Janet's Tree 2

Annabeth Hinderling painted this portrait of Janet's memorial tree. I've got it hanging in the living room now, right above Janet's Lava Lamp.

Janet Wisdom

My niece Adrianna asked my mom the other day "The blog talks about what Uncle David did for Aunt Janet, but what did she do for him?" I have to admit, I was taken aback, as I didn't think I was being that self centered. But perhaps I'm focusing on what I could do, as that makes me feel better about my otherwise somewhat torpid self.

The quick answer is, of course, "everything". But if I had to say the one thing I truly miss in a daily functional sense is her perspective. As most of you know, I'm a bit frenetic, which is a polite word for scattered. I tend to chase down fourteen projects at once, often at the expense of, you know, actually finishing them. Janet on the other hand would nip onto something and hold on until she'd thoroughly shredded it (for some reason, canid analogies come easily). She'd turn to me and often say "Your problem is that whenever you're doing something, you're feeling guilty that you aren't doing something else."

And that's something she never had. Well, perhaps occasional guilty feelings (certainly more so than Molly). But I'd be hard pressed to think of many regrets she had due to her own actions. Frustrations and wishes she could do more, sadly yes. But as the saying goes, "No one on their death bed ever wishes they'd spent more time at the office". Thankfully, that wasn't an issue with her. And I try to hear that perspective as I go through the day, and feel less guilt that I'm playing with the dog when I should be practicing. Certainly, she never felt that way!

Dog training

Spent the morning at flyball, a dog relay sport (go over hurdles, grab tennis ball, come back, go fast). Strange that we've never gotten into it before, as the local team meets every Sunday right next door to us, but it's really more Molly's sport than it was Susie's. Janet was not a fan of flyball, as it seemed to bring out the barkiness in our otherwise quiet Susie Dog. And as she pointed out, having a barky German Shepherd would win us few friends with the neighbors.

Molly's needed a sport, though, so I've been taking her. And so far, she hasn't been barking too much more. She has been acting up somewhat since Janet left us. Truthfully, while I don't think I'm an awful handler, I'm not Janet. Somehow, Janet always was able to keep the mutt under control, usually without the need to look up from what she was doing. She had these eyes on the back of her head, and a quick growl was all that it took to bring the pup in from the porch (or other mischief making location) and return her to gnawing on her rubber bone, aka "The Doggy Gameboy" (yet another Janetism).

Of course, Janet spent a fair amount of time cultivating the illusion of omniscience. Both dogs spent their formative years learning that at any moment, Janet could appear in a puff of smoke, ready to dispense Justice. Basically, I'd watch them as they snuck into the kitchen or wherever, then relayed reports to Janet who'd yell at them while clearly out of the line of sight. Alternatively, she'd just lie in wait herself, then pounce on them from her office hidey hole. Barking cessation was taught by crating the pup, then going downstairs to the parking lot, where she'd hang out reading her usual mystery novel. One woof, and You Know Who would be there in a flash. You could just see the dog thinking "But...but....didn't you go to work?"

I'm doing the best that I can these days. Tough with a border collie-- I might exercise her more, but I think Janet was more mentally stimulating. Come to think of it, the dog is hardly alone in that assessment.

The Little Mermaid

Janet would roll her eyes at the title, recalling years ago when we endured a child swarm to attempt taking our niece Marissa (now all grown up and playing violin) to the eponymous Disney movie. Well, it was a break from her Cinderella fixation. Marissa's, that is, not Janet's. Although she did like the mice.

I'm talking about the darker original version by Hans Christen Anderson, which is part of a round about apology I'm making for not posting more on this blog. As my mother pointed out the other day (as mothers do), I haven't written anything here in weeks. A situation that she fretted, with probable justness, as writing here is a form of therapy for me as well as a way of preserving Janet's memory.

It's the last clause there that is the sticking point. I've been trying to be upbeat, as Janet was, despite her illnesses, largely an upbeat person. Not stupidly Polyannaish, but the kind of person who delighted in the small things of living, be it a cup of tea I'd managed to prepare right for once, a dog's slobbery tongue, or simply a good day teaching.

But I'll have to say that my mood has been anything but. My brain isn't where it should be, and when it works it reminds me of the darker things that won out in the end. I hate polluting Janet's memory with my own moodiness, so the keyboard hasn't been clacking. At least not for things I'm willing to post.

Janet was perfectly aware of those darker things, of course. Arthritis had squelched her orchestral career just as it started. And yet, as I keep pointing out, she'd play through the pain on a regular basis.

And God, she had that expressive tone. Lacking the fireworks of lightning fast dexterous runs, she put everything into the sound. And I would be just as guilty if I were to gloss over the obstacles she faced as if I never spoke of happier things.

Maybe it was her bargain with the Sea Witch. Remember the latter's bargain with the Mermaid? The Mermaid would get to walk and dance but as the Witch said

...you will feel great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. But all who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw. You will still have the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will ever tread so lightly; but at every step you take it will feel as if you were treading upon sharp knives, and that the blood must flow.

So, today, I'm going to start writing again. And if it's hard for me, I have to think of my Little Mermaid, playing though her fingers felt like knives were passing through them. And she was the prettiest little human being I ever saw.

Coffee shops

Visited our friend Helen today, who used to own. the sadly closed Dollshie's Coffee in Encinitas, and now owns and runs the happily busy coffee cart at Scripps Rancho Bernado Clinic. Helen and Janet hit it right off as fellow dog lovers (Dollshie was the name of Helen's dog). We spent many afternoons there, with Susie tucked under the table and a good book tucked in Janet's hands.

While Helen is more of a coffee person (after all, she's from Eritrea), she nonetheless remains the only barista who ever made tea to Janet's politely exacting standards. Janet helpfully bought Yorkshire Gold for Helen, and that became the secret stash under the counter. You had to ask for it. Think of it as a tea speakeasy.

Well, except for the time Helen tried to surprise Janet with Earl Grey. It didn't even get past Janet's nose. "Earl Grey is not black tea." Janet had a general dislike for flavored tea on a religious basis (The First Church of Pre-Heat the Pot, Please). And she really didn't like the bergamot flavoring in Earl Grey, possibly because so many people would give it to her when she'd asked for black tea. Heck, even Parisians, who after all are known for a certain gastronomical fussiness, would get confuzzled when she asked for "une tasse de the noir, s'il vous plait". Janet quickly learned to just ask for Lipton.

But Helen took it in stride. She had similar feelings about coffee, having once told me a proper cup took an afternoon to prepare. You start by roasting, you see. Call them sisters in caffeine addiction, perhaps the English and Eritrean varieties of same.