Down for the Count Up, 7

AT SEVEN, SEPTEMBER 30, 2013

At Seven:
It’s hard not to be bitter when something is taken away from you.
It’s even harder not to be bitter when someone is taken away from you.

Even though you know things were going to get worse; even when you know that all there was to look forward to was suffering. It doesn’t help at all when the truth is they’re in a better place. The reality does nothing but make me wonder if I would have been strong enough to carry on for however long the carrying on might have taken, and why I wasn’t given the chance to find out.

I’m so wrapped up it in; cocooned in the sacred wool of a spiritual blanket keeping my soul sufficiently warm, and mercilessly rashing my skin. It’s impossible to divide the blessing from the curse.
It’s hard not to be bitter when the most common roll of life’s dice is seven, and I keep coming up on the less common low end. The biblical significance of seven (in creation, in time, in color, in sound, in seas, in wonders; completeness) isn’t lost on me, but brings no comfort, either.

On the surface it seems like everyone is rolling lucky, though odds are it isn’t true. It’s best to pray through the distortion, and answer questions of true meaning. Would I want to be anyone else? The answer is more than just a reasonable “No, of course not.” Because “No,” in this case, really means to some extent I am satisfied. I’m self-accepting of permanent quirks, still annoyed with bad habits. I can’t do everything I want to do, but I can do some things and still somewhat responsibly make ends meet.

I still need to worry about the future, not obsessively, but practically, with GOD given logic, and an un-jaundiced eye to the world. The sevens are out there. I believe, so I keep looking.

Leaps & Unexpected Bounds

I learned that runt meant Sadie was just behind the doggie curve… not destined to remain inherently mellow.

Miss Fred learned she could hide under the wooden rocking chair, shoot her left paw out and slap Sadie’s face as our tireless pup ran by in pursuit of her red ball.

We doggedly tried to get that on video tape, sure we could with $10,000 on America’s Funniest Videos. Back then video meant a large clunky machine with a blinding light near the lens. It didn’t help that it needed to be retrieved from the office closet, either. We left it out on the dining room table for a very long time. Freddie never cooperated.

Jeff learned something, too. “Hmm,” he said self-quizzically one day, after Sadie got into what Jeff humorously named the “no-bake doggie buffet.” She’d root around in Fred’s box and stealthily eat the crunch-coated brown stuff. The thing is she wasn’t as stealth as she thought, but by the time we saw the cat litter impacted in her nostrils, the deed had already been done. “Ya know,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’d ever heard you yell – before we got a dog.”

At about 6 months old Sadie had appropriately doubled her width, but something wasn’t quite right.

As she grew, her legs grew to twice the expected height. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with her long limbs, either. Instead of a low-to-the-ground JR scoot, Sadie pranced around like Bambi.

I said to Jeff, “I don’t think she’s normal.” Jeff glanced over at me and asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean… her legs, and her tail…” I pointed to where Sadie stood smiling. “She shouldn’t be that tall. She’s like a Jack Russell on stilts! And her tail? Is it supposed to be that long….?”

 Jeff tilted his head to that doggie-don’t-understand angle. After a beat, he peered over his glasses at me. “I told ya she looked different and probably wouldn’t get adopted…”

I tilted my head to an unnatural angle even for a dog and said, “What?”

“Yeah,” he said shrugging his shoulders. “She didn’t look like the other ones…. and her tail didn’t get docked because she was too tiny and weak.”

I struggled with this news. “She was weak?” I asked. “Sickly?” I asked. “We got a defective dog?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Jeff said eyeballing me cautiously. He gnawed on his bottom lip, took a big breath and sighed. Looking at the floor, he pressed his lips together like he was trying to come up with the just right thing to say. Nodding once to himself, he looked up and continued on patiently, “That’s what runt means.…”

Quote for the Week:

2017 08 14 you should always know the meaning jakorte

Enjoy this Week’s Discovery Links:

The First: Dictionary

Word of The: Day

Definitions: Runt