I found a piece of fatty bacon wrapped in a napkin in my zippered jacket pocket on Monday....

backing up the story....

On Sunday, while beginning a nice walk in the warm, drizzly morning, I saw a beautiful, black wolfish-looking dog lying down in the middle of my one-way street. He wasn't moving, but didn't appear to be injured, and he had no collar or tags. I walked up to him slowly and then circled around him so he knew I was there. He had been eyeing me for a while, still unmoving, so I crouched down about ten feet away from him, held both arms out, and softly said, "hi boy!" I put out as much loving energy as I could. He immediately leapt up, tail wagging furiously, ears flapping like a puppy, tongue lolling as he trotted right into my arms and put his forehead so hard into my chest I almost fell over. He then gave me the ultimate dog body hug before turning around and sitting in my lap while I gave him back scratches. I stayed there petting him for about 5 minutes secretly hoping I could just adopt him, but then the owner came out and started laughing, because apparently "Ziggy" is a lover-boy and does this often in the middle of the street. Since I was on my way to meet a friend for breakfast, I said bye to Ziggy, but he started following me until the owner called him back. I told Ziggy I would bring him back a piece of bacon and I could swear he winked at me. On my way back home, I knocked on the door where Ziggy lives, but nobody answered, so I still have that bacon in my pocket...I guess I should throw it away. Now my jacket kind of smells like bacon; not that I mind....maybe the smell will attract more lovely doggy encounters.

Random Memories....

Random memories...

When I was 3, I had to use a little step stool to reach the toilet. It was a big, blue ceramic toilet that was cold in Missouri winters. One day, I leaned too far back and fell in like a collapsed beach chair. My little, chubby legs were sticking in the air, and my armpits were wedged against the sides. I tried to wriggle free, but it was no use. I thought of the children's book about the tugboat in the bathtub that got sucked down the drain and ended up floating to the ocean. Panic rising, I called out, "Mommy....?" The door to the bathroom opened, and my six-year-older brother came in and looked at me with a smile. Then he reached forward and pressed the flush lever. I started screaming, because I knew I was going to get sucked down the toilet hole like that little tugboat got sucked down the bathtub drain. The water rose and rose, over my belly, higher, higher. Then mom came in and plucked me from the toilet. I still use the toilet, so I've conquered many fears in my life. ;-)
Oh, and siblings. Haha, they prepare you for life.

More memories....

I was a very quiet and content child (just ask my mom; I only cried if I had dirty diapers or if I fell in the toilet). As a young girl, I spent most of my time outside, reading my Nancy Drew mysteries while snuggled against my favorite steer while he chewed his cud. The first time I went to summer camp in Missouri all by myself, I was 8...and terrified. I'd never really fit in with kids my own age. But there was a magical piano that was in the chapel. One afternoon, I went into the chapel and started playing the theme song to Charlie Brown. Suddenly, the piano was surrounded by kids. They asked me to play the song again and again! After that, camp was easier and suddenly the skinny, little quiet girl with glasses was included in games. It was a transformative moment for me, realizing that somehow it was easier for me to connect through art/music than through any other means. I'm not as quiet now as an adult, but I still have those same feelings of not fitting in and that who I am is best expressed through poetry, music, art, or even now...in this little snippet of memory.

Last memory for now....
Once again, a camp memory. I was 8. It was my first year at camp (this was before I played the magical piano). Our cabin won some type of piggy wiggly/scrubbly bubbly cabin cleanliness award, so we got to go on an inner tube float down the nearby river. While on our float trip, it started to storm. Warm, summer storms in Missouri are something! The clouds pile up, like mashed potatoes, lightning streaks high above, and you can feel the thunder in your feet. The leader of the float trip group called out that we needed to get to the river banks. With our bare feet, we stumbled up the muddy banks, through stinging nettles, tall grass, and other squishy things. I thought it was pretty exciting. As a child who grew up spending every summer inner tubing down the rapids of the Upper Sacramento River, this was just another adventure. However, we had to walk 2 miles back to camp through muddy fields...muddy fields with soft, slurpy mud that squelched and sucked my little feet down with each step. Halfway back, it started the rain. Cold rain. We shivered in our bathing suits. 2 miles seemed like a long way. The older girls in the group started to scream when they found a snapping turtle "blocking" their way in the muddy field. I remember feeling very tired; the mud squelched up my legs, and I started to cry because I was now cold and tired, and the feeling of adventure had worn off; worst of all, I couldn't keep up with the 12 year olds. I stopped walking and they kept walking; I was going to be left there, all alone. All alone. Then, a tall boy camp counselor showed up, like a hero, out of the rain. He walked right towards me, picked me up out of the squelching mud, and carried me in his arms like a princess in a fairy tale. I remember feeling so safe and so overwhelmed with being held like this, like I was seen, valued, and protected. Little, 8 year old me. Little, quiet Melissa, with her skinny self and glasses. Then, when we got within sight of camp, my hero unceremoniously planted me back on my feet and said, "you can make it the rest of the way on your own." It jolted me back to reality, and also gave me a gift that I've never forgotten. I can make it on my own...and on my own is what I've been for so long. Although, I really do long for that right man to come sweep me off my feet, except maybe we could carry each other, in turns. This crazy life.

The bunny toy