brushfire"This, yes, this, it was always like this." -Stanley Koehler
REFLECTIONS OF AN EMPTY NESTER
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This time of year, we hear a lot about how we can live more positively and improve our lives. Now that 2018 is under way and my new year's resolutions already have fallen by the wayside, I realize everything I need to know to be happy, enjoy each day and get the most out of life year-round is right in front of me. It’s modeled by my dog, Ronnie. What makes Ronnie happy are the simple things. A bowl of food. A belly rub. A nap on a warm patch of sunlit carpet. A walk around the block with plenty of time to stop and smell the roses — or whatever. For Ronnie, the return of a beloved family member is cause for celebration — even if that person left only 15 minutes ago. Certain words and phrases bring joy, excitement and anticipation. Walk. Treat. Dad’s home. Others fill him with a sense of accomplishment or pride. Sit. Stay. Come. Good boy. Ronnie — true to a dog's reputation as man's best friend — embodies loyalty. He’s always there — literally: at my feet, by my side, on my lap. He’s an excellent listener and he never interrupts or argues. And he never holds a grudge, even if I accidentally step on his paw. The forgiveness is instantaneous and the way he wags his tail, it’s as if he’s apologizing to me rather than the other way around. Ronnie has good instincts. When I get his leash from the drawer, he automatically stretches. Upward dog. Downward dog. He appreciates the importance of routine. Wake up, scratch, shake, go out back, eat breakfast, take a nap. He also understands when he’s needed. When the kids were little, we used to call on his services whenever they were sick. “Nurse Ronnie,” they called him. He knew intuitively to be present, the comforting weight of his small body leaning against them, a warm tongue to offer reassurance, watchful brown eyes sending messages of love, calm, healing. Perhaps Ronnie’s most valuable asset is his boundless faith. Each day, after we leave, he knows we will return. All he must do is wait. Since time is not a concept relevant to his being, he is devoid of any of the anxiety you or I might feel as we watch — and worry — with the passing hours. If the wordless question — will they be back? — forms in his mind, the answer is always yes. When is immaterial. Such was the epic patience of Argos, Odysseus’s dog, who faithfully awaited his beloved master’s return from a 20-year odyssey, only to greet him with one last wag of his tail before he died. Where there is patience, there is abiding faith. Where there is absence of doubt, there is only hope. Where there is both faith and hope, there is love. This is what I learned from Ronnie I will take with me into the new year. This appeared in the Jan. 11, 2018 issue of the Grosse Pointe News.
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Mary Anne BrushJournalist, fiction writer, wife and mother |