I LOVE my old dog, but man does she STINK! I had to turn around in the car today to make sure she wasn’t dead and rotting on the back seat. I love her so much it hurts. Keesha is 16 now. We used to call her “sled dog” because of her thick coat and the way that she could run many miles no problem. My faithful companion for 15 years, she has lived in six homes with me, survived two cats, two horses and a goat, and she was the fuzzy bear I hugged after my divorce and subsequent love lost. I’ve cried a gallon of tears into her red coat, and she’s brought me endless joy. A Lab-Chow, she is both food-motivated and obstinate. She loves people like a Lab, and she has gone through several training programs. Keesha performs many tricks and even executed agility feats when she was young. But, put a little white dog in front of her and she would eat it no matter what I say. Sadly, her Chow half thinks “Bischon Frise” is an appetizer and tennis balls are for, well... tennis.
But, this isn’t an entry about my dog. It’s about my own recognition that I’m aging. I can do all the hand stands and push ups and double turns that I want to because my body is still cooperating, but when I look into the mirror, my wrinkled face still shocks me.
Hey... who put that head on that body? I’m furious about it for a second because then I remind myself how damn lucky I am to still be dancing and performing and I feel like a little feisty and grateful kid again.
When I tell people things like “I’ve been divorced 11 years and I was married 18” or “I’ve lived in Colorado 17 years, but I also lived in New York, California, Florida and Arizona” people ask: “How old ARE you?” When you get to be my age you see your life in eras: the bath in grandma’s sink era, the school girl in braids and uniform era, the I lost all that weight and boys like me era, the oh shit I have eating disorders era, the I think I’m fully self actualized and my parents know shit era, the knight in shining armor “I do” era, the how long will my husband put up with my starving artist era, the oh my God no one told me my kid would have public tantrums era, the oh she’s so cute, let’s have another era, the why can’t everything stay the same dark-night-of-the-soul era. Jeez I just wrote a memoir. How old AM I?!?
Now I’m in this era where I want to be a channel for light and love… in whatever capacity I’m supposed to do that. I’m getting a Masters in counseling and I feel called to explore my “shadow” in nature programs. Part of me is having a tantrum and just wants to be put up in a 5 star hotel permanently, but the other side of me reminds myself that I know too much to go back to the way I was – to the way I was living an unnecessarily consumptive life that distracted me from deeper feelings, from facing my shadow, from giving back. It’s what I’ve chosen this time around.
But I’m entitled to a five star massage every now and then! Aging may stink but so far not as badly as my sweet, old dog.
