Saturday, October 20, 2012

When Life Intervenes

A monstrous month it has been - full of troublesome times, busy work life (which is a good thing, I keep telling myself) and the usual canine concerns...Sarge's schedule has been hellish for us both - though surely worse for him. He hasn't worked a set week of nights yet, each week requiring some switch to days for meetings, training, or staff issues.

I've been storing away thoughts to annotate here but they always seem to fade away when the keys are beneath the fingers. I had a whole story about the Malamute baby's refusal to succumb to nail trimming and her preference for walking on the smooth concrete instead of the adjoining blacktop...lost now to the ages. (Stop with the "phew!" I can hear you.)

They are both quiet, now, having bellies filled with beef bones from the rancher at the farmers market in town. Blessed quiet from them while Tina Turner rocks on the Roku, and I play the 3-Gun widow all day. Speaking of which...the 2013 event will be amazing. Let's just say that Sarge has been working hard on the background doings and if it all comes together as planned it will be astounding. I admit that I am sometimes geeked out by the connections we have to the most incredible people. Well, that Sarge has - I am merely the remora swimming alongside for the leavings. But it is because he is a man of his word, a true gentleman, and a damned smart guy. People naturally want to be associated with him...

Me? Hell, this says it all.
I don't make friends like Sarge does. I just lure them in with cookies.

Meanwhile, I've hit nearly everyone's site while playing catchup and use Ed's lists for same because he really does have the best ones - but today's visit and the darkened format has me full of dread and fear. We all know how we generate these tenuous relationships - more than just habit, more than just acquaintances; any break in that cord of communion brings a sharp pain in the mind. Sick, yes, but I send thoughts to Aether and the Aesir to bring his Teutonic ass back to us in a fair shape.

Words swing round and round these days as people parse lies and innuendo to decide which lesser evil to swallow down whole. I have taken to my library (Audible, these days of commutes) to distract. And in one - Luttrell's Service - was a brief annecdote that I hadn't heard elsewhere and sent chills through me. He spoke of the wheel turning - the fiery ferris wheel of battle, of loss and of conquer...

I had a dream perhaps 20 years ago. A crowd hundreds deep surrounded a ferris wheel that blazed in darkness and from it hung people and from it they would burn or fling or hang...I looked beside me where an officer had appeared. "Why don't you stop it?!" I begged. His stoic tone answered simply, "The wheel must turn..." and I seemed to find a kind of peace in it - that in every age it had spun and through every age it would remain. We shall all have our time on it and time watching and time shepherding the confused surrounding it.

It was a deep reminder of years gone and a strange one in that I'd never heard it mentioned before. Yet there it was couched in tales of suffering and carrying on. What was there to do with that memory? Tucked away in that box again, behind that door in that shadowed corridor of the mind. "Move out," comes the command...and so we do, smartly.