So we are coming up on one year since the MOVE; the chapter that ended when Alice and I finally pulled up stakes and left the home in Temple. I must say, the stress level this year is greatly reduced. Instead of living in “tidy-ville” and running our lives around a lack of funds and strangers inspecting every bit of our daily lives, we are settled in Harrisville by the lake.
If there’s been a break in the thunder storms but the humidity is still soupy, we venture down to the dock and I plop Alice in the cool water. I rake the silt away from the sandy bottom while she puddles around, lapping and shaking the whole dog in turn. Tonight a family of Mallards passed by. They were diving, butts wriggling at the sky, webbed feet slashing. Soon they righted themselves and chomped down soggy acorns from the bottom. I pointed them out to Alice, “git em!” I cheered encouragingly. She gave me a look that said, “Do I look like a golden retriever to you??!!”
No Retriever DNA here
I had no idea 12 short months ago that I would pull my ass out of the proverbial frying pan and be this happy ever again. That’s why I know it is so important to write it down; every day, or every month, even just every whenever. Being able to give myself the gift of time and memories is paramount to helping get through the tough patches and appreciate this time on earth.
I have moved from publishing a memoir, baring my soul daily in blog posts, to quietly observing it all just for me. The need for acceptance and outside appreciation has dried up. It just isn’t in my DNA. What this means in the big picture as I watch time march on is still unknown but the direction seems true.
Therapeutic Misadventures 