fall and I soon learned that I had not much use for my summer clothes already. The weather was a constant factor in approaching the beginning of a day, because anything could happen. One day could be very different than the next in every way and all the possibilities for change within. I wasn’t used to that.


I took all of it in over the next few months, watching the weather through my window, driving around and watching the leaves fall from the trees, or taking the train into Boston through the wind and rain. The weather was always creating some kind of scenery and although hidden parts of me missed the constant sunlight, I was intrigued. What beauty!- but it was more than that, depression was creeping up on me and it was more than homesickness.

One mid-October day, I was winding down a tree-lined road up on the North Shore with the colorful leaves falling all around. It was like a scene from a movie, and I felt I had an epiphany. I’ll never forget it because I built inspiration and concepts from these thoughts for years. There was an emotional connection in art and movies that people generally understood and drew from that I had been missing from lack of experience. A connection that I recognized- I got it, but I never felt it.

Which Woody Allen movie were these falling leaves reminding me of, setting a depressing tone? It didn’t matter which one really, movies and books would often set a tone through weather. As a Phoenician I lacked the context to relate! Here I was
settling into my new home in denial of my depression- likely caused by lack of sunlight and short days and, boy oh boy could I ever relate now. I was too stubborn to turn around and go back to Phoenix- I was going to tuff it out. I had made myself a promise that I would stay at least 6 months before I even considered surrender.

Fall turned to winter, then soon I was waiting for winter to end, I was aware of having given it my six months. I’d come this far, why stop now- in truth, I’m sure, I was too depressed to even consider turning around and moving anywhere to change my life. In March, I learned that in New England, winter isn’t over in March and when the scenery isn’t white, it’s gray. It wasn’t all bad. I loved the snow- I still do. I loved my apartment in Salem. I was forming new relationships and the truth was, I didn’t know that parts of my being missed the sun. If anything, I was enjoying a break from it. However, the soggy gray days of winter were becoming harder to accept as the long end of winter continued. Besides feeling homesick for my old boyfriend, my old friends and my family in Phoenix, the result of all these weather considerations was stifling! Good conditions some days, and others bad. -That I could accept. Some days happy, others sad- harder to accept. Still I was bogged down with these short-term judgments. In effect, I was clouding my ability to see the richness of possibilities in my future.

If I could accept the ever-changing weather, couldn’t I simply accept my own moods and feelings like the weather? Couldn’t I just look at the day and accept what was being presented inside and out and prepare and go on with it? If I could enjoy a stormy snowy day, how about accepting one on the inside? How about letting choice to accept be a major factor? I didn’t have to add to any of it by labeling any of it as unacceptable! In other words, on top of feeling sad, I didn’t have to feel bad about feeling that way!

In retrospect, I was too young to simply choose to have a good attitude everyday. I had to get to that point in stages. Letting attitude take the lead wouldn’t become my goal until years later, but it was powerful to me to let acceptance be a factor all those years ago. I still look back on my time in Salem in my late 20’s and early 30’s as the end of my adolescence. Some really great things happened through my struggles there.

Hurricane or tropical storm? Who knows what the weather has in store for us this weekend? Power outages? At least I know how to translate a power outage to my mood. That sounds pretty good actually. I think I’m due for one. Only please, on the inside, not so much on the outside.

Grandma's Piano

"Ain't she sweet?
See her coming down the street.
Now I ask you very confidentially,
Ain't she sweet?"

I hold a vivid memory of Grandma sitting at her piano in Corydon, Iowa, 1975, playing and singing her song for me. I can still hear her voice in my mind and I can still see her smiling eyes and face as she did her little song. I was six years old. I never heard the song before or since, but as I write here, the next verse of Ain't She Sweet seems to want to come out. "Oh me, oh my! Ain't that perfection!" Maybe I remember this song best because Grandma Rissler would more often play and sing hymns. As a child, I guess I felt that her Christian/church-going side was less fun than her card-playing/ musical side. I always had a much greater appreciation of her fun side.

Grandma Rissler was the first to teach me to play piano. She had a duet that she taught me the parts to in stages over the years. I always enjoyed it and our little song came to have a rockin' feel to it when we played it together in later years. It's still the song that I'll play every chance I have to sit down at a piano. She first taught me the song on her upright piano. I think my mom said she also learned to play on that upright piano of Grandma's, but that must have been before someone painted it green. I always knew it as the green piano. I remember it so well in Grandma's old house, but she and Grandpa must have moved out of that house when I was about 8 years old. Then the piano went to my Aunt Ginus's house where it remained until now.

Over the 4th of July weekend, my brother and I played parts of Grandma's duet together when we had a quiet moment in my Uncle Jimmy's house in Chicago. Our families had met there for Cousin Emily's wedding celebration. My time at Uncle Jimmy's house was just a stop on the way to the airport for me. Chris and I were on our way home to New England. Freddy was going to stay another night before traveling to Iowa to visit Aunt Ginus's farm the following day. I was a bit envious, I could have used some more family time. Besides, I always loved Ginus's old farmhouse and I'd love to see it again.

I spoke to Freddy on the phone some days later when we were both home. He filled me in on the rest of his midwest trip. He also told me that he learned that Ginus and Uncle Stan had tried to give Grandma's piano away for some years, to no avail. Nobody wanted it. I guess the green paint along with some permanently out of tune keys made it less than desirable to people. They wanted it out of their house now to make room for a pool table and were considering burning the piano! Freddy responded to Uncle Stan that his only feeling about it was that if he was going to burn the piano in a bonfire, he'd like him to do it while Freddy and his family were there for the July 4th Holiday! -So they did it! Uncle Stan built a big bonfire and dumped the piano on top and they all watched it burn to ashes!

I took this news in and it all felt like really big news to me. I must admit, I hadn't thought of that old piano for years, I didn't even really know that Ginus still had it. I found myself thinking sentimentally of that piano often as the next few days passed. It was just a piano, but I felt a sense of mourning for its demise and a real longing came with the memories that were popping up. I smile when I think of all these feelings now, my emotions were probably still cooking from Emily's wedding. I'd had a bit of quality family time and it wasn't enough, and I knew I had wanted more. My time in Chicago had been wonderful and filled with rare and special moments and feelings. It was all over now, and coming down from it left me depressed. I'd also looked forward to seeing my mom in Chicago for months of anticipation and was deeply disappointed by her last minute cancellation. Now this talk about the piano and I guess I probably wanted my Grandma back too. It seems I'd fallen into a bummer of an exercise in sentimentality. What did I need to care about Grandma's old worthless piano anyway?

Then a few days later, my sister-in law posted the pictures of the event. (Thank you, Jordel- I love these pictures.) I was surprised at the emotion I felt as I looked at the photos of the piano in flames. I put my hands over my face as my eyes swelled with tears and I just gave into it and sobbed for a few moments.

Then I let it all go. When it's time, its time. It was beautiful and sad. It was a treat to celebrate these thoughts of my Grandma Rissler whom I will always hold dear in my heart. I have to say, wasn't she sweet? Wasn't she really, really sweet.

Lina Takes Us Away

Now join your hands, and with your hands, your hearts.

-William Shakespeare

Coming back to Provincetown at dusk one evening, we took Commercial Street from Route 6A in the far West End. Chris, Lina and I were on our way "home" to our quaint old summer rental for the week -The Old Homestead. We were about to head in for the night. After a few blocks, Lina stood up and indicated that she needed to get out of the car to do some business. Chris pulled over to let Lina and I out to walk while he went on up the road to find parking. I figured Lina needed to go potty. She took the lead, walking me up the street. I'm thinking she was just finding the perfect spot to do her business, or rather, I was probably not thinking. I was just following along. Lina was taking me through an old familiar territory and I hadn't realized it. She knew this walk, this is why she wanted out of the car! She was taking us back to another nearby favorite summer home on the bay that we'd rented a few years ago.

Chris soon caught up with us and Lina took us to a special private garden- a place that we knew. Lina is so funny when she gets in one of her moods to lead us on an adventure- revealing her wisdom. Usually she'll take a routine trek on our walks. However, just occasionally enough to be surprising, she'll get motivated to think outside the box! More often, she finds inspiration when we take a family walk. Perhaps having our "pack" together motivates her to get creative and explore more, or maybe she just wants to show us what a creative leader can do. We don't know, but she knows. She'll choose the way and break in a new route for us. It always makes me smile when I realize that she's doing it. This time was extra special. We were on vacation, and we were all feeling it. Besides, she wanted to visit her old familiar place.

We had been invited to this amazing garden some years ago when staying here on the far West End of Commercial Street. We visited the garden daily during those holidays. I still love this place and it's hard to explain how I felt explicitly welcome just walking my little dog right into this beautiful garden. All the while maintaining a feeling of serenity. Welcome.

Lina took us in at dusk and I made up my mind that we'd have to come back in the daytime for a better viewing. Lina was loving it and she was taking her time, lingering in the growing darkness. I was happy to follow. She led me through the crushed seashell paths. Feeling some bug bites, I told myself I didn't mind- this is just something that happens on a June night. After some time we'd circled back to the front and we were about ready to exit. We paused, a feeling of deja vu came over me and all at once I knew why and turned around. I looked at the garden behind me. I gazed across the now dark scene and saw the lightning bugs. "Fireflies!" They were lighting up all over the garden. This was one of only a handful of times that we've ever seen them. They were putting on quite a display on this special June evening. I took my husband's hand and we watched them lighting up throughout the expanse in the darkness.

We all love this garden, it truly is a special place for us. We visited again a few days later to take it in under the spectacular morning light. I cherish our memories going into this peaceful setting.

Mr. Jenkins

This morning Lina and I started off on our morning walk. We saw our friend Vivian with a man on the next street over through a neighbor’s yard. It wasn’t typical of them to stop and stand on the road over on Rte. 135, but we didn’t give it much thought, other than hoping to catch up with them to say hello. We rounded the corner and saw that, of course they were with Nicole, Vivian’s poodle and constant companion, who I refer to as Lina’s “friend” (I’m not sure if Lina is convinced, but that is another story entirely.) As they walked toward us, I could physically see that the man with Vivian was obviously her son, Doug who visits from Milwaukee.

I was anticipating a fun little chat and it was only as they approached stating that they had been staying with a dead cat on the side of the road that I saw the dead body and felt the sorrow of what had happened. Vivian said he was a beautiful animal with white paws and was obviously loved and well cared for. They had telephoned “Mr. Jenkins” at the phone number on the cat’s tags, and the man was coming. They also called the animal control officer fifteen minutes ago, but as we all understand in Westborough, you have to wait for him to get out of bed. Vivian’s son had a flight to catch, and they were considering moving on, but didn’t want to leave the body alone.

We were a few house lengths away from Mr. Jenkins’ body as we talked and shared animal stories. Vivian had lost a Siamese cat years’ ago that got hit by a truck barreling over the hill, and her family had felt much grief and sadness over the loss. I shared that I understood how very difficult these losses are and shared my experience of my beagle, Penelope who died when I was five years old, struck by a car. As I write this I realize that I shared a pared down version leaving out details of this tragedy and loss in my life. I was probably lucky that I was only five years old at the time and unable to comprehend the depth of the tragedy as I was aware of today.

After five more minutes, the animal control officer arrived. My only experience with the man had been his unwillingness to help with a skunk control problem at our house in downtown Westborough, and then, his willingness to participate in a systemized problem of harassment that my husband and I are having in the neighborhood, threatening to take Lina away from us when a neighbor complained of her peeing in his yard. Here he was today providing a valid service. I turned a moment later to see the cat’s well- dressed owner arrive and cover his face in sorrow as he stepped onto the sidewalk to collect his dear friend laid out there.

Vivian, Doug, Nicole, Lina and I said our goodbyes and I told Doug, Vivian’s son from Milwaukee that his mom, 82 year old Vivian is very proud of him, talks about him a lot, eagerly anticipates his visits and that we always know when he’s coming. Lina and I changed course and crossed Rte. 135 and walked down by where our friend Russ grew up and now rents out his family home. I had never met the tenants there. Across the street, Lina came to an atypical full pointing type of stop when a man pulled into the drive there. Lina was staring, so I looked over and said hello, not recognizing the man who had just collected his cat. He asked me if I was Doug, and I said no as we crossed the street toward him. He said he just got a call from “Doug.”

Then, I recognized him. I could see that he had been crying, I told him I was very sorry for his loss. I remember not knowing what to say, but tried to comfort him anyway. I think he was comforted by Lina for the moment, if anything. He was petting her. I was aware of talk coming through the speaker of his phone, and he said, "I'm stuck on a dumb conference call for work,” as he turned down the volume. I introduced ourselves- “Tom and Lina, both friends of Russ.” His name was Mason. It was then that I learned that his cat was “Mr. Jenkins.” He’d had him for over five years and when he’d moved into Russ’ house, his roommates had an indoor/outdoor cat and he decided that Mr. Jenkins could be the same. That seemed to have gone ok for some time. These unseasonably warm and sunny Spring days must have gotten to him and he ventured out to explore more enthusiastically… Now, Mason had to figure out what to do with him. I suggested he bury him in the yard and plant something on top of him. He thought that sounded like a good idea. We left shaking hands again and I couldn’t help repeating that I was very, very sorry.

Looking back on it, I think Mr. Jenkins was the cat we saw out in the yard over while out on our family walk two days ago, which was Easter Sunday, another unseasonably warm and sunny day. Lina took note of him then too. I think Lina was way ahead of me in understanding all of these events and I’m grateful that she led me over there again today. I know the unfolding of these events are likely to be on my mind for some time to come.