Saturday, January 21, 2012

The Mayan Calendar and the Oracle

Just an update on a couple of things before I begin this post.
Regarding the last few posts:
    Yesterday, I ended up calling the school to find out what time I should get the Scribe from detention. "Should be around 4:30," the counselor said. "That seems strange the principal would change the punishment, though. I specifically wrote in the computer how your daughter was a victim and her punishment would only be losing her email and having this on her record."
    "Well, her name's been on the board for two days saying how she needs to go to detention. Oh and, nothing's been cleared up. The class still thinks she sent those emails."
    The woman paused. "Is the other girl's name on the board?"
    "Not that I know of," I said.
    "Oh, no-no-no. This isn't how things go. Can I call you back, Ms. Hirsch?"
    "Sure."
    Come to find out. Someone got the names mixed up! The Scribe (after all she went through with being framed in the first place) was about to pay for what another girl did! She didn't go to detention with the Mop Head Lover after all.
    I did get a strange call later that night, though. They asked me questions about the Principal's actions. The woman said, "Unfortunately, things went poorly. Feel assured, the situation will be addressed and hopefully these people will get their acts together."


    So, now the whole fiasco is FINALLY OVER, let me tell you about yesterday. 
    I went to the gas station again because oracles WORK there. An old woman sat on a bench. A sheep dog rested next to her, and although she didn't look at me, I knew she noticed me. Her eyes studied everyone with interested, as she pet her dog all the while. She smiled and nodded. I found myself missing my dog so badly then.
    I know we gave Luna away because it was the right thing, but now I'm doubting myself. Sure the kids didn't feed her on time or play with her, but I always did. She ate the fancy dog food. We'd snuggle and run around, me laughing and her licking my face. When I'd write and edit, she'd sleep under my chair, or just chew on her bone.     
    I thought about all of this as I watched the woman with the dog. I guess I'd just wanted to make a point to the kids. THEY were supposed to take care of her, not me. THEY wanted a dog, and I told them if they didn't take care of her, we would sell her. But somehow she became mine--what was that about--and I've cried just thinking about how much I miss her. Writing doesn't even seem fun, without my husky muse.
    Plus it reminds me of another profound loss and the anniversary of it which is so soon.  After all, Zeke (my son) died at the end of January; this is always a hard month.  As soon as February comes, I feel better, but right now, it's hard not being sad.
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But enough of that!
    I went into the gas station and vowed to be happy. I couldn't get depressed about the dog again or Zeke for that matter--my journal was just published--I'm supposed to be smiley about EVERYTHING. We'd had a hard enough week just with school.
    The oracle from the previous post wasn't there, unfortunately, but his sidekick was. "Do you have a little sewing kit?" I asked the attendant. (We were on the run and I needed to fix a rip.)
    "Ummm . . . I actually think we do. I stocked the other night." He smiled, proud of himself when he found it. "If you're ready, I can help you over here."
    I stood ready to pay, and the man decided it would be great to interrogate me. "You come here often?"
    Okay.  "Well . . . yeah. I guess."
    "You sew?"
    "Yeah."
    "You like sewing?" he struggled finding the bar code on the kit.
    "Yeah."
    "What's the sewing kit for?"
    Now stop right there. What was with the twenty questions? He was a nice guy and all, but I felt flustered standing there answering things. We were the only people in the store and I kept thinking about Zeke and then my dog. I just needed something to cheer me up. So, I got an idea, smiled and decided to try being witty--nothing cheers me up faster than witty banter--seriously!
    "The sewing kit? It's for the end of the world," I said, keeping a straight face.
    "Are. You. Serious?  Tell me you're kidding."
    "Oh, I'm absolutely serious. When the end of the world hits, if I survive, I could stay in this same pair of clothes FOR YEARS. All I needed was a sewing kit." I pointed to the kit. "Now I'm set.  Looky here."
    "Wow. I've heard a lot of people believe in the Mayan calendar."
    "As well they should. Plus, if everyone would live like this year was their last, they might have better lives. Live like it's 2012--I've always said anyway."
    He just gaped.
    "Well, have a good year. I hope your last months on Earth are epic. Make 'em count. Oh and don't forget to buy yourself a sewing kit! It's a good thing you have a few left."
    So, he totally believed me, and I sorta loved it.
   That night when I got home, I knelled down and prayed--not about the end of our world, but for something just as important to me--my dog. I know it sounded stupid, but this is what I said, "God, if we weren't supposed to sell Luna. If we were the right family for her, and good enough for her, please let the woman who bought her . . . bring her back."
    I felt like an idiot.  I STILL feel like an idiot; it was my choice to sell the dog. Plus, I started crying really hard, and felt like I sold a member of our family for $300 measly dollars. We already spent the money we got for her; at least I can fix up some problems in our house now. But, then, to top it off, Cade's employer payed him $300 too much on accident. We have to pay it back next week (no biggie) but it just seemed odd. There was that $300 again, haunting me and reminding me how much I'm like Judus.
    Well, at least I know Luna is with someone good. And she did find a nice, strong male dog to marry.
    Have you ever had doubts about something like this? Am I being completely shoot-myself-in-the-foot dumb? Wait . . . don't answer that.
    I guess the real issue is, I loved that dog, but this reminds me a little bit of when we pulled the plug.  Zeke had to go . . . it was the best thing for him.  I was nineteen and I made the hardest decision of my life.
    For more about Zeke and his story, please go here: