I donāt know why, but Iāve had the word “dipthong” stuck in my head for about a week. This post really wonāt have anything at all to do with the wordā¦although perhaps it does. This will be a bit of a dual-toned entryāequal parts whimsical and serious. That pretty much sums up my current state of mind. Iām sure I wonāt need to tell you that by the time youāre finished here. If you finish, that is. This oneās a rambler, denizens.
So Iāve been cheating on you all. With other blogs. Yes, thatās right, I said blogs. With an “s.” Iām not telling you anything else. I donāt want these other blogs to feel your wrath over my infidelity. Theyāre good blogs and they know nothing of the lair. Well, one of them does. But thatās a long story. Oh, and to make matters worse? I get paid to do one of them. Thatās rightā¦I take money for blogging. Do you feel dirty now? You should. You mingy little monkeys. You like it when I talk to you like that though, donāt you? Donāt you?!
Oh dear.
I donāt really know what the hell is going on with me right now. Things have been random parts chaotic and stressful in my life for so long that I think itās starting to wear me down. Things are finally starting to level offā¦but the damage is done. And, yes, denizens, there is damage. I simply canāt tell you about it. Professional lines of scrimmage and all that, you know.
You gotta keep on spinnin’ aroundā
Never let your worlds collide
‘Cause if we all start talkin’ there might
Be nowhere for you to hide
Aināt that the truth.
Two evenings ago, we were on a walk around the neighborhood and this beautiful black dog came bounding down the street toward us. I swear to you on my life, had she had a white stripe on her chest and one blue eye, she could have passed as my Jodie Girl. Everything else about her was perfectly, precisely Jodie: her size, her head shape and her floppy ears, her multicolored fur with the black overcoat and brown/gray undercoat, the way her tail curled back toward her body in a fluffy “O”ā¦but more than this, the mannerisms were spot-on. The way she ran like a bullet, barely able to come to a stop before jumping up at me with fluffy soft paws. The sound she made as she ran: this steady chuffing that made her sound like a furry little engine-that-could. The way she pranced and turned when her owner tried to grab her collar to put her back on her leash. Jodie was always a clown, my little “bo-bo dog,” and she thought everything was a game and everyone wanted to play with her. This dog seemed to think the same thing.
I really donāt think Iām giving this the proper weight it holds in my heart, but everything about this dog was Jodie. Things that I donāt even know how to capture in wordsā¦some ephemeral essence that maybe only I could sense. But it was her, denizens. It was her.

I know that more than likely Jodie would have been gone from my life by this point in time anyway, had she not been taken from me by cancer. After all, 14 is pretty old for a dog her size. But seeing this dog just brought all theā¦missing right back to the forefront. As if I need to be reminded that there are multiple pieces of my life puzzle that I canāt seem to stop missing.
Even my subconscious mind seems hell-bent on reminding me. This morning my alarm cut into a dream-in-progress in which Iād witnessed someone fire-bombing my parentsā house in the middle of the night (although, honestly, it looked more like the house from A Christmas Story, only it had a window in the shape of the Star Trek delta shield at the very top; seriously, this is what my dream world conjures for me). Suddenly, itās daylight and Iām standing outside a black Denaliā¦talking with Catherine Willows. Iāve just told her that my dad had to carry my mom out of the house while the firebombing took place, but he wasnāt able to walk to the hospital fast enough and the doctors didnāt think sheād survive. Willows’ response was something along the lines of “Her body couldnāt have survived much longer in its condition anyway; perhaps this is for the best.”
Thatās the point where I woke up.
There was always a part of me that wondered if perhaps my previous CSI-related dream had something to do with my mom as well. Some sort of strange parable, an attempt by Sara Sidle to give me a message that I was too stubborn and too late to hear. CSI Willows’ message was a little less cryptic and a lot more upsetting.
Now Iāve associated both of my favorite CSIs with something sad. Thatās not cool. Hereās a happy photo. Erase, erase, erase:

Itāll be a year this Sunday. For some reason Iāve fixated on the thought that after this Sunday comes the beginning of the time in which I can no longer think to myself, “She was alive at this point a year ago today.” Strangely, I could find some sliver of solace in such thinking. Soon, that sliver will be gone.
I miss my mom.
So do I, Admiral. So do I.
See? I told you: dipthong. Two tones. One high and one low. Always sounding in my head anymore.
Did I ever tell you that when I was in San Francisco last year, I made a special walk from our hotel just to take this photo:

Itās probably the touristiest thing I have ever done in my entire life. I got looks. Itās admittedly not the first time Iāve gotten “looks.” But still, it made me laugh.
Well, then. Thatās quite an eyeful Iāve just dumped on you. And now Iām leaving you. “Lunch time” is over and I have professional obligations to which I must attend. Iāll be back. I have a book review. And I know that tomorrow is Flashback Friday. Iāve written myself a reminder. Honestly and seriously.
Now I just need to figure out what kind of Flashback to haveā¦