Monkey did the zoomies. For anyone who hasn’t lived with a dog, it means chasing around crazy-like because life is just so damn good.
Monkey loves apartment living. She likes everything about it from her first early morning quickie outside for potty, to breakfast, then back to bed, then outside for a longer walk to do serious business, back to bed, another walk around the block, dinner, maybe a visit to the dog park to sniff the ground but not interact with any other dog, God forbid, time on the couch for a little TV binge, late night snack, walk, then bedtime.
It’s all good for Monkey. She tells me the reason she’s happy is because she outlived four Newfoundlands, her bonded pal in grifterdom, Mimi, a bunch of chickens, and one Conure named Paulina who used to strafe her head on a regular basis.
My energy has also changed.
I’ve become involved in another organization, this time one that lives at the intersection of art and the environment. My friend Cindy got me involved and now I’m writing development plans, fundraising letters, and joining the board with Cindy’s husband, Mike.
The organization, Inflexionpoints is complicated and new. But they are moving quickly to identify their mission and where to go. Inflexionpoints is the brainchild of Boyd Norton, an 89-year-old man who was once a nuclear scientist and altered his career to become a wildlife photographer. His story is compelling and emotional. He’s used his photography to help change the world. He successfully fought to block a dam that would destroy a place called Hells Canyon and completely screw up the Snake River. He helped create a World Heritage site in Siberia. He’s traveled, published books, and been featured in tons of publications that all of us have seen over the past 40-some years, like National Geographic, Smithsonian, Life.
Now he wants to create a platform where artists can share their own inflection points in their own unique way.
So, I’m busy researching, writing, meeting, yakking, and giving my solicited and unsolicited opinion as a 50-year veteran of the nonprofit sector. All good. I’m still involved in Bergen Spay and Neuter Alliance, the organization that utilizes a mobile vet van to provide services in rural Colorado (and recently teamed up with Denver Animal Shelter to use the van and their staff for weekly spay/neuters in Denver). And I interview families interested in adopting or fostering Newfies for National Newfoundland Rescue. Each time one of my families adopts a Newfie, I get teary eyed. God, I miss having a wonderful, hairy, giant, slobbering, sweet beast to cuddle. And, no, GB doesn’t qualify.
GB’s energy has changed as well. He’s become intimately involved in the poker world at our new apartment. We live in a place called Everleigh. It’s a 55+ facility. No assisted living. No memory care. No even independent living. We’re on our own but there is an extensive list of activities for us elderly types. There’s a pool, dog park, community garden, gym, great room, kitchen available for large gatherings, library, yoga studio, movie room. There are also groups. There’s the Yappy Club, which Monkey and I joined, much to the disgust of Monkey. And there’s the poker club which GB has embraced like the gambler he’s always wanted to be. Poker is played twice a week and each month there is a tournament. It’s good for his spirit and for his cognition. He’s also applied to volunteer at the local library which is just around the corner.
We live on the first floor facing a side street. So, we have a front porch and a back door that leads to the hall. We chose the spot because we can just walk out our front door and go anywhere without trapsing down a long hall to an elevator.
On Sunday mornings, we step out, Monkey on lead, and go to the farmers’ market. When she gets tired or refuses to move because she’s busy sniffing, we plop her in a doggie carriage we bought before we moved. She loves it and the attention she garners. On hot afternoons, we cross the driveway and take a swim. There are a bunch of things we haven’t done yet. We haven’t wandered through the neighborhoods. I haven’t made any new friends, although GB has with his poker habits. I haven’t joined the mah-jongg club nor the open bridge group. I intend to. Maybe. But not now.
Do I miss the magical garden that we celebrated for 48 years? No. I realize now that for the past couple of years, I didn’t feel the joy of the garden. All I saw were work and weeds. The beautiful garden I loved for so many years had begun to drain the joy from my heart. So, no. I don’t miss it.
I remember it with love.
Air. 
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