Thursday, January 29, 2009

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Definition of Crazy

This post deserves a little explanation. This is my friend and her family owns commercial, wholesale greenhouses. I've been helping her out for the last couple of months. As we pulled into the drive today, she noticed that a couple of the panes of "glass" on the roof of this greenhouse were sagging. She determined that she needed to get the snow and ice off of the panes, to avoid a cave in situation. So she climbed the ladder and stood up on the slick, ice-covered roof, in the snow and 20 degree temps, with 40 mph winds. For 15 minutes. Absolutely crazy. Crazy. :)

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.
What was old could be new again.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

An Open Letter To Jules Marie Caruso

Peter, Judy, Jules and Bryan Caruso (Nov 2007)

I'm sure you saw yesterday, how many people came to show how much they loved you, because I know you were there with us. Your aunt and brother said such beautiful things (you would have been so proud of Bryan!). It was a fantastic day to honor your life.

Jules, I was already missing you, due to the break-up between your brother and I, but the things you taught me had held fast. I had been and will continue to honor you and your beliefs in small ways, each day. And I will always remember our first meeting and how warm and welcoming to me you were. The memories of our time doing yoga together and sitting in the hot tub on your parents patio, watching you save a little wayward frog and our walk on the beach Thanksgiving of '07 were and will remain close to my heart. One of my favorite memories is the baseball game in April '08 with your family and then the subsequent ride up to Wisconsin that you, Bryan and I shared together. I have thought of that afternoon many, many times. And I will wear the scarf you gave me with pride and will, like so many others, plant a garden this spring in your honor (grown just as you would have wanted it).

Through your friends, I have learned even more about who you were and what you stood for and while I didn't always understand some of your choices (I guess that's the city girl in me), I ALWAYS admired you and your steadfast convictions and beliefs, looked up to you and held you in the highest esteem.

And you have given me a gift, for which I could never repay you. Through the loss of you in our daily lives, I have gained some new friends (Jutta and others) and regained my connection to your family and your brother, whom I love more than words can express. Thank you, thank you, thank you for that. I am eternally grateful.

Many others have already said it, but you will live on in our hearts and our actions in our daily lives, as will the messages in which you so strongly believed. I know that God is holding you in his arms and I have prayed that my grandfather George Norman Purvis, who you would have loved, as he was a farmer and a lover of all things living, will come find you to show you around heaven and to help you get settled in.

I will miss you.

With all of my love,

Copper Dog

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Moratorium In Memorial

Out of respect for my friend Jules Caruso, who passed away on January 1st, I won't be blogging until after her funeral service January 17th. For those of you that didn't know her, she was an amazing woman and will be missed by many. My blog will return to normal on the 18th. Thanks for your understanding. -Copper Dog

Saturday, January 3, 2009

In Memorium: Jules Caruso 12/27/69 - 01/01/09

In Memorium: Jules Caruso 12/27/69 - 01/01/09

I remember the neckcurls, limp and damp as tendrils;

And her quick look, a sidelong pickerel smile;

And how, once started into talk, the light syllables leaped for her.

And she balanced in the delight of her thought,

A wren, happy, tail into the wind,

Her song trembling the twigs and small branches.

The shade sang with her;

The leaves, their whispers turned to kissing,

And the mould sang in the bleached valleys under the rose.

Oh, when she was sad, she cast herself down into such a pure depth,

Even a father could not find her:

Scraping her cheek against straw,

Stirring the clearest water.

My sparrow, you are not here,

Waiting like a fern, making a spiney shadow.

The sides of wet stones cannot console me,

Nor the moss, wound with the last light.

If only I could nudge you from this sleep,

My maimed darling, my skittery pigeon.

Over this damp grave I speak the words of my love:

I, with no rights in this matter,

Neither mother nor father nor brother.

-Theodore Roethke

Friday, January 2, 2009