Soon he would say goodbye, doubtful his first taste of love would wait; boarding on the longship would begin at sunrise after two more night falls. He was not at ease nor feeling dutiful to set sail, his rough, calloused hands had been assigned to row, his grey eyes already set on defeat. In the chilly night he and his lover kept warm under a sheath of tanned hide; a warm fire encircled with stones lit up their faces. His lover was cold, she had been sweating earlier and she shared with him that perhaps she was carrying his baby. It had been two moons since her last cleansing. He held her close and rubbed her hands in his own. All night he stayed up, keeping the fire crackling and he called for a wise woman to look at his betrothed. He was given garlic for his neck and a tonic that tasted bitter as nettles to sip. He must prepare to board the longship and not fall ill. The woman wiped carefully with cool cloths the forehead and the nape of his lady’s neck and said she should be moved to the women’s tent so he too might rest. He was reluctant yet never questioned this miracle of her gifts from the God’s and believed in the sunrise of his departure his love would encircle him with the other strong women and sing a prayer to the heavens. At last he fell asleep and the fire dwindled. He was a large man, of long height with a woolly red beard; for years he had been called to help others lift heavy logs, roll stones and fell trees for boat building. His stomach grumbled and his dreams brought him no peace. His eyes closed, his mouth agape, a gurgling snore erupted. Deep within his dream state he saw his own mother, her pale white face, her eyes weary yet loving; she spoke. “Son of Gudrun, son of Ove, lift your spirit up to see. It’s been eighteen moons since we saw you. Your sister Ulla is here, too. Their faces were like a portrait in beautiful pastel inks. The heavens were soft as the first spring day when the sight of white and purple forest flowers burst through the edges of the footpath, gay as the laughter of friends when the sun was long in the sky, days were easier, their heart’s lightened by the dark winter’s end. Time for merriment and the smell of baking bread, the homecoming of the longship, strong fermented ales and hearty stews and loaves of bread with berries he could taste so sweet; stirred he woke with a gasp. One sunrise had come. He stood and walked to the women’s healing tent and the flaps were sewn shut with thick leather. “Naaaaay”, he screamed and he ran to the morning fire keepers boiling coffee and sharing porridge. Breathless, he asked if his lady was in the tent still. Blue eyes looked at one another and down. He knew the answer. He kicked the first iron pot and it swung from it’s iron chains molted flawlessly by the black smith and his apprentice. Hot scalding water splashed and the men jumped back. An old man who laid on sheep skin by the fire called for him to sit by him. His heart rapid, his cheeks red with rage, he succumbed to his elder. ” What can you say to comfort me?” The man, thin and weak voiced motioned for the giant, frightened man to sit beside him. “Are you the son of Gudrun and the sister of Ulla?” The old man already knew but asked even so. “Ya, I am.” Do you think, son of Ove that your father created such acts of arrogance when the God’s called his wife and daughter up?” Silence. “What name did they leave you?” “I am Per Ove’s son. “Well Per Ovesson do you dare to guess the will of the heavens? Are you in fear of the sea and hunger? Are you a messenger or do you serve?” ” I serve.” The so very big man, Per, son of Gudrun and Ove, brother of Ulla wept. The elderly man handed Per a smooth stone to rub and called for porridge. The big man, the thin elder and the fire keepers stood close. One by one they placed a hand on his shoulder and walked on. Night fell again and he laid by his fire alone sipping the bitter nettle tea. He did not want to dream and the silence soothed him. It had been nine cut logs when a woman he’d never seen came to stand before him. “You may see your lady now”. His lips felt numb, his eyes ashamed and he said, “Why do you want me to feel more pain?” The woman outstretched her hand and he stood. When they came closer to the tent the woman lifted the flap and there lay a clump of deep red flesh upon his lover’s abdomen. He moved closer and felt confused. Take the flesh and all of it’s blood and bury it deep in the forest. His lady did not breathe and small stones were on each eye. He did as told by the healer. Without sleep and it being soon the second sunrise he fought to keep focused on his task. Big tears from a big man with the heart of a child fell steadily down his face. When he returned he went to his fire to sleep and there sat the woman again with a white bundle of heavy fur. She stood and handed him a baby. “How can this be? My lady only missed two moons.” The woman smiled and said, “the God’s were good” and asked him to bestow a name before he sat sail. In a state of both sorrow and beauty he said, ” this is the son of Per, the son of Lea. He shall be blessed with the name of Liam.” The woman promised him the babe would be well fed and when he returned the baby would be his comfort. Per kissed his son’s forehead and slept with him in his arms until sunrise. The healers had prepared Lea’s body to be sent to sea where she would be taken up to the God’s quickly. He held one side of his love’s canvas and birch sewn raft. He did not weep for she had left him reason to believe that more would come to be good. The women sang as the longship prepared to launch. The sky was yellow and afire with sunrise. The horns blew and he pulled in unison with his mates. By sunset they placed Lea on her raft and she floated away from the boat, away from the father of Liam, the son of Ove, the son of Gudrun and the brother of Ulla. In the night the high waves plunged over the stern and wailed upon the starboard, the longship albeit strong rocked with brutal fervour. Per was the lead, each pull he thought of Liam, each horn he heard his mother calling. The God’s were trying his strength in a way he never had experienced, he was not only strong in his body now but also in his soul. The storm settled and he was sent to rest. A cool wind soothed his sweaty bruised hands and his lips cracked from the salty winds from the North Sea leaked sweet bits of blood. His thirst was mighty and he was given water with herbs to keep him quiet. His cough came on fast, deep and he heard other’s coughing, too. He spat green, thick phlegm into the sea. He hung his head over, the winds cooling his dizzying state. The head of the ship was also spewing a sickness from his body over board. Few men could guide the longship, and one by one they fell, coughing, wailing in pain, and now hope had no place for them. Another night would come, a morning with many deaths and each one was set free to float amongst the creatures that both fed on them and nourished their loved ones. Per Ovesson would be the last man to go. He ensured all were met by the God’s who knew better than he the true meaning. He would fall into a deep, long sleep, he would dream of Lea, mother of Liam and he would die proud as his father had bravely done before him. He drifted off further to sea and the sky above would open it’s arms and his soul would rise up, up, up into the arms of Ulla.
Youth, black and white, yes or no, speak or silence I hold my breath for peace, for calm, for all that is right Goodness once defined by order, authority, defined, underlined A shift of consciousness bows to the moment, the breath defines Who we are, who we were, where we are going Goodness is a portrait unfinished, a process unleashed A place where the divine encounters the ordinary, forgiveness We fall at the feet of our own making, our deeds portray shame In the darkness we long for what we could have been We are alone in our fear,truth is coveted Goodness does not hesitate nor hinder For we, the unfinished, the raw form, the model in making Suffer as we witness grief, despair, incomplete masks Why seek to better ourselves when around us a dark shadow beckons? Goodness is a portrait unfinished, a process unleashed A place where the divine encounters the ordinary, forgiveness We fall, we seek, we bow, we resonate; are we capable? The clock hand moves forward, no change is gained A decade passes, we remain.
How far can one run before all that one is trying to forget, divert, and escape comes back to where we have fled? Is this the middle of our lives where we draw a truce breathlessly, stop bargaining with our pasts and face the incongruities of our deepest emotions? Or do some of us weasel around our truer selves, aborting our most harmful and hurtful memories?
I don’t know that everyone is as introspective and determined as I to make sense of my losses and embrace my gains. Many I know continue the grand avoidance by burying themselves in newness or clinging to safe behaviours which cause them deep regret. Newness, as in changing jobs, locales, or partners. Some embrace a new religion or avert their deepest threats by falling into the huge word, and world of “addictions.”
To fully grasp ROCK’s significance, is to understand that most all of us have an inner strength, a will, one could say to push on, to overcome adversities and pursue, albeit often ignorantly, a better place for ourselves. Not all of us have the skills, in fact, most of us do not. We learn the tricks along the way, bumping into walls, heading down one-way streets that end in catastrophe and facing the unexpected dips in the road with surprise. ROCK knows that no one has control over anything other than their miniscule tasks that give them the illusion of control. Unloading the dishwasher, vacuuming, and tidying up one’s surroundings gives some people a sense of control. True adhesiveness, however, doesn’t exist. Life will get messy again and again and there is not a damn thing we can do about it but examine who we are, accept our temporary gift of living on this planet and make choices that will break our hearts, or others, lose loved ones and gain loved ones, discover our passions and cling to them, for at the end of the day it will not matter how well you ironed that table cloth, only who sat around the table with you and enjoyed your company.
LittleMe is the part many of us hide away, live with in a small corner of our memories and try to avoid. There are amazingly many whose LittleMe is quite satisfied. They were adored, cared for and have the childhood the rest of us can only dream of; we can’t undo what is done, yet we can undo how we let what was done THEN affect our NOW.
Just when I think ROCK has given all the power to LittleMe and my NOW self can live in contentment, even joyfully, there will be a wee part, still unhealed that can be triggered and the roof I have built with confidence caves in. There’s more to address with all of me and with ROCK.
For readers who have been following our journey from October 2021 perhaps you can see growth, we can, but the self-doubt is very present and MiddleMe must address some more hurts that broke her carefree ways, her giving heart and the unkindness, unfairness the world delves out and learn to shake the fear she still clamours to quell within.
I hope you stay with us on the journey as LittleMe, MiddleMe and ROCK cut through the untrodden jungle within.
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Upon a mattress of memories, covered in a blanket of words
The ceiling is removed, my mind wanders like driftwood
Washing up on the pebble coated shore
Sun hidden, yet it will shine again
Free now, with no constraints upon me
Except for those I have created myself
My eyes watch as clouds shift
Shadows of LittleMe linger yet I am not hindered
Letting go of you was the best part of me
Not caring, not wondering, no second thought remains
Rock pulled me through the stench of unrequieted suffering
Like the fires of hell, each piece of me was burned
As a steamy iron flattens out the wrinkles
Patience led to a better version of now
No longer am I tied to you
Blood bares no meaning
Selfless, I once gave you all of my dreams
My visions are only mine now
Each hour a page is turned
The further I delve into my gentleness
My heart without borders sighs
I soar above you
I always have
What makes a woman strong is not the good days
Untethered, we can face our needs
Without roses
Without holding another's hand
I hold my own
Courage to speak the words
That create our story
Defies dysfunction
Trees begin as saplings, just like me
Each branch stretches out with a bit of my growth
Each leaf is new, renewed, then falls
Like the end of summer
A bit of old me is left
An autumnal breeze is my new pulse
Rock does not sway like unbridled emotions
Together we finished another season of me
Triumphantly without your curse
LittleMe curls around her newness
Clouds will always move
As I move
Further and further away from you
I was not born brave; sorrow made me courageous
I am proud that I found peace with my anger
One by one the leaves fall away
Taking you with them
Steadfast I remain
For I am still beautiful in my nakedness
Eyes Squint as the sun rolls over the hills pulling Lm up and out of her lengthy hibernation.
There is a grace around her,calmness is rewarded with a toast of familiar aromas between her and Rock. He has stood silent, never pushing her to write or paint for he knows she always will find her bearings after all these years as one. One woman, wound in threads of her past, always mending her wounds, sometimes unravelling and redoing her old patterns. She rips at the stitching she has worked so diligently on and then regrets her lack of believing in her self.
Rock is not one to heal, he simply listens to her heartbeat, her dreams, and guards her memories with pride. He loves his protective role, yet desperatly longs for Lm to embrace him and allow their codependency to gain an impenetrable force of a love for life beyond the silences lingering between them.
Lm has indeed been writing on the walls in her stairwell, deeply hidden in her darkness she creates prose and poetry that brings heavy tears to those with a true understanding of the life she has lived, survivied and continues to embrace.
Rock pulls open a drawer where some of her writng is growing stale, longing to be shared with the world. "Go on" he insists, "Put it out there!" Lm feeling somewhat nervous takes the words she has written and takes to the keyboard of her laptop.
Poem?Prose? Lm sees no reason to give her words a title and let's it spill into print.
Like turmeric, pomegranate,and cumin, we fill the room with exotic spice.
Pungent scents of our newness exhale around our discovery, circling like a dancing nymph.
Ochre and cinnamon, brassy, hot, flesh soothed only by the midnight air.
Dainty, cool, silver falls upon our sturdy moon, a flash of our future, our beginnings. Desert orange, a flush of your cheeks.
An odd mixture of clay and clover, of cabbage and okra, we long to be the same.
We grope for the chance to blend.
We are an experiment, unlikely ingredients combined by chance.
Rock can't applaud but is pleased. His stoic face never gives way to emotion.
Dissociative still, yet hope will always be on each mornings horizon.
For new readers, I highly recommend that you return to October 2021 when Little Me was fighting the inner flight from her dysfunctional childhood and adolescence to get over her “Daddy issues”.
Sixty years and some Rock is finally letting Lm fend for herself; her regressions are fewer and her boundaries tight. There are fences to mend and some details to box up and burn. Sixty years it has taken this one inner girl to accept that her father, her idol, first love to whom no one could ever compare was and is a fraudulent character created in his head and placed into hers. No man matched his wit, his charismatic charm, his ability to control an entire room, and several other’s lives. She no longer sees him this way, in fact she pities that he was so ashamed of who he really was he had to hide behind falsities his entire life. That’s a truly gruesome story. Lm’s husband says that he knows she still ” misses him” for one of her weaknesses is sentimentality, recalling both hilarious and almost unbelievable tales of her father’s antics. Rock knew she was healthy when on her birthday her father managed to email her an ” I will always love you” birthday message. It meant nothing to her and she quickly blocked him and deleted it. It was to soothe his soul, not hers. He will be eighty this month and surrounds himself with trained sheep who jump through hoops to please him. Lm doesn’t wish him harm and from her understanding of karma, she is just as susceptible to its varietal awakenings. In a warm, cozy hotel full of books and antiques and oddities of interest she sips her Rooibos tea in soft yellow lighting, Norah Jones had sung repeatedly for an hour via the sound system and she no longer cries. Her husband has treated her to a two night get away and she knows his authenticity, his love awaits her.
The wind whips through the forest, my heart is warm, alert. The birds found cover somewhere on Mother Earth. Cold, fabulous display of Divine Nature having her way. I am beneath old quilts from my grandmother, have a fireplace and my forever lover. I welcome the scream of the Northern Sea, I am not afraid of what shall be. My heart beats with the waves, ne’r afraid of meeting my grave. Test me, taunt me, make me wince! Nothing will change the world I’m in. Rhapsody, tragedy, an orchestra of might, relieve us each dream and every damned night. Ghosts of future flying by, names of past in a flurry, twists of love in a fury. Receive my regret, my heart’s desire, give me hope in my head awhile. I love my life, my love and wonders, all I beg is that they are covered; from the bellows deep and wild, protect my hearth and my child.
My dreams don’t match yours; do they have to? Can you take the lead for your own needs? I can’t fulfill yours and you can’t fulfill mine, but I can give you love and listen to your dogged determination as you assemble your quest. Engage me. Pull from the depths of your being and expunge all of your desires; I won’t run or hide. Don’t make me guess at who you really are, what you really want or what frightens you. Simplicity can be so contrite. I don’t want to dance around my own nature; I must be, must BE, must be, ME. To hold on to you is not to let go of me; to believe in myself does not mean I do not believe in you. Trust my defiance, my arrogance and faults, for they too, are the truth of me. I am not your leader, so please do not follow. I am not compliant so please don’t beg me to change. I fall in your love and swim around and then struggle to breathe. I need US and I need me. Loosening the reigns won’t cost you my devotion, likely it will bring me closer to you as I fly. I am bored with repetitive notions, convaluted emotions, chatter and morning talk. Let us be two and one. One love we share. Another we spare.
There goes Dawgy Dawg!” shouted Sam, one of the usuals at the Purple Pineapple Bar and Grill. Lou the bartender who was mixing up Sunday morning Bloody Mary’s replied without looking up. “Shame nobody claims him.” For two years Lou had thrown scraps at the end of his shift out for Dawgy Dawg and made sure to refreshen a large pale of water for the stray, which was kept under the bar’s rough, grey wooden deck. Dawgy Dawg often could be spotted napping in the cool shade that the raised deck provided free of charge of course.
Dawgy Dawg loved people, especially children and made a perfect companion for daily tourists. Since he wore a collar, everyone assumed he was well cared for and had escaped from his owners for a run along the shore. He loved the sea, the foaming waves that kept him clean gave his fur a natural salty coat. He was often seen laying patiently by a family who was opening their picnic baskets and often got a treat or two as he was relentlessly adorable. Adorable and lonely. At night he would climb up the steps to the Purple Pineapple Bar and greet all the customers; his wagging tail and warm brown eyes were welcomed with a piece of a burger, hot dogs and even fries. Not exactly the diet a well-kept family pet would thrive on, nonetheless his white belly was full at the end of each day. Dawgy Dawg tended to lay under Sam’s feet who sat on the same bar stool everyday and night. Sam, an old surfer who often washed dishes for Lou to pay off his ongoing tab wished he could take Sam home, however what no one knew is Sam was homeless. He had a bicycle and backpack with a small pop up tent and found his shelter on the off beaten paths into the Ginkgo and yellow Birch groves that were slightly inland from the Pineapple Bar and Grill. Lou suspected he may be homeless yet never said anything, instead he let him wash dishes and do small chores for food and drinks. Lou lived in a small one room bungalow and on stormy nights he would worry about Dawgy Dawg and Sam; he knew he could not share his tiny space with anyone and when not working he liked his privacy. Lou was tall, lanky and had long salt and pepper curly hair. His eyes were pale blue, yet his moustache was his trademark. He waxed it daily and curled the tips. He’d always been a loner however he loved his small business which provided him with more than enough social interaction. Each morning he pulled his long locks back into a ponytail and put on his Purple Pineapple trademark cap and tee-shirt, along with old, faded jeans then walked down to his other home where he put on a pot of coffee and at the same time every morning Sam and Dawgy Dawg would appear.
“Coffee?” Sam smiled at Lou as always showing off his two broken front teeth. Lou cooked up some bacon and eggs and the three had breakfast together every morning. Sam parked his bike behind the building and learned he had to lock it after it had been stolen a few months back. It was found ditched by a gas station by Lou a few days later. Luckily, Sam was allowed to keep his backpack behind the bar, or he would have lost his few belongings. Sam was proud to wear a Purple Pineapple Bar and Grill t-shirt and cap everyday also. After breakfast Sam in his old cut off jean shorts would dive into the sea and take his morning bath. Dawgy Dawg always followed along, and they both had a playful start to the day.
By 10:30 the beach began to fill up with tourists and by 11 o’clock the tables and stools were full. Dawgy Dawg would make his rounds and find his own entertainment throughout the day. It was Sam who came up with the idea to make Dawgy Dawg a trademark bandana to advertise the grill’s special Pineapple smoothies and hearty burgers. Although the beach was secluded and not near the strip of chain restaurants and the boardwalk a new beach café had opened with a classier menu. It also had a sign at the entrance that read, “No Dogs Allowed”. Competition was not something Lou had ever considered; Sam took a stroll down one day and had a look at the menu. Gazpacho, taco salad, vegetarian burgers and tiramisu were just some of the items that the Purple Pineapple didn’t have. The prices were higher but it was packed with a different clientele, most clad in Izod’s and pricier sun wear. Heads turned when Sam was on their deck; tattooed, bald with bronzed leathery skin he was clearly not of the same echelon. He grabbed a take away paper menu and returned to the Purple Pineapple to report his findings. Lou had a look and said, “Let them eat cake” and laughed. He did begin to make refreshing smoothies and added a soybean hot dog to the menu. The truth is, Lou didn’t need to make any changes as it was the freestyle atmosphere, Dawgy Dawg and the music at night that brought him loyalty; a local D.J. took requests and under the colourful light bulbs strung from the rafters and along the splatted, weathered guarded rails around the deck people danced spontaneously and the tap kept flowing. Lou was an icon who had been there for years and all of his regulars loved Dawgy Dawg mingling around the bar.
One morning Lou started frying the bacon awhile Lou was began putting chairs down for the day but Dawgy Dawg did not show up. Lou saved some bacon and Sam looked under the deck. It was odd as he like Sam and Lou kept a predictable routine. Slightly concerned Sam took a look around the beach to see if he had found some children to play with. No signs of him were to be found. Two, then three days passed, and Lou put up signs and asked the regulars to let them know if they spotted Dawgy Dawg anywhere. He continued to leave scraps under the deck with fresh water when he closed for the night.
Lou deeply regretted he had not taken the stray into his bungalow at night and swore if he ever came back that on stormy nights he would provide shelter for the beloved pooch.
One morning about five weeks after Dawgy Dawg had been seen Sam overheard a couple talking about a dog and how mean the owner of the classier café had been to it. “I will never go back there again!” said a stern faced woman to her husband. “He kicked the poor thing!” Sam ran down the beach to the café and asked to speak to the owner. The server gave him a look up and down disapprovingly and said, “We aren’t looking for help.” Sam persisted. “ I don’t want a job, I am looking for a white and golden brown dog.” The server smirked. Read the sign, “No Dogs Allowed!”
The owner, a stout man with sleek black hair approached. “What’s going on here?” The server explained and walked away. “ Yes, there was a dog, a filthy one at that and I kicked him out. Was it yours?” Sam said it was a stray, but it was a regular at the Purple Pineapple Bar and Grill. The owner laughed. “Oh, this is funny; as unkempt as it’s patrons.” Sam asked the taunting man if he would let him know if he saw him again then sadly walked back up to Lou’s. After recounting the experience to Lou both feared for Dawgy Dawg’s safety. Lou asked Sam to bike down to the boardwalk and said he would call the local animal shelter to see if he had been caught and held there. It was a frantic day and the usual jolly atmosphere seemed to sink without their favourite hound near.
At closing they sat on the steps and talked in a way they never had. Sam finally admitted he was indeed homeless and that he had no known living relatives. He had a job for years as a rubbish collector then the company became privatized and he’s been let go with little notice. He had struggled to keep his apartment for a year or two with odd jobs here and there then he got behind on his payments and was evicted. He shared that he came to the tropical island with his backpack and his last bit of cash ten years ago and pitched a tent. He never thought to leave the island as the weather, despite its wild winds and storms was warm year round and it only made sense to stay. Lou shared he had been married on the mainland for twenty-five years and his beloved wife died young. The house was full of their memories, and he could no longer bare keeping the place. He had sold his house and followed an old dream of opening a tiki bar on a beach when he retired. He bought a tiny bungalow and after obtaining a permit he built the Purple Pineapple Bar and Grill himself. It kept him busy and his mind off his life’s true love most of the time. He invited Sam to come by the bungalow for breakfast instead of meeting at the grill the next morning and they parted for the night.
Sam had never been invited by anyone into their home. He woke early and took a dip in the sea to appear fresh upon arrival. Lou’s door was open and he stood in flip-flops making pancakes and said, “Morning my friend, help yourself to some freshly squeezed orange juice and take a look around. In the far back there were curtains pulled open revealing two bunk beds with it obvious that Lou slept on the bottom of the left one. Beside Loy’s bunk was an old milk crate with a stack of books and a small lamp. Between the bunks was a window and the sea breeze could be felt as he eyed the details. Simple. A round table, an old sofa and a small bathroom with a shower, sink, toilet and mirror. Sam took a peek at himself in the mirror which he hadn’t done in a while and saw he was much older looking than he felt.
“Breakfast is served!” Lou and Sam sat at the table and shared a newspaper. Lou noticed Sam squinted when he tried to read. “You want some reading glasses?” Lou inquired. “Naw, I hate news actually and just read the comics.” Lou smiled. He checked his clock above the sink and it was soon 10 o’clock. “Time to head to the grill, just leave the dishes for later.” Sam hopped on his bike and Lou walked swiftly behind him. Sam locked his bike and Lou unlocked the gated stairs. As they approached their regular duties they heard a small, “mew”. Lou looked at Sam, “hear that?” Sam nodded. Then they heard it again and it was apparent a kitten was quite nearby. Sam finished putting the chairs down and followed the sound which led him under the deck. Low and behold there was Dawgy Dawg with not one, but three small kittens cuddled against his furry belly. Dawgy Dawg’s tail thumped, as Sam called out for Lou, “Ya gotta see this!” Lou came down and his heart began to smile. Both gave Dawgy Dog a hug, rubbed his head, scratching him behind the ears as he loved. “Kittens! They are so tiny, too young to be away from their mother. I’ll bring down some milk for them and then you ride down to gas station and pick up some kitten chow, heck, while at it pick up some dog food, too. If Dawgy Dawg is going to mother three kittens he needs a better diet.” Lou ran and got his polaroid and took a few pictures to show the regulars who were forbidden to go under the deck. The day took a swift turn and Lou, Sam and all the regulars cheered to Dawgy Dawg’s return. As dusk approached an elderly woman came by and asked if anyone had seen her cat. She said her cat was pregnant and disappeared a few days ago from her camper van in the pensioner motorhome park. Sadly, a young woman told her she had seen a cat hit by a car near the gas station and her family had stopped to see if it was okay, but it hadn’t survived. Lou and Sam glanced at each other then led the elderly woman down beneath the deck. “Could these kittens be yours?” The woman had a smile that was tainted with a few tears. “I guess she had hidden them when she gave birth. I don’t know how they survived without her this long.” Lou explained that Dawgy Dawg was a stray and had been missing for weeks and they’d begun to give up on seeing him again and they were stunned to find him with three kittens under the deck that morning. “Well, he has kept them alive thus far so he has been doing something right, best to leave them be for now. My name is Kay, and I will leave kitten formula off tomorrow, that is if you don’t mind”. Lou shook his head agreeingly.
He took all the signs down and made a personal vow to keep Dawgy Dawg every night when the kittens were able to move about. A week passed and Dawgy Dawg began to climb the stairs for breakfast, greeting customers at the gate and making more and more appearances. The kittens had begun to eat more and rumble about in the sand, jumping up on Dawgy Dawg and his eyes were on them dutifully. Kay stopped by often and she asked Lou if he knew anyone who could take one kitten. She would keep the other two and be sure to have them spayed. Sam and Lou and become attached to one orange and white mischievous male kitten that made his way up the stairs with Dawgy Dawg and rubbed up against the legs of the lunch crowd. Lou blurted out without hesitation, “I’ll keep the little orange rascal.”
I’m taking them in tonight Kay said, the radio said a tropical storm was headed their way and everyone was bunkering down. She said the fancy café had boarded up their windows and the gas station had a line of cars fuelling up to go the mainland. Lou was aware of high winds and knew this would be a rough one. He told Sam to let people know they’d be closing early and to prepare to secure the Pineapple Bar and Grill as best they could before nightfall.
All the chairs were chained together and the tables folded down; the put a heavy sheet of metal against the opening to the tiki bar and nailed plywood to the open sides. Both of their caps blew off several times and it had begun to rain steadily. Lou asked Sam to grab the kitten and bike him over to his bungalow and he’d lead Dawgy Dawg the way back with a rope tied around his collar. Dawgy Dawg did not like the rope and pulled hard to get away. Perhaps he was too wild and could not be tamed. Lou gave up and took off the rope and Dawgy Dawg sprang loose and ran away so quickly Lou couldn’t catch him. The winds were picking up and the rain was now a heavy downpour which he could hardly see through. He slightly jogged back to the bungalow and his old knees were aching. When he arrived home there sat under the covered front porch, Sam, the kitten and Dawgy Dawg. He unlocked the door and all four went onside soaking wet. Sam put the kitten down inside the door and Dawgy Dawg ran about sniffing, barking happily stopping only to shake his salty fur off. Lou brought out a bunch of towels, one for the kitten, one for Sam one for Dawgy Dawg and one for himself. He put a bowl of water down and laughed. Sam turned toward the door and Lou said, “wait, where are you going?” Sam said, “my tent”. He’d been through several storms and always made it through even if he never slept as he tried to keep the tent with his few belongings steady. “ Sam, I want you to stay, I can’t take care of these two without you! Take the other bunk tonight and I’ll give you some dry clothes. It’s gonna be a bad one out there tonight.” Sam looked sheepishly down and said, “Oh, I can’t impose. I know you like your privacy and well, my tent might blow away.” Lou stood from his chair and put on a pot of coffee then said in a sincere voice, “Sam, truth is I have had enough privacy for a very long time and I couldn’t keep the grill open without your help. You are my friend. Please stay and we can check on your tent tomorrow as soon as the storm passes.” He handed him some dry clothes and pointed toward the bathroom. Afterwards Lou tuned into the weather radio and handed Sam soe hot coffee. They sat on the sofa with one very loved wet dog between them and a kitten curled up ready to sleep. “What are you gonna name him, Lou?” Good question. “How about Catty Cat?” They laughed a bit and refilled their mugs full. After years of tumultuous happenings in their individual lives, this storm they would ride out together.
Your love pushed me through walls of pain, caused me inexplicable grief and forced me to face myself. Your love has kept me believeing that life can be better, that past’s can be put to rest and life is worth living still. Your love is constant, even when you roar, stomp or confront my bitterness. You are surprisingly tender and need me when I least expect it; I feel honored by your vulnerability. Now, I face more pain; pain not from threat, regardless life breaking. I sit and watch you live from the sidelines and want so much more for you. I want to roll in the grass, make love in the forest, move my body in sync with yours…but I can’t. I can smile and feel the tears spilling from my eyes, laugh sometimes at your ridiculous attempts to amuse me, but I can never be the lover you once knew, your strength or release. For this, my true love, I am sorry. For it is not me who leaves you, alit by the frame of my spirit that awakened when I saw your arctic eyes, felt your strong embrace and the one I have known as my lover from our first kiss. No matter where pain takes me, nor the realms that seperate us, know. KNOW. You are the love of my life in beauty and in sorrow.
RealStuff by RealMe 
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