Paradise

The combined goal was to have a getaway.  Our own place to escape from home; gather experiences to build on and collect layers of memories with family, friends (old and new), by ourselves and of course with Sarrah.  We felt the need to have a destination to long for, when elsewhere and in need of a daydream.  The kind where, when you close your eyes and turn off your ears, magically… you are there.  A retreat in our world where time is put in its place; less measured and untracked, removing deadlines and the forces that push them, in order to simply enjoy moments.  As well, to be our familial gathering site for holidays, birthdays and for the best event, no special reason at all.

One main requirement was for somewhere that had ‘enough’ so that boredom wouldn’t sneak in, but ‘much less’ than where we live and work.  Another priority was for somewhere that other people would be interested in joining us, on occasion.  We wanted and needed a better connection with nature and land, perhaps even where land meets water. Near enough for an after work escape and the occasional early morning return “Cannonball Runs” back to reality.  A peaceful spot to let human springs unwind and recharge batteries, repair the mind, refresh the body and I suppose nurture the soul.

We frequently reviewed the pros and cons of making this kind of investment.  All of the traditional points of retirement planning and age-old wisdom were mulled over.  Was this a wise investment?  Would there be resale value if the need came?  Should the required funds be squirreled away instead for later in life?  As living Life reminds us all too often, Death usually arrives uninvited and often earlier than envisioned, erasing long term plans.  The constant tricky challenge of maintaining the balance between “Save for a rainy day” and “Seize the moment” will always persist, with only the benefit of time passed to judge.

As we leaned toward the decision to enjoy some of life’s rewards now and along the way, our belief that the dividends from these experiences would payoff for the rest of our lives became clearer.  It felt like the right thing for us to do.  We chose to enrich our lives and those important to us, Now.  Who knows, a working life retreat may become a retirement haven packed with the comfort of fond memories.

After a couple of years of leisurely exploring the quiet coast, small lakes and rural mountains of Washington, we narrowed our focus to the Long Beach Peninsula.  The miles of beach, quiet unlit roads and laid back locals enable this area to drip with comfortable solitude.  This area is around one hundred fifty miles or more importantly measured with time, around four hours drive, each way from where we reside.  This distance is greater than we had initially hoped for, but it also enabled affordability (Seattle/Distance=Price).

Time = Money

As Albert Einstein is said to have deduced, “Time = Money”.  I had a growing accumulation of funds in the traditional retirement accounts and contributed regularly, a nice chunk in an investment club that I founded and presided over, as well as other unconventional small hoards of cash for rainy days and holy crap moments.  Altogether, these investments brought a hedged, strong sense of a secure fourth quarter, in the game of my life.

Having more than enough money and the assumed promise of a financially comfortable future brings many things; the best being the most important resource, Time.  More time to do what you want and how you want, became the winner in my balance of the scales.

My favorite part of how I earned a living was the lack of time structure.  If properly managed, I was in control of it.  This control (or illusion of) my time combined with more money than was required, created opportunities to take some off, the easiest and often best escapes coming in the form of long weekends, sneaking away for mini-vacations in which to escape normal life.

Our little family took many weekend trips to explore new areas.  These short getaway escapes to smaller, quieter places, reaped big rewards and brought us closer together.  Sarrah, well, as you can imagine loved the jaunts into the unknown.  Packing the car (even) was full of pacing and squeaks of excitement.  Sarrah knew when we were loading the car for a road trip.  She would pace, pant, bark, twirl, howl and run around the yard with overflowing exuberance like a happy kid at Christmas time.

Nissa and I began to daydream, out loud.  We began to wonder about having a little place of our own, for more personal escapes.  So we tailored our long weekends toward a search for a vacation property.  We pondered over the idea of a second home for many months and found the mental exercise to be a daily life sweetener.  If nothing else, the experience of looking and dreaming was a set of nice excuses to explore our state’s rural areas.  Despite spending most of my life in Washington, there are many interesting places I do not recall hearing about, let alone visiting.  Several I had been to in my youth, some of these favorites deserved another look.

Our part-time explorations came in many forms.  Some treks were one-day whirlwinds: Lake Cushman (100 year leasehold only), Twisp (too far away), Leavenworth (a possibility) and Roslyn (recently too popular).  Others were simple stopovers’ along our way: Leavenworth (still a possibility), Astoria (more populated), Ocean Shores (too quickly populated, without a sense of soul).

The best of our adventure trips being long weekends, three to four day getaways’.  We stayed at Pacific Beach (remote possibility), Leavenworth (yet still a possibility), Moses Lake (too far East) and a few other unmemorable places.  Sarrah wasn’t really much help, as she loved going anywhere; any road trip (except over the bridge to the vet) was good and fraught with potential for greatness!  As with many worthwhile life experiences, the exploration and pursuit is valuable to setting the stage for the goal.  Our adventures were enjoyed, by all of us.

Am I the one you were sent to save?

Around two thousand four a song by Pat Green “Wave on Wave” was overplayed on the radio and music video channels.  I find it to be a nice easy going, feel good kind of song.  I noticed that Sarrah also seemed to like this song and one day asked her a line from it “Am I the one you were sent to save?”  She gave me a quick wry glance and then that sort of ‘parenting look’, as if to say “You know the answer” (she gave me the same look every time I asked that question).  After that day, every time the song played, we made eye contact and smiled.  Years later, I downloaded it onto my iphone so we could hear it frequently, whenever the mood struck or the need arose.

Recently I heard Dean Koontz reading his book (on DVD) “A big little life” sharing a similar experience with his dog.  He also touched on a belief held by some that dogs contain reincarnated beings, or souls.  I, like him am not sure about this, but then I again I do not have ‘the answers’.

Learning

Learning when it was “OK” to chase them provided a bit of a twisted pleasure.  The first of many times when a one year old cat would ‘takeover her bed’ she’d sadly slink off.  I carefully let her know that it was OK to send a thieving cat packing… with a bark or a quick chase.

Mothering instincts kicked in with Sarrah when the siblings fought, mostly protecting Isis from the bullying of Rah.  Sarrah grew into a sort of parenting referee role, barking at them and chasing Rah off, then returning to where she’d been with a look of satisfaction.  Isis, the significantly smarter of the two, picked up on all of this and bonded with Sarrah.  She even occasionally set Rah up by starting a fight, for Sarrah to break up.  It was probably also a bit of aged preference for quiet and frustration with frequent noisy youth that motivated her.

Sarrah delighted in sending the male cat, Rah for a run.  The two of them seemed to have a bit of an understanding, a few rules with their game and played it often.  Rah, around two years old, learned how fast he was and how much head start was required for a good chase without getting caught.  He then decided to play with Sarrah’s tail, to start trouble.  Most of these neener-neener games happened in the seclusion of the backyard.  The game evolved from Sarrah looking at me to see if she would be in trouble and Rah figuring out how many swipes at her tail it took to get in a good run, becoming their regular contest.

One sunny spring day Rah pushed his luck too far, attacking her sleeping tail with full claws and the chase was on.  This time he, being a little more cocky than usual, got off to a slower start and Sarrah’s quick snap got a bit of ‘butt fur’, much to the surprise of all!  After the chase, she returned with a smug look of satisfaction, spit out the chunk of black fur and resumed her position on her bed in the sun with the trophy.  Rah returned after a few moments and all was back to ‘normal’.  Sarrah smiled, I laughed and Rah just brushed it off, playing it cool.  It was good to witness Sarrah winning one of these challenges; after all only Rah’s pride was hurt, a little.

The addition of the kittens to our family was another gift.  Sarrah inadvertently absorbed some of the youthful energy that showed up with them.  Thankfully the feline chaos that spiced our daily life actually benefitted all of us, especially my tiring friend.

Jealousy

Eventually Sarrah was a little dismayed with having to tolerate them when it became apparent that they were not leaving.  It became her turn to learn to share space and time, with other animals.  If you think that animals do not have feelings and emotions, like Jealousy, you have missed something.  As the cute kittens grew into crazy brave young cats, they freely terrorized the backyard at home and consumed the atmosphere in the beach house.  Sarrah would sulk, sigh, and lay on her bed pouting when I would spend time with a kitten instead of her, (despite the fact that I always spent plenty of time with her first and after to avoid any issues); she simply wanted all of my time.

Luckily she learned to like them, as much as an older dog can adjust to pesky kittens who have invaded the home front.

Intruders

Like most dogs, Sarrah had a way with cats.  I don’t think she would actually hurt one, but these furry creatures intrigued her and she delighted in seeing them run.

Tux and Simon never wanted anything to do with Sarrah.  Tux simply disappeared when Sarrah was outside; Simon on the other hand would frequently swipe at her through gaps in the fence and occasionally sit on top of it, to taunt her.  They never bonded and never shared the same space at the same time.  Though they did share the same house and people, they never really lived together.  After they had gone, Sarrah settled into the role as our only pet.

Sarrah’s favorite trick for dealing with cats that crossed paths with her while we were out walking was a quick lunge and two to three quick pepper steps, which usually sent any cat running…. Great fun!  She always had a wide smile when watching a cat in flight, and in turn a puzzled look for the rare one tough enough to stay, crouch and Hiss.  Through the eyes of a cat, Sarrah was incorrigible.

When Sarrah was about ten years old a coworker of Nissa’s was adopted by a stray cat, and in turn ended up with a batch of genetic soup kittens, born May Twenty Eighth, Two Thousand Eight.  After some discussion we adopted two of these at least fifty percent feral, one third crazy, fearless kittens; a black male and a grey female each with faint ghost tiger stripes and a few random white chest spots.  Nissa named them after the Egyptian Gods, Rah and Isis.  Sarrah was beyond excited and very curious when these little ‘hair balls’ came home, fortunately for them being of wild origin gave them inherent coping skills for excessive sniffing and occasional chasing.  Initially Sarrah was amazed with the clumsy little kittens.  She acted like she had never seen anything like them before.  Sarrah displayed an intense curiosity and fixated on them, under closely guarded supervision.  She made no seriously aggressive moves toward the kittens, just a constant intense observation of these mini versions of the enemy.

Sarrah had an insatiable desire to sniff them; it seemed that she drew energy from their essence of new life.

Why do people carry books with them?

Why do people carry the same books with them?

Usually Bibles or other religious books, I assume, but why?  Is it to read, or reread when time is theirs to spare?  Could it be kept nearby so they can make notes on the pages when something comes to mind?  Perhaps to have it on hand to share with others, if so moved.  Maybe it is simply for comfort.  I’m not sure why and I’d never really thought about it, until Nissa asked me “Do you think your binder is a Security Blanket?”

I replied (after a day of contemplation) “Perhaps… It is a security blanket, but I think it’s more a need to complete it (with no rush nor deadline).  If I stop, it may never be restarted and remain unfinished.  The story is too important, at least to me (besides the time invested) and deserves to be written to some level of completion”.

This question and contemplation all came about because; from the moment that I began writing about Sarrah I kept a black pleather binder with me, at all times.  This ‘manuscript’ evolved with daily handwritten words, as they came to me.  Mainly I retyped it in the early morning hours, those when Sarrah would have been by my side, while my dragon waited and before the day cluttered my mind.  Then I updated it onto printed pages.  In the quiet, alone times often I just read and reread portions of my writings, reliving them in my mind.  Sometimes I simply kept it open to a picture.

I am lucky that I started writing about Sarrah when I did, otherwise I may have never done it. 

Equally, that it grew enough momentum to help perpetuate itself.  

I always wanted the story to progress… but did not really want it to conclude.

The Weary Kind

A couple of business collaborations ended over a three-year span.  One ended well having run its course, just a few months prior to the music stopping.  The later fell to the circumstances, making it time to pick up and try again.  I had seen glimpses of ‘the writing on the wall’ for quite a while in my handwriting (this is an example of where stubbornness isn’t always a quality) and knew that I needed to cause the latest change and jump into the pile of challenges that it takes, to move on.  My human battery would not hold a charge and I sensed that this change should be done while I still had my four-legged assistant, before I would not be able to rise out of bed, let alone to the occasion.  It was time to recycle my crippled career, in a new direction, with a new group, one more time.  Sarrah was eleven and half years old at this time with most of her life in the past and the dark cloud that all animal people are aware of, but try to ignore, was getting closer.

A working week alone with Sarrah at the Beach House in the late winter of Two Thousand Ten gave me time to do many things, one of which was to finally embrace this conclusion and scrounge up the energy required to get on with it.  While there I did some of the things that ease my mind, forms of what I suppose are mediation.  We walked many miles on the beach, through the dunes and down the roads.  The weather cooperated so I rode my motorcycle daily, around the community and the rural roads.  Most importantly, I simply sat in the sunshine with my best friend and watched her nap. At each day’s end, we walked to the beach to watch the sun disappear into the ocean.  Every evening I watched my favorite movie, “The World’s Fastest Indian”.  This was my first lone stay at the Beach House.  The quiet time alone was good for me and I feel fortunate that Sarrah was with me for this experience.

Shortly after returning, I met with another group who had expressed an interest in me, made ‘The Change’ and began the next chapter of my tired, working life story.  Around this time a movie titled “The Weary Kind” came out along with a soundtrack of the same name by Ryan Bingham that felt like a fitting battle song for the times (especially the lyrics “Somehow this don’t feel like home, anymore” and “Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try”), Sarrah and I listened to this tune every morning as we rallied to fight on another day.

Barge

Sarrah barged through life.

She never grasped the concept of walking beside a person, unless she was at the end of the leash and someone else happened to keep up (which Sarrah took to be a challenge for a race).  Her lack of respect for human leash rules came in part from conflicting training styles and expectations, early on.  Despite numerous remarks from those who felt compelled to ask “Who’s walking Who?” I grew to actually be a little proud of her independent spirit, that I hadn’t crushed her desire to barge out there and be the team leader of our walk.

Looking back she was always walking me, for which I will be eternally grateful.