My children are both off to college now. Empty stretches of time loom before me and yet, surprisingly, my writing life seems more difficult. One look at my 2006 planner compared to this year's shows how my sons' activities structured my days and focused my writing time. They also provided me with small victories that helped bridge the long spans of inconclusive behavior required to write a novel. Yes, today's rewrite of Chapter 12 requires changes in later chapters that might take weeks to address, and the whole thing may or may not be better once I make them, but in the meantime... the boys got their homework done-YAY! Got to all their extracurriculars on time-WAY TO GO, MOM! Ate nutritious meals-EXTRA POINTS! Had no cavities-WOOHOO!
I miss the boys, but I'm happy they're out in the world testing their own balance. It was time they stop gripping the handrails created, for better or worse, from decisions I'd made. And it's not like they've disappeared. We're in touch on a regular basis, since I still give them advice they didn't ask for via e-mail, and they must write back to tell me off.
Yet still I fight bouts of sadness. Thanks to some perspective from my husband and a disproportionately visceral reaction I had to the recent news of my sister's dog's death, I think I discovered the root of my problem: I miss Max.
Max, a cock-a-poo (technically, three-quarters cock and one-quarter poo) was my close companion for 15 years. He was never destined to go find his own life; he was utterly happy to share mine. He had commandeered the Lazy-Boy recliner in my office, where he would wait patiently while I worked at the computer. If my gaze drifted from the screen, Max would sense the movement and lift his head to look at me, waiting to see if he could be of some assistance. If a problem needed extra thought, he was always happy to go outside and walk with me until a solution could be found. When clients came to meet with me, he'd jump off the chair to give them an intimidating sniff. "You'll have to excuse my secretary," I'd say. "Get back in your chair, Max," and back he'd go. We were so close that when I was under stress he was, too: we each threw our backs out a few weeks before my second wedding.
At her wonderful web page listing ten pieces of advice for writers, Jennifer Weiner lists having a dog as item 6. Max has been gone a year now, but I've been hesitant to get another pet, since this is the first time in 23 years I've been able to walk out the door without making sure everyone else has urinated, and it's great to go on a vacation without having to line up sitters. But I'm learning there can be a down side to too much freedom--we need our responsibilities. On my walk today, just thinking about getting another dog perked me right up. Hmm...
Don't get me wrong, my husband is a great companion, but he's only here in the evenings, and he's getting sick of me asking him to fetch and lick my face. I'm not on the way to the pound just yet--you know, just to look--but we'll see how long I hold out.
And Max, if cyberland connects up in some magical way to doggie heaven: I miss you, buddy.
2 comments:
When I was a girl I had a boy cockapoo named Buffy. He was the first pet I remember losing.
If you do go to the pound to look, I'll come afterward to visit!
anytime that you want to hang out with burklee, he's all yours... unless you don't have any food, then he'll be all yours AND cranky.
ps. i just remembered that i had a blog set up on here and haven't written since september... your post on Max made me miss my childhood dog (Ramses), which inspired me to journal, which then led to finding my old blog... thanks for the inspiration :)
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