The Truth

Right now, I miss Kudzu so much I can hardly breathe.

Requiescat in pace, Kudzu

My dearest, my most beloved Kudzu, may you rest in peace.

May you rest knowing that you were loved to the greatest depths of the human heart. May you rest knowing that you were and are cherished.

May you rest knowing that your constant companionship warmed even the loneliest, the most sorrowful of hours. May you rest knowing that you were light in a dark and sometimes unkind world.

May you rest knowing that your presence brought joy, comfort, happiness, peace. May you rest knowing that you were all things good (even when you were bad).

May you rest knowing that beyond pet, you were family, as much my lifeblood as anything. That you were my very heart.

May you rest, fully restored to your gray fuzzy bellied glory, with no scars or marks or patches to evidence of your illness.

May you rest knowing that you will never have to endure my picture-taking ever again.

May you rest after your long and hard-fought battle. Having been so brave and true, holding on for so long for me, so that I could accept that it was your time.

May you rest knowing that I never wanted you to die, except that one time you ate my blue merino wool J. Crew sweater (and even then, not really).

May you rest, weary traveler, from all those thousands of miles on the highway between here and North Carolina that would have been so much longer without you.

May you rest, knowing that you will never have to be stuck in the car with me in the McDonald's drive-in in Leland, North Carolina while I have a panic attack over the holiday weekend traffic.

May you rest knowing that you will be remembered in repose on the windowsill, on the kitchen towel, under a blanket nestled against my stomach.

May you rest gently purring or making sleepy kitty noises as you slumber. With your snaggletooth hanging out.

May you rest with my gratitude for having never eaten my eyeball as I feared you would.

May you rest having served me well with the greatest devotion and loyalty - no matter what mistakes I made in life.

May you rest from leaping onto the cabinets, the countertops, the bookshelves, the bed with sprightly grace.

May you rest with an endless supply of spider plants whose leaves you may nip to your heart's content.

May you rest from strewing toilet paper from the downstairs bathroom into the kitchen.

May you rest, never to be forgotten.

May you rest, my darling. May you rest from exhaustion, from pain and from this namelessness that has consumed you.

May you rest in the hands of the Heavenly Father who made you.

My dearest, my most beloved Kudzu, may you rest in peace.

The Word's Goodbye, But I Can't Say It

I've been a (raving) David Gray fan for over 10 years now. It all started for me like it did for most of us on this side of the pond when White Ladder exploded on the American scene with "Babylon." But over the years, I discovered the treasure-trove of pre-Ladder work, from Flesh and A Century Ends to Sell, Sell, Sell and my beloved Lost Songs. Plus, Gray put out three studio albums after Ladder.

Even more than Coldplay, David Gray has been the soundtrack of my life over the last decade. Albums and songs surged to the forefront at varying times with the words and music crafted for highs and lows. For love and lack thereof. For times when in the place "where we can shine" to the place "where the eye don't see no color." Like a cheap therapist, David Gray has soothed my soul on many occasions - long, desolate, never-ending car rides, stricken with grief, heartbroken.

And just like at the Coldplay concert, I heard one of his songs for the first time - from just four rows away from the one and only David Gray. I had thought it would be "This Year's Love" that would bring tears to my eyes or when he sang "As I'm Leaving." But instead, I was surprised when the song "Freedom" went right through my soul. And as I listened to it over and over (and over) again since then, what wasn't surprising was that it was a song for right now. For this state I'm in. For this place I live.

Take your eyes off me
There's nothing here to see
Just trying to keep my head together
And as we make our vow
Let us remember how
There's nothing good that lasts forever

Time out on the running boards
We're running
Through a world that lost its meaning
Trying to find a way to love
This running
Ain't no kind of freedom

Feel the touch of grief
You stand in disbelief
Can steal the earth from right beneath you
And falling in so far
They know just where you are
Yeah, but there ain't no way to reach you

***
It's time to clean these boots
Fold up these parachutes
The word's goodbye, but I can't say it
The end is close at hand
I think we understand
There ain't no use trying to delay it

***
Fasten on my mask
I'm bending to the task
I know this work is never finished
But if I close my eyes
I can still see you dancing
Laughing loud and undiminished

I love the last line of the song, the bittersweet hope of knowing that I will be able to close my eyes and see Kudzu undiminished - dancing across the floor on small, sure feet, eyes alight with love and mischief.

Thank you, David Gray, for the 497th reason that a world without your music would be less bearable.

How Would Carrie Bradshaw Do Yardwork?

When I left to get my hair cut on Saturday, I thought I looked rather fetching in a navy peasant skirt and pale blue top. And I decided to add cute shoes instead of flip-flops, opting for Sam Edelman faux snakeskin t-strap ballet flats.

After my hair cut (and color, where I got re-redded), I went to pick up the giant roll of fabric for recovering my couch. When I arrived at my house to drop it off, I found my parents in the throes of yardwork. Dad's pickup was loaded with bales of pinestraw and bags of mulch for the plant beds scattered around my front yard.

I couldn't let them toil alone. So I found myself spreading mulch in my Sam Edelmans. I imagine that was the most fashionable raking that yard had ever seen. All was well until the threat of mud arrived. And then I just had to go barefoot. Even Carrie would sacrifice a few splinters to save the shoes.

Name Game

Dillon's friend Luke has a new baby brother.

Dillon: What's Luke's brother's name?

Eva: His name is Zane.

Dillon: But why?

Eva: Well, because Luke's mom and dad liked that name.

Dillon: Well, if I have another baby, I'm going to name it Fred the Kong.

House Cat (Reposted)

This post initially appeared on Smartini as a response to a prompt to personify our pets I remembered it when I was paging through entries on kudzu jungle about Kudzu. And, aside from being a spot-on characterization of Kudzu, I thought it terribly ironic that the Zu has become his own diagnostic mystery.

***

He's sardonic. Dismissive. He's going to tell you like it is - even though you might not like it. He's smarter than you, and there's nothing you can do about it, and he's going to be in your face about it every chance he gets. It's not unusual for him to turn tail and walk away while you're in mid-sentence, as though he has neither the time nor the inclination to hear what you have to say. And if he stays, and you say the wrong thing, he just might cut you off in the middle and tell you what he thinks - and he's probably right. There are a thousand reasons why you should categorically really not like this guy, except - except he's irresistible.

Dearest Kudzu, so like Gregory House, MD. Cantankerous and beloved. Soulful eyes with a pinch of cutting intellect. Plus, Hugh Laurie is Australian and does a technically perfect British accent that reflects the aristocratic tone in which I imagine Kudzu might say something like, "That's not your color, but I wager you're going to wear it anyway."

He's always thinking, and he's always one step ahead of you. It's exasperating. But you're so glad he's around because - despite all his sometimes-prickly ways - he's really quite lovable. You must accept that on the outside, he's going to sass you. He will do as he pleases and the consequences be damned (because he knows that in most cases, he can escape the consequences). He's going to be independent and pretend he doesn't need you. But deep down, you know he does.

At the end of the day, no matter how many times he's scrambled out of your arms or away from your cuddles, he's going to come up to bed and settled down at your feet. He's predictable like that. He may pretend he wants to go, may act like he doesn't care. But he does. You just have to accept the facade and look for what's beneath the fur - the beast has less bite than he lets on.

Selsun Bloobs

In a recent conversation with STGD, I lamented that the situation with Kudzu had led to a flare-up of the uncontainable folliculitis. And while I expected a misery-loves-company agreement from my fellow folliculitian, I was surprised to hear him say that he no longer suffered from the skin affliction. Do tell!

Apparently, after realizing that the Selsun Blue he was using on his hair was sudsing down over his face and clearing up irritation there, he made a point of washing his face with Selsun Blue. And his face is an unmarred canvas of flesh-toned flesh. "I'm off meds," he said. "And creams. I just use the Selsun Blue." The conversation continued in an exchange horrifyingly reminiscent of every cringe-worthy feminine hygiene product commercial known to womankind.

Could this be the answer? After I'd been told it was heat rash and nearly pickled myself with vinegar compresses. After it was diagnosed as acne and I went through rounds of one of the -cyclines only to end up with a torn up stomach and sunburn. After tubes of Benadryl cream. And rounds of antibiotics to clear up infection. And the multi-step process I currently use - two creams and cornstarch powder - to keep the red, itching mass at bay. And all I need is some dandruff shampoo???

I didn't want to hope, but I found myself in Wal-Mart the following weekend, picking up some Selsun Blue. And the next morning...I shampooed my boobs.

The improvement was remarkable. Suddenly, a whole new world opened to me. V-necks! And scoop-necks! And baring the flesh below my chin! Now that it's getting into the summertime, I really appreciate not having to wear a turtleneck to disguise my leprosy.

So, now I guess S., The Graphic Designer is also S., The Genius Dermatologist. Where do I send my copay?