Process Note

It's been awhile since I posted to the Simple Explanation blog. Many reasons for this; most too difficult to articulate. 

That's me in the middle between my brothers, soon after our return stateside from Japan, 1958.

To catch you up a bit, you know we sold the bed and breakfast and moved to the San Diego area. The sale and the move were unhappy changes for me, and I did not adapt well to the new environment. To me, San Diego is an unsustainable biofilm clinging to the narrow rim betwixt desert and sea. Too many organisms, too few resources, too little space.

In an attempt to right the ship, we have returned to southern Oregon, to Jacksonville, a town just minutes from our previous Ashland location. We have purchased a lovely historic home within walking distance to town. I told my husband if we bought this house and moved back to Oregon, all would be forgiven. I'm working on that part now.

Simple Explanation's new home in Jacksonville, Oregon

My husband classifies us as "retired," and he isn't keen on returning to hostelry. So, as a compromise, I'll be hosting just a couple of rooms through airbnb. 
Please visit my airbnb listing and come pay us a visit! I can help you write or finish a book, if you want. Or we could just talk philosophy. Or maybe just listen to the crickets. 

I've also been grieving the death of my six cats and two dogs. Our animals had all turned elderly about the same time, and they have passed away, one after the other, continually, over the past five years. We did not have any human children, so I have been greatly attached to my pets and I miss them terribly. It is one of the principles of the Simple Explanation that "love is love, no matter the object of attachment." 

Anyway, this is the most upbeat post I could manage... Hope to write more on the Simple Explanation next time...

Here is a poem I wrote when Zoey passed on, which I have now edited to include Franny's passing.

Zoey

 Franny

When the Old Dog Dies

cyd ropp

When the old dog dies

I will no longer have to step carefully over her sleeping form

As I rise from bed and feel my way to the toilet in the dark.

When the old dog dies

I can take the ratty old blanket from off the couch

where we sit for hours watching classic movies and eating popcorn.

When the old dog dies

No one will insist I go for walks twice every day

And no one will pull me out the door into rain, into snow, into blistering August heat.

When the old dog is gone

I can eat my meals in peace and quiet

And not have to share bites off the edges of my toast.

When the old dog dies

I can take the beach towels off the car seats and vacuum out all the fur and return the the van from a rolling dog house

Fit for human passengers again.

When the dog finally dies

I can put fancy cheeses in the refrigerator drawer that now houses two pounds of raw, four-meat canine blend from the butcher shop and and a variety of half-chewed bones.

When the dog is gone

I can go to the mall all afternoon and maybe even take in a movie

Without wondering how she is doing home alone.

When the old dog has gone

I won’t have to search for missing shoes

she has carried from the closet and stashed in odd piles about the house.

After the old dog dies

I can sleep until noon if I want to

And no one will jab me with a cold, wet nose over and over and over again until I give up and get out of bed.

After the old dog is gone

I can get dressed in peace

Without her barking and dancing in happy circles as if my life’s purpose was to take her out for a stroll or a ride in the car.

How much quieter, roomier, cleaner the house will seem without her constantly by my side.