Thank you, my friends. Thank you for reading, for wise counsel, for sharing your own stories with all of us. I debated writing about my worries yesterday. Actually, I wasn’t going to do it, but as sometimes happens, I started writing about the horses and my grandfather and somehow that tied in to other people in my life and, eventually, brought me around to our situation. When that happens, it’s as if the post is writing itself. I just step back and let it happen.

I’ve repeatedly witnessed what happens with that sort of post. It resonates in a way I hadn’t expected. And that’s exactly what happened yesterday. The discussion we had in the comments section was simply wonderful; honest and brave. Knowing we are not alone is a huge comfort. It also puts things into perspective and keeps us from playing the victim card. Everyone is dealing with change and struggle and, sometimes, fear. I’ve said it before on this blog: I refuse to be a victim. But that doesn’t make my struggles any less real. Or yours. We take responsibility, we acknowledge the ways of our current world, and we do our best.

So, thank you again. I’m blessed by your presence in my life.

I looked up the other day and saw this.

After my heart had melted, I grabbed the camera. Wouldn’t you?

He’s petting his girl. I’ve seen this a few times since – always in the late afternoon – and it always fills my heart to overflowing.

Scout is very thin these days. It wasn’t that long ago that the vet told us she was overweight. Now, I can pick her up easily – she’s like a feather. She struggles when moving about the house. Her hips and back legs are weak. But she’s still our girl. She eats heartily. She is demanding (thank goodness!) She’s hanging in there.

But day by day, we tick off things she doesn’t do anymore. She doesn’t jump up on the loveseat anymore. That’s happened within the past few weeks. She doesn’t pounce. Though she still ‘gallops’ she doesn’t do it as much as she used to.

And we miss all of it.

She’ll be seventeen in early January. She remains the light of our lives. We’ve been extraordinarily blessed by her magical, wondrous being.

Okay. Let’s look at a pretty flower.

It rained heavily overnight and it looks like we’re going to have rain nearly every day for the next week. How I wish I could send some to my friends who live in drought-stricken states! We’re going to be getting too much rain. You would give anything for some moisture.

Hopefully, the advent of El Nino will help to ease some of the drought conditions. I so hope that is the case for all of you.

Happy Wednesday.

Don walks on our rail trail almost every day. He’s getting very disciplined about it. I, unfortunately, am not so disciplined, but I’m trying to change that.

We live about a mile from the rail trail, which runs right through the middle of our town. At any given time, you’ll see walkers, cyclists, joggers, and riders on horseback. It’s very popular and it’s beautiful.

Yesterday afternoon, I suggested we take a walk together and it was lovely. It felt good – a reminder reminder that I always feel better and more relaxed after a nice, long walk.

On this particular stretch of the rail trail, you can see horses in paddocks, farms, and the beautiful mountain ridge that we can also see from our front yard.

Lovely.

Then there was this view, seen as I let Scout outside early in the evening.

I took this picture, left the camera on the table, reminding myself to go back once more and get a shot of the sunset – but I got distracted. In the blink of an eye, it was too late.

Ah, well.

I’m feeling much better, but the cough is lingering on. It’s annoying, to say the least.

Today is my dad’s 92nd birthday. When I spoke to him yesterday, I mentioned that I would be calling him again today. He said, grudgingly, that it was no big deal that he’d made it to 92. I responded that ‘making it to 92’ was cause for celebration.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Happy Monday.

It’s 8:30. I got up at 6:30 only to discover an ‘accident’ in liquid form from Scoutie. Very  unlike her and it had just happened, so I can only imagine she must have held on as long as she could. Barely awake, I started in on the clean-up.

Then, about an hour later, as I was pouring hot water into my coffee filter, I somehow knocked the filter off the mug and coffee grounds and coffee spewed all over that section of the kitchen.

It’s been a challenging morning.

Breathe deeply, Claudia. Breathe deeply.

But this greeted me when I stepped outside. (Note leaves on the ground. It’s beginning to look like Fall around here.)

A beautiful new morning glory can certainly help one’s outlook.

And last night – when it was still dusky out there – I went into the kitchen to apologize to Don for something I said. Normally, I’m sitting in my chair at that time of day. After apologizing and hugging him, I looked out the kitchen door and there were two mourning doves perched on either side of the birdbath. They were very still. I’ve seen them do that before, this perching; resting, watching, and gazing at each other. Mourning doves may be my favorite birds. They are gentle and beautiful.

At the same time, I caught sight of a hummingbird, darting from one geranium blossom to another. The geraniums are planted in three barrels that are next to the birdbath. There are a lot of them. This little guy went to every flower, then darted over to what remains of the phlox, then back to the geraniums. This time of year, when there are fewer and fewer flowers, has to be challenging for a hummingbird.

And on one of the fence posts, a catbird awaited his turn at the birdbath.

I thought about how I would have missed all of that if I hadn’t got out of my chair to apologize to Don.

I grew up in a house where I never heard the words “I’m sorry” from my parents. I don’t know why. But apologies were never given. No responsibility for hurtful words spoken was ever owned or admitted.

Consequently, as a young adult and on into my adult years, it was very, very hard for me to apologize for anything. To admit failure. To admit human frailty. I saw it as a sign of weakness. It wasn’t until I met Don that I really learned what it means to apologize, simply because Don taught me by example. He apologizes freely. He always has.

And it wasn’t something I came to immediately. It took me a while. I had to watch and observe him and put puzzle pieces together from my past and my present in order to make sense of things. I finally came to the realization that the words “I’m sorry. I was wrong.” are not a sign of weakness but a sign of strength. To be willing to open up and admit a mistake, whether angry words spoken or a regrettable action taken, is essential.

I know people who never take responsibility for their actions. It’s either always someone else’s  fault or somehow that person is able to completely block out the memory of what actually happened and replace it with something else. It’s maddening. It’s sad.

I have some guilt over apologies not given many years ago. I try to acknowledge that and make amends when I’m able to. It’s so freeing, this “I’m sorry” business! It makes everything whole again. It acknowledges our human-ness.

We try to do better the next time.

Anyway, without that little apology, I wouldn’t have been given the gift of that vision outside my kitchen window.

Happy Sunday.