Today The Girl took Bennie to some fancy clinic, to try and figure out why she can’t ride him most of the time. It was sad news ( not as sad, though, as it would be if we were horse people- which we are not : we are dog people. We care for our pets for their entire life. No horse butchers for us.) He has some hole in the bone of his right fore leg.

So The Girl tells me.

And while she loves Bennie, she wants a horse that she can ride.

You know, being a f*ckin* earth mother can be tiresome- and tedious- at times.

I can’t sleep. I thought that I could catch a nap, for I am so very tired, but as soon as I closed my book and turned off the lamp, I began to weep.

This morning The Father and I sat in a church, very close to her old house. The priest had a bunch of small, leafy plants in his hand, which he used to sprinkle baptismal water ( Holy Water) over the coffin. And then he walked around the coffin, leaving it encased in a cloud of incense.

We stood- the last ones in the church to do so- when the coffin started moving down the aisle, towards the door.

At the graveyard- only meters from her new house- we passed right by her house in fact, could see it- The Father and I circled the coffin, hand in hand, and briefly touched the wood surrounding her.

In the car, The Father tells me that he is glad that the photo of her in Bora Bora was on the prayer card, for it replaced the picture in his mind of what she looked like the last time that we saw her.

Late at night, in a forest in Belgium, where I said my last words to Cecile : We will see you again, won’t we ?

It was asked in a rather rhetorical manner, and so she did not answer. And using her walker, she left my life and entered the home of her sister.

It was The Baby who broke the oath, told me that some one had broken into our yard, leaving everything upside down. A quick glance out of my window told me that the yard looked fine, my garden was still – in a rather relative way- pristine.

A closer examination, a few hours later, as I went to putter about- as is my want- after dinner, revealed a terrible ravage. The new phlox had been dug up and tossed aside, the Sweet William was crushed, the new flax stomped to the right, the trays of seedlings that I had put out yesterday flattened, one of my bushes cracked, daffodils smashed, yet to bloom bulbs crushed.

Some one did not lock the gate to the porch correctly and the dogs had been in my garden long enough to chew the wooden handle of a knife that I use to pull out weeds to a stub. The Father discovered the dogs in my garden, as I tried – in vain- to catch a nap, I am so very bone weary tired these days. He swore the children unto silence.

They all agreed, they did not want me to be sad, they told me.

Like I wouldn’t notice.

The concept of futility is a hard concept for a kid to understand.

And being the shallow person that I am, I didn’t take the children to walk the dogs this evening. I have a right, I told them, to be angry.

Although- truth be told- I don’t blame the dogs. I blame the person who was too lazy to double check the lock.

I have tied my cracked camellia bush together with a garbage tie.

Wish me luck.

I often wonder why I bother, but I do so enjoy going out into my tiny garden and, well, just seeing how things are doing.

Good news :

The Boy passed his bike exam, surprising all of us. For whatever reason, he really, really wanted to pass the exam, The Boy even went to bed early, the night before, although he had a free ticket to stay up very late indeed, with the boys to watch football. The Father had a long, father- son talk with him about the intrinsic value of a bike diploma, as they walked the dogs together on the morning of the exam. In the future, The Father told him, when you apply for a job, no one will ask you if you have a strik diploma ( I can tie my shoes !) or whether or not you have a bike diploma ( I know the rules of the road !).

But The Boy is very happy and I am very proud of him, for I know how very hard it has been for him to learn to ride a bike.

Good news :

Today after dinner, the children and I took the dogs for a walk on the dikes. At a certain point, Buddy started frisking about, you know, hopping into the air, crouching on the ground with a let’s play attitude. None of us could remember the last time that we had seen Buddy jump. Down side : he also made sexual advances towards The Girl. Oh well, when a poodle humps someone’s leg, everyone thinks it is funny, when a newf puts his paws on your shoulders, well, I guess that one has to like big dogs to find that equally as funny.

Sad News:

Cecile’s obit was in the papers today. I only had time to check the Dagblad, as I had to race into the city, The Baby in tow, to find something to wear on Wednesday, which I think that I did, although I have sleeves and pants to shorten ( I did buy a skirt, but it is a bit too big. Like it falls down. I’ll just alter everything and then figure out what I feel the least uncomfortable in.). On Monday, I will go to the florist in town to see how the Dutch arrange to have flowers sent. I know exactly what I want, but the protocol of arranging flowers here is a mystery to me.

Good News:

Barney and Betty are going to the funeral as well. Oh, Tom will be there- of course- but I have shall be glad to have Betty by my side ( she is a vegetarian, by the way).

I like Betty fine.

Love, Wilma.

When my mother died, they had this thing called a viewing. When I asked my poor, crushed father what I should do, he told me that he didn’t give a rat’s ass, he himself would never look upon his dearly beloved Selchie looking like an Oscar Meyer Weiner.

I was 23, this is almost a quote.

The Father advised me not to go. I have never seen a person that I love being, well, dead. The Father told me back then that it was a devastating thing to see, it was a thing that one – deep in your heart- did not want to see.

I trusted him, for, what do I know. I never saw my mother dead. While time has played sad tricks upon my memories, leaving me feeling that I never had a mother at all, I know that I did, I can conjure up her face, I smell her on The Girl, I no longer think wistful thoughts, such as how she might have enjoyed her grandchildren ( or not. Do let us be real), how she might have given me helpful hints and tips. No, for whatever reason, or perhaps such a very long time has passed, I have moved beyond that aching hole, I have moved into a place where my mother simply isn’t a factor any longer.

How odd.

But going back to seeing people dead. I have all of these fancy , schmancy photos of long dead
relatives, and for the life of me (eh) I can’t imagine why anyone would chose to be photographed when dead.

In fact , I told The Father last night that I rather druthered that no one ever sees me, when I am dead.

Oddly enough, I find it to be a very private thing, nothing to photograph.

Eh, death. How heavy a topic.

We will go to Cecile’s funeral.

We will not view her.

I wonder where this custom came from. I wonder what the point of it is.

After an early dinner- an early dinner to fit around Buddy’s appointment with the vet- The Boy took his bike and went to practice- once more- for his bike exam tomorrow, and The Baby and I went into the garden , to soak the camellias. As I timed each bush, calling out Change Camellias ! ( as I stubbornly refuse to say New Bush ! ) every five minutes, I wrung my hands a bit, muttered a few oh me ! oh my!s.

It took almost an hour before The Father, The Girl and Buddy were home once more, but as The Father let Buddy out of the car, he gave me the Reader’s Digest version of the appointment : he gave me a thumbs up.

A few moments later, in a quiet kitchen, The Girl told me that the Vet had been surprised to see Buddy : he assumed that Buddy had died, Buddy’s numbers had been that terrible. But Buddy has defied all odds, he did not die within the last week, his day did not come.

He will be on pills for as long as he lives. The Girl handed me a tub of 250 pills as we stood there, by the sink. Seems to be a sort of Dog Digitalis, which I tell the family we actually grow in our yard. That one, right there, see ? You know, the sortof purple- pinky one…At a certain point, these pills will no longer be as effective and he will have to find new pills to take.

But Buddy is with us once more. I suspected as much today, when he once more found the vim and vigor to attempt to make Elvis his sex slave.

Yes, the untold story behind having two male newfs, and not the first time that we have heard it ( Bucky nearly dropped her plate when I responded to her question of What are Stan and Ollie doing ? with, well, I do believe that one there is getting a bl*w job…)

Welcome home, Buddy.

Cecile died this evening.

Yesterday, her sister let us know that Cecile was going to go to a hospice.

I loathe euphemisms, although I do indeed understand the function of them, a candied frosting covering a lethal truth..

Yesterday, The Father and I talked about when he and I would visit her. At the hospice.

This evening, we could only look at one another and say that there was nothing to say.

And there isn’t, there is no cliche or pat formula to mouth, something which shall give us comfort.

Cecile, who had the loveliest homes that I have ever set eyes upon, Cecile, a lovely woman with a very winsome, rather sad look in her eyes, is dead and gone. She had shy eyes, but eyes which flickered joy as well.

How does one process this, make it palatable ?

I- for sure- haven’t a clue.

The Girl cannot convince Buddy to take his pills, or to eat.

Only she and I know what is going on.

She crumples down on the floor of the, uh, porch, uh, rose arbor and weeps, her arms folded over her knees. She is hearing the bells toll for Buddy.

I think that he hasn’t much more time with us as well, but I lie through my teeth.

And tell her what I always tell the children, that we shall do our very best to make Buddy better, and that that is all that we can do.

I still have not told The Father about just how sick Buddy is. I will tell him tomorrow, when our five day vacation is over. But I can see now that Buddy is doing very poorly indeed. He did not eat today and will not accept food from me – the pill giver- at all. I have to force the pills down his throat- but the bright side is that he is down from 7 to 3 pills, twice a day.

Jimmy, our 20+ cat , is now totally blind. A month or so ago, she could still see something, but that is gone. If The Baby picks her up and puts her on the floor of the kitchen, one can see that Jim is lost, hasn’t a clue as to where to turn. She has to start at the couch, her food bowl or her kitty litter- then she is fine.

The Father suggests that we take her to the vet, but we won’t. We won’t because The Boy fills her food bowl every morning and carries her over to it.

I always forget that we have a horse as well.





Bennie is not doing well either. He has seen a number of horse doctors, but no one can figure out what his problem is. Soon, he will be going to a very pricey place to be scanned, to see why he has landed in a place where The Girl cannot ride him.

I feel like I did when Stan and Ollie were very old, Jimmy was very old.

I am surrounded by ailing animals and a glistening sliver of glass which makes me question my success as a wee, earth mother.