Rainy day in August; always a good thing at the Casa, as it not only breaks the cycle of viciously humid days, it also forces dad to slow down a bit. I like to GO! GO! GO! as much as any dog, but sometimes it’s good to hang around the house for a bit, the siren call of the road somewhat muted by the rain drumming on the back porch. The hummingbirds are undeterred by a little precipitation and continue their violently predatory ways, but the rain seems to have subdued the yellow jackets and wasps; we have declared an armistice, and will resume hostilities tomorrow.
We at the Casa have a “thing” for the underdog: the abandoned dog, the misfit person, the old car, the untrendy motorcycle(dad’s excuse), but sometimes we even take it to ridiculous extremes, if you can imagine anyone at the Casa EVER doing anything over the top.
When we hit the grocery store, we usually find ourselves at the “damaged goods” bin; not necessarily as a cost saving measure, but as some sort of reminder that we all are damaged but still good. Although the can may be dented and the label torn, the peaches inside are still as good as the day they were born.
Like me, many readers of this page could be considered by some to be damaged goods; the farther the package travels and the more it is handled, the more apt there is to be superficial damage, but the key word here is not “damaged” but “good”. The package does not define the contents, it merely serves as the medium of transport.
You’ve all seen the pictures of my rescue; the cold drizzle, the motorcycles, etc. What you don’t see (thankfully) is dad’s colostomy bag, the result of a freak motorcycle accident barely two months before. As you can imagine, at the time this was a MAJOR issue, one that he was sure would never pass (get it? “pass”? I kill myself), but now that’s all behind him(there I “go” again). A second surgery was succesful and what was once a life changing situation has left him with just a little additional damage to his packaging.
Mom’s package is no different; cancer surgery, chemo, a thoracotomy, and all the associated indignities over the years have left her with her own particular physical personality. But, like yours, this does not define the contents, and to be honest, hasn’t really changed the packaging that much either.
Time heals all wounds.
When I emerged from the crate, I’m sure I looked and smelled like damaged goods, not a spot on me that dad and Zach could pet due to the protruding bones and oozing sores, but that was then, and this is now. Now the only physical reminder I carry of this particular time is literally on my back; three white hairs that mark the last lesion to heal, the spot on the arch of my spine that was rubbed through by constant contact with the crate. Maybe someday thelse hairs will vanish as well, then again, it matters not; what does matter is that my packaging does not define who I am any more than your’s defines you.
Speaking of packaging, I’m fixing to do a little damage to Mia’s if she doesn’t get that squeaky ball out of my face when I’m trying to finish a post; mom gifted me a new phone last night, a waterproof, shockproof Samsung Active 7, and we need some quiet time together.
Doubtful that this will ever happen until we take this show on the road, as there is precious little quiet time at the Casa.