…must come down.
Dad here; I shanghaid the Droid this morning, as Charlie and Max are still crashed out under the covers. As the rain has finally stopped in Arkansas, we decided to take a little jaunt out to Pinnacle mountain last night and get our climb on. I have been clamboring up that pile of rock with various dogs for thirty years, and Zach and Alex made their first ascents in a backpack before their first birthdays. I’ve seen fire and rain on that mountain, double rainbows, sunrises and sunsets, snow and thunderstorms, and so many personal encounters with great people that I couldn’t begin to recount them all.
Like most things in life, climbing with Charlie has both positives and negatives; in the positive column is the fact that she’s so powerful that you can just hang on to the lead, and as long as soft tissue damage is not a concern, she’ll basically yank you to the top. On the negative side, if you’re not the lead dog, the view never changes, and you spend the entire first half of the hike with her butt staring you square in the face like the ever-present Eye of Sauron. Max is actually a better hiking dog, as he travels just far enough ahead to not be underfoot, keeping his bat-like ears swiveled backwards to make sure dad is keeping up. I couldn’t help thinking what a great companion Stevie would have been, but all things happen in due season for a reason.
Then after a spectacular sunset (but aren’t they all?), comes the trip down, and the key word is “trip”. Like life, you seem to pay double for the energy you expended in the first half of the journey; I don’t recall my legs being this wobbly and unstable descending on previous excursions, but I have to remind myself that, unfortunately, they’re now some years older as well as carrying an extra twenty pounds of lard. The trail that was well lit and dry on the ascent is now darkly treacherous and slick with dew, but stopping is never an option, so it was onward through the fog. Miss Ellie patiently waiting in the swirling mist of the deserted parking lot was a welcome sight, and we loaded up our sopping selves and headed for the Casa.
All is now quiet, interrupted only by the occasional murmur as Charlie chases Mia through her dreams: a touch of insomnia has me awake and wondering:
Where do we go from here?
This page was started as a response to the incessant barrage of negatism on the Web today, always harping on the bad without giving any clue as to how we can affect towards the good. Although Charlie’s sad beginning is an important part of her story, she is not a victim, but a survivor and her message hopefully reflects this; we all matter and we all can and do make a difference. Helping her find her voice has been a priceless gift for which I’m eternally grateful, but what if there’s more? What needs are we possibly missing?
This is where you come in.
You are all an integral part of this story, Charlie’s angels, if you will,and as such, have a voice in its direction. If it’s all about spreading the message through Charlie’s antics, so be it, but if you have any suggestions on how we can better accomplish this, we’re all ears; PM’s and comments are the fodder what keeps this page alive and kicking.
Now it’s time to wrap it up, as there are battleplans to be considered in the morning; those bloated micro-velociraptors commonly known as hummingbirds are getting WAY out of hand and must be dealt with swiftly and firmly.
It’s always a party at the Casa del Whackos.