Dear thighs:

3/21/17

Dear thighs:

(This is a homework assignment)


Oh my dearest thighs
I think you've seen many guys
But which of those
Have honored from your toes
To your glorious thighs?
Thighs, you are rich
You are soft without a hitch.
You are strong and supple,
Am I seeing double?
Even loved when not in a couple,
You beautiful wondrous thighs.

Dear Pussy:

3/21/17

Dear Pussy:

Good morning, Pussy. I think you deserve a capital P.

I have spent a weekend having your name slammed into my ears repeatedly, with a little disconnection as to what that means. A little to a lot of disconnection, depending on the moment.

The moment I connected to, as I am an anatomy nerd, is that our clitoris integrates information from our Central Nervous System, Peripheral Nervous System, Unconscious and Hypothalamus. There was another one, but I missed it. Therefore, tuning in and listening to our Pussies can lead us in the right direction. It's like a dousing rod for our true desires.

Well, dear Pussy, I have not spent much time listening to you for several years now. In fact, when you speak up, I tend to stifle you. The truth is, when I listen to you, you are so fucking powerful and sometimes overpowering.

But you know what I realized? You only desire to lead me so far. And then, some other part of me takes over and throws me over a cliff or something. It's very interesting. Someone said this weekend that the Pussy is very discerning. And I think that's true. The Pussy doesn't actually like everything and everyone. Pussy likes to be appreciated, spoken nicely to, petted, complimented, touched attentively and so on. And my Pussy is shy right now. She's interested in rebuilding trust. With me, especially.

I actually started writing this to get clear on what I want for today. But I think I served myself in getting in touch with you a little, Pussy. So you can show me the way today.

I love you,

Shannon

Dear Asha: 12/25/16

12/25/16

Dear Asha:

Merry Christmas, darling. I am gazing at you across the room. You are making the face that I attribute to feeling happy and perhaps reading my mind and feeling acknowledged. I was looking at a picture of you today. It's from when Deena was a freshly arrived pup into our lives. You two are snuggling in the papazon chair that I used to have.

Then, I thought of last night when you came up and snuggled against Deena on the blanket on the couch. You only do these things in the winter, so I know it is in large part due to keeping warm. But it made me wonder/realize that perhaps you have been the snuggler all along. People don't give you credit since you're not always welcoming to those you haven't known for a long time. You'll hiss or wail or sometimes bite or scratch. But I think snuggling is in your true nature.

Of course, you always snuggle with me. I am your mommy and you are my kitten. You are doing it right now – you are kneading the blanket on my lap and purring your beautiful song. It's a little bit of a compulsive behavior, but it's so cute and feels good (as long as your nails are trimmed). But I think I realized you like to snuggle with others as well. You want to be in contact. You used to snuggle with Shadow, but I think she got most of the credit because she was naturally snuggly with everyone.

Deena, however, does not naturally snuggle with you. She does with me and other people and sometimes other dogs. But you are the one who has approached her the times you've lain with contact or near-contact between you. Even when she was a puppy, it was you who went and laid next to her. I think that's the thing – it was natural for you to do that. It's only been because of her behavior since that has made you stop. Of course, there's no way to verify this, but it really makes my heart smile when I think how you want to not only be loved, but be loving. You want to sidle up next to your family and be warm and cozy and in contact.

I love you so much, Asha. I said yesterday that you've been with me 1/3 of my life. That's kind of a big deal. That's a lot of knowing each other. I know I've been through many life changes in that time. And people don't often think of their pets doing that as well, but when Shadow died – who had always been there for you – your life changed immensely. Here we are, almost five years later, and I feel like I'm just now getting to see you open up again and be a kitty in the way I knew you when you were young. You've played fetch a few times recently. You've played with some of your toys recently. You've snuggled with Deena. I love to see this in you, my darling. I know part was the loss of your soul mate. The other part was the addition of this dog that doesn't really relate to you very well. And when I looked at that picture, I saw you trying to relate to her. I love you. Thank you for the arm massage right now.

Shannon

Dear Shannon (me): 12/13/16

12/13/16

Dear Shannon:

Hey girl, it's me, Shannon. Sometimes you are working to make life changes. Frequently, you are working to make life changes. And when you are working specifically on the ones that are routine-based, it seems if you miss one time or one day, you think THAT'S IT! YOU SUCK!

Well, I'm here to tell you, that is just silly. Let's see how you did in the last four weeks…

You began November 15. First of all, good job just beginning in the middle of the month, and the middle of the week. Sometimes you like to say to yourself that you will start X, Y or Z in the new month or on Sunday. Nope, you just started. Good fucking job.

Goal 1-Eat three meals per day (meaning eat breakfast within an hour of waking): 96% successful

Goal 2-Have a snack every day: 100% successful

Goal 3-Walk a certain number of miles each day: 82% successful

Goal 4-Exercise 30 minutes at least 3 times per week: 66% successful (that's really good considering one of the weeks was Thanksgiving and then your period)

Goal 5-Stop eating two hours before bedtime: 78% successful

And your average success percentage is…..

84.4%

Well, Shannon, considering how much you believe in doing these things at least 80% of the time, good job!!!

Love you,

Shannon

Dear Deena: 12/17/16

12/17/16

Dear Deena,

I had a dream with you in it last night. I wanted to write this letter this morning with the dream fresher in my mind; I had to get ready for work.

There was a massage office with the same or almost the same entrance as the SWIHA massage clinic, only this was a privately owned business. Several people who had graduated from SWIHA were working there. I went in to check out the rooms and potentially work there too. Gilad worked there.

Each room was huge – the size of a bedroom. Each room was decorated in its own style and pattern, but all the rooms looked like the decorations were based on very old styles, like middle ages: velvet draperies and soft materials against stark spaces. Gilad pointed to a room in the back and told me I needed to check out that room; it was the best. I imagined it was because it had the best view. Without looking at the room yet, I knew the window would face the only area without any buildings or other man-made things to obstruct the trees and grass.

I didn't get a chance to look all the way at the room. Something changed in the dream and there was some commotion with the people who worked there – most of whom I knew from SWIHA someway or another. Iko was arriving and she had brought her two dogs (in real life she only has one). Then, I needed to go somewhere. I was driving and my car started freaking out like it was breaking down. A light on the dash came on that looked like the globe. The car started beeping at me. I was freaking out a little. And suddenly I needed to go back to where I was.

I got back (was it still the massage place?) and you were there, dead, on the ground. There was blood coming from your mouth pooled on the ground. I think I freaked out again. I imagine that I did. I don't remember much after that. When I woke, I know I was trying to get in touch with the feeling I had during the dream. I always think that's what's important about dreams: what feelings they conjure and where those feelings exist in your real life. Everything else is just symbolism

As I write this, you just jumped up next to me and began licking my arm. I love you so much.

So, I was trying to contact the feeling. I actually think I was enraged in the dream. I didn't specifically recall grief or mourning from the dream. Rage. Was it because I didn't completely listen to my inner knowing? Was it just the first stage of grief? Was it because someone did something to you? Was it because of neglect? These are things I'd probably be able to answer if I had written this first thing in the morning. C'est la vie.

I love you. I said to you the other day that you are sensitive. You had an interesting reaction to that. You are sensitive, my darling. I love you.

Shannon

Dear Judy: 12/13/16

12/13/16

Dear Judy,

I just got your Christmas gift in the mail today. I love it. I genuinely do.

For the last years, as many as I can remember, you have sent me a cat gift. At first, I think I was annoyed because I wanted money. Plus, I'm used to family members sending money if they send anything at all. It's interesting because I'm not close to my extended family, so they became dollar signs in my eyes?

As the cat gifts continued coming, I went through a period of thinking you don't know me at all. Which is essentially true. None in my family really know who I am as an adult, including my mom. She knows the most, but still very limited.

Then, I looked forward to the cat gifts because I appreciated you sending me a gift in the first place. This is what we are told we are supposed to feel when we receive presents. Perhaps it's age or repetition that brought the feeling about for real. And I liked the view of me in your eyes. Maybe you did have trouble buying me a present, wondering if I would like it. But I really began to appreciate them. And the tea cup was my very favorite. I still use and love it.

I saw you earlier this year. You and your sister came to visit my mom. The three of you came down to Phoenix and we went to Butterfly Wonderland. Mostly, I liked seeing you all together. I like that my mom has sisters and you can experience part of her life on the other side of the country. I also kind of did some hinting when we were in the gift shop. Not so much that I wanted you to buy me something there, but that I like things without cats on them. Just give you a little glimpse.

And this year, I could tell before opening the package that there was a book inside. And when I unwrapped it, it was two books-journals, in fact. I LOVE JOURNALS. Perhaps you asked my mom what I would like. There are no cats in sight. Though, a journal with a cat on it would be cute. I especially like (though you probably don't know you did this) that the colors of the journals are the same color that was the theme in my grandparents' house, the house you still live in. The journals are for me, and have a flavor of you and my grandparents. I love it. I love it. Thank you, Judy.

Shannon

Dear Mom: 1/31/17

1/31/17

Dear Mom:

We went to the arboretum today. I loved it. You mentioned while we were there that you had been trying to come visit once per month while it's beautiful outside here and cold up there. I hadn't noticed you were doing that. But you were here last month and the month before. You said you'd come again next month. That makes me happy.

You asked me how Jenna is doing with her baby. That prompted my question: what did you do/what was it like when I was a baby.

(Interlude: as I'm writing this Asha is snuggling up next to Deena. Contact and everything. I love this rarity)

You said I didn't cry for a long time. Then I became a fussy baby. You had wanted twins but when I got fussy you were glad you just had me. That was also the end of you wanting anymore kids. You've told me that before, but I didn't know it was because of the fussiness.

You told me you didn't work for three months. Then, you went back and left me with a sitter who had been recommended by someone. But you would pick me up and I'd have a diaper full of poop. And when I was ready to start crawling the woman would keep me shut up in my chair because she didn't have time to follow me around. That was the straw for you. You didn't want my development hindered that way. You took me out and put me in regular daycare.

You also said I was having a hard time digesting milk. You didn't breastfeed. And when you told the doctor about the milk they basically gave you no help at all. There was no help for things like that.

I am interested to hear about these things. So many things I ask about, you tell me you just don't really remember. Perhaps that is why I've started this little blog. To remember.

I love you. Very much. I know I was asking you some questions when you were complaining about work. Mostly, I don't like to feel how much you despise things about people. For your own well being, really. And I think it would be neat if there could be some resolution. I'm pretty sure I got a lot of my need to be “right” from you. I don't think you're wrong. I think that I'd like you to be happy.

Anyway, I can't make you do anything. Just like you can't make anyone else do anything. And I fucking love you. I like seeing you and Tim, and I like seeing just you. It was nice to get some quality mom and me time together. Thank you for making the huge-ass trek down here. I think you drove 8 hours today. So good to see you. I'll come to you in our warm months.

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

Shannon

Dear Ryan D: 12/12/16

12/12/16

Dear Ryan,

I had a dream about you last night. In real life, your cat died recently; in the dream you had bladder cancer. I put those statements next to one another because the feelings were similar for me. Like, I can feel the pain you're going through, but not really. It's been a long while since I lost a beloved pet. I can relate, but from a distance away. I also have not had cancer. It is impossible to know what that experience would be.

In the dream, with your bladder cancer, I could feel my bladder responding. Anytime I hear of someone with some bladder issue or UTI, my bladder responds. I had bladder infections as a child. I even remember my mom taking me to a doctor to have all my plumbing tested. They filled my bladder with water to see how much it could hold; they stuck an uninflated balloon up my asshole and then inflated it; they did whatever kind of scan is appropriate for looking at the bladder. The only information I remember them leaving us with was that my bladder was 1/3 the size it was supposed to be, and it would grow once I went through puberty.

I remember my mom during those moments. More accurately, I remember what I believe I felt from my mom in those moments. I was her only child. She didn't have any other children before or after me to gauge what was the right answer or better choice. Just me. And what I felt from her during difficult moments like that was like she couldn't stand to put me through it, but she just didn't know what else to do. She worked as a scientist and wanted some answers.

I wet the bed at least until 6^th grade. It was at an age when I was having sleep overs at other people's homes. My mom would tell their moms that I may or may not wet the bed. Perhaps I needed to wear my Depends at night. My friends were lovely and understanding, but it was still embarrassing.

I haven't had a bladder infection for as long as I can remember. But when people discuss bladder issues, or when I dream about them at night, my bladder lights up in recognition and starts to bother me. I do remember in the dream wondering if I had bladder cancer.

Anyway, Ryan, I am sorry about your cat. I know she was as old as my cat, and therefore, has been with you a very long time. Your little soul familiar. I love you, and I loved the joy Asa brought you. My heart goes out to you.

Shannon

Dear Shannon (me): 12/11/16

12/11/16

Dear Shannon (me):

I had an idea earlier this week, and it went something like this:

I have always had a fantasy of spending a summer in a rather secluded lake house, writing on a laptop, breathing in clean, mountainous air. I believe this image comes from a compilation of writers' stories that I've heard and envisioned for myself. It's very romanticized and has a lot of emotional depth to it. There's something about the seclusion and the view and nature and getting ideas out through typing. It feels cathartic and peaceful at the same time.

A few years ago I was living in a house, in the desert, that was pretty crummy. I wouldn't go so far as to say slummy or bummy, but definitely grimy and in the least excellent part of a pretty moderate city. I wanted to move. Not just from the house, but from the city. I had had enough of the desert, where I had already spent 15 years. I believed (and still believe) that location can change your experience.

I talked to one of my mentors about this: “I live in a location and climate that is harsh. It's dry. It's difficult for things to root and grow here. I want to live somewhere that's wet and lush and where I can feel water around me and inside me. I want to live somewhere that feels like I could put roots down and it would feel like home.”

If someone else gave him the same set of statements, he might have had a different answer. But me, I'm a runner. When I'm uncomfortable, it has been my natural instinct to drop it all and say “fuck this.” Maybe not the greatest long term solution for life. So, he told me to find what I was looking for exactly where I was. He gave me a spiel about how I need to commit to where I am, and when I don't, I miss out on what is already in front of me. If I can't be happy now, I won't be happy somewhere else. This, of course, infuriated me. One, because it's true. Two, because it's not the only thing that's true.

I decided to listen to him. I changed my house around. Rather than living there with the mindset of “I may move any day so why bother ____ (planting plants in the yard, decorating in a way that's welcoming, etc.) I decided to make my house feel like the lake house I had envisioned. Probably, if I looked back now, I would think it was pretty cheesy. But, for the time, it worked well. I rearranged and cleaned and added color where before there existed only hand-me-down furniture and neutral tones. In my mind I let it become the home where I would want to spend a summer even without the lake.

I moved about a year later. Through an interesting set of circumstances, the house kicked me out. I moved into an apartment with a roommate, and now live in the same apartment by myself. I've not had the desire to recreate the lake house in this new home. I have nested and made it something I appreciate it. But lake house, no. My vision has remained steadfast, though.

The other day while I was working, I got another image of how to create my dream. The funny part is, I don't write. Not really. So, writing on the laptop has all this meaning for me, with no content to actually be plugging away into the computer. It's been about the rest of the image. And when I've tried to imagine the secluded lake house minus the typing, it just doesn't work. No other imagery has come forward to replace the writing. And then, while I was working, I thought “A Life in Letters.” Letters that I write to people and to myself that show an unfolding of my life. For myself. For others. For anyone who has any interest at all.

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