Bunny

Bunny – the little black and white harlequin rabbit, with his twitchy nose and funny way of preening that made him look like a lazy ballerina – was the first mammal I ever had as a pet, and he died last night. His fur was still silky and soft.

We got him the first winter we were in New Mexico, and when he wasn’t at school in the 3rd grade classroom, he lived in our tiny kitchen next to the table and under the window.

Until him, I never really knew that rabbits had personality, but he did. He loved to be pet in the crook of the neck, and when you stroked his cheek or his ears, his eyes would shut lazily and get dreamy and sleepy in their haze of comfort. He had a temper, and if you were late getting his dinner or hadn’t cleaned his cage in awhile, he would let you know by pounding the floor with the most raucous thumps, thumps so loud they could wake you from a dead sleep into a crazed panic, thinking in your grog that someone was trying to break the door down.

The students picked his name, Baby Angel, because they thought he was a girl. We all did, until the day I took him to get spayed and the vet said, “The surgery went well, only we didn’t spay him – he’s been neutered.”

Then he was Baby Angelo – or sometimes “Anhelllllllllllllll!” when he was chewing on our jeans or shoelaces – but I always called him Bunnicula until that gave way to simply Bunny.

Bunny, I will miss you. I’m sorry you’re gone. I hope in rabbit heaven there are loads of dried cherries and cranberries. You loved those, and would eat them from our fingers.

Be well.

– SAWK

Summer in Contrast

The end of May and this month of June shone hot, yellow sun on many faces.

And I took those faces, and held them, and kissed so many of them before sheltering them in memory and turning them black and white.

Be well.

– SAWK

Faeroplane

The friends of my friends are my friends and are visiting, and we connect and talk and eat and grow and walk and sing and crochet in sunlight . . .

. . . You recognize good souls when your heart is instantly at ease, they praise your burned, gelatinous blob of brown rice, and when your puppies love them.

I think Boon would take up residence forever around Chris’ ankles if he could.

 

To Chris and Eliza: I hope you had a visit as sweet and simple as yourselves and your music! Sorry about the dust cloud and Boon barking like a maniac during your phone call. Now you’ve seen some pot sherds, and know the secrets of the ancients! As house guests go, you’re top of the pops. I’m so glad you came, you’re each a delectable peach, and may your travels be filled with good shows, good friends, and gads of the most righteous peanut butter.

Mi trailer es su trailer. XOXO.

Be well.

– SAWK

(Go check out Faeroplane’sĀ music or see them at a show near you!)

The End of an Era or Two

And just that fast, another year of school days, endless weeks of wind, and many months of puppy barks, cottonwoods, knocking pipes, thunderstorms, andĀ irrepressibleĀ life slowly closes.

I love them, and I will see them next August, all of them taller, grown, with more limbs, and fewer teeth.

Ā – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

I am a person who believes everything happens for a reason, who sees potential meaning everywhere, and who – fallible, exuberant, and generally sleepy – often extracts the wrongĀ meaning.

Lucky for me, when you believe everything happens for a reason, erroneous choices and difficult decisions are less mistakes than they are lessons, opportunities, possibilities, and bright, orange fires to jump and come through singed, but definitely new.

If you listen, you know what to do and when to do it, it is in your guts and your soul and your sunny yellow peace of mind.

Ā – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“My book is about New York city and going back in time. New York is full of people and cars. Than 350 years before all that people speak different languages. And 15,000 years before, Mammoths, foxes, and snow rabbets. Before mamoths and others we went back 190 million years where dinosaurs take over the land. And 540 millions years before all that, other stuff, nothing but rocks and algae as far as the eye can see . . .”

That right there, my friends, is a deep and significant excerpt from a 5th grade boy’s book report. This same boy – smart, funny, quick at math – once misspelled “everybody” on a spelling test, giving it an original and profound new spelling as “every buddy” . . . yes, we are all buddies here.

We move through this life together sometimes and apart at others, crossing paths, connecting, and speaking to one another in a land that started with rocks and algae as far as the eye can see.

. . . How far we’ve come!

Ā – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The 4th and 5th grade class of St. Joseph Mission School with Jay on the last day of school, 2012. The chalkboard says, “Thank you for being our teacher.”

We move on. Jay is moving on! . . . He doesn’t know where yet, but needless to say, every buddy will miss him, myself probably most of all.

St. Joseph’s will never be the same without him, his students are no longer the same because of him, nor will I be the same and am I the same. But now we are we because of him, and whether he goes to Gallup or Long Island, stays in Cubero or Maine, there is a strong, solid, witty man heading to shake things up in the most responsible, diligent, and good-hearted way possible. He will always be a teacher, perhaps just not in a classroom.

Ā – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Upwards and onwards. Be well. I love all of you and do not see you nearly enough.

– SAWK

 

Eclipse

. . . I always wonder what the men and women who used to live here – those who leave the pot sherds and arrowheads, those whom I imagine brown and tough, skin leathered from grinding corn and climbing rocks – thought when they saw the rare and lovely scenes the sky sometimes blesses us with.

Be well.

– SAWK

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