Goodbye, Hazel

This summer was a time of learning for me. Learning to say goodbye to my childhood home. Learning to be patient with healing after I fell and broke seven bones in my face. Learning to reappraise my home situation and say goodbye to one of my canine companions. I will be honest from the onset. Three dogs are a lot to handle. When my daughter came home with a fourth, an English bulldog puppy, I knew we were in way over our heads, even though she plans to take Henry back to Baldwin Wallace when the semester begins later this month. Nonetheless, my injury was a wake-up call to the reality of living in close confines with three dogs of my own. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Since my daughter’s childhood dog is nearing her 13th birthday, I knew Hailey could not adjust to new surroundings. Finnigan, who I adopted two years ago as an abuse case, is also too fragile to part with. That left Hazel, my 7- year- old standard poodle. I began making inquiries about possible adoptive homes. In all, I interviewed four couples. One had a young child that I was concerned about, since Hazel has never experienced living with a baby. The next two couples were uncertain. That’s when I connected with Oliver’s parents, also a standard poodle, five years old, with gorgeous coal black hair. With their hiking and cross-country skiing background, not to mention weekends at the lake, I knew this family was a perfect fit for my active dog. We went for a morning walk last Saturday, Hazel and Oliver included. Hazel played patty cake on command and walked on the lead like a well-trained dog, which she is. I could tell that Oliver’s mom was falling in love with Hazel, but it still wasn’t easy. So I showed my new friends photos of my face from when I fell, how bruised and battered I looked. They understood my dilemma. I asked them to follow me to my house to get Hazel’s bed and some of her food. And then I knelt before her and told her how much I always loved her. I asked her to forgive me for giving her to someone else. I kissed her gray/black forehead and promised that I would never forget her. The next day I received a photo of Hazel playing at the lake with her new human family, actually boarding on the lake with her new mom. The text said that she and Oliver were already good friends. I was ecstatic. It was then that I remembered that sometimes, when we truly love, we need to let go. That’s another lesson I learned this summer. Farewell, friend. Until we meet again….

The Magic of Antioch

The Magic of Antioch There were 11 of us in the class…all women, except for our talented teacher. He made our number 12. For 6 days, nearly 15 hours, in fact, we discussed one another’s writings, endeavoring to make all the pieces of the puzzle, both written and unwritten, come together to make sense. No more than just make sense, make magic. We were magicians, I guess you could say. And we spent a week together at Antioch Writer’s Workshop in Yellow Springs, Ohio. For some folks, paradise is a museum vacation in a big city. For others, it might be a hunting or fishing expedition. For me and over 100 other writers, a trip to Yellow Springs to the yearly writing workshop is about as good as a getaway can be. This was my fifth time. I now have dear friends at the workshop from Ohio and beyond. We enjoy lectures from top writers in fiction, non-fiction and poetry, I pitch my creations to top agents, and I get to sample the best darned gluten-free muffins on the planet. I was the tour guide for my friend, Michelle, a newbie at the conference. She, too, was a participant in the non-fiction category. We stayed at the lovely Hearthstone Inn, just a ten-minute drive away in Cedarville. Every morning, we drove to Antioch University Midwest at 8 a.m., to listen to the lectures. Most lunch times we spent at Current Cuisine, a darling little grocery store with a fabulous deli designed to meet the needs of even the pickiest eater. We assembled in groups to talk at small tables along the street, where so many of Yellow Springs inhabitants hang out. After shopping a bit at the many boutiques that sprinkle Xenia Avenue, we drove back to the university for an afternoon of non-fiction talk led by Distinguished OSU Professor Lee Martin, who has published many non-fiction and fiction selections, winning many top honors including a Pulitzer nomination. For the next two hours, as the sun blazed out the window of our classroom, we talked craft. Each of us submitted 20 pages to be dissected by the group. After 6 days together, filled with laughter and yes, tears, we were friends, the 12 of us, posing for pictures so we would never forget this time we shared together, this time of magic. On Friday, we packed our suitcases, checked out of the inn where we stayed and attended our last morning of instruction. In Lee’s afternoon class, we critiqued the final writings before hugging each other goodbye and driving off for home. I circled Yellow Springs’ central thoroughfare, that place where once a year, for one week, I find magic. And then I hopped on the freeway and headed toward home. Ahhhh, Yellow Springs. A place of magic.