♪ Run Between the Raindrops ♪

     Every morning it's the same comfortable routine... I get a wake-up call from a faraway land, a loving, long-distance version of " G'morning...I brought you some coffee"; I get up; let my dogs out, they play while I get breakfast for Brett, and then I take them for a walk. Sounds monotonous and rather dull,  I know, but I am a creature of habit and it's the only routine I have in this hazy stretch of recovery limbo. My college-attending son's pup, Zeus, is a nine-month-old Lab mix, of which we are certain some of the mix is good ol' hound dog. My rescued-from-abandonment 2-year-old Shiloh is also a blonde Lab with much more delicate mannerisms. I haven't had a dog for ten years, and for now I have a matched set. Who knew?
     They roll around in the grass together like Simba and Nala of Lion King fame, sometimes running at each other so hard that one will tuck and roll upon impact. Lately Shiloh has learned that she can take Zeusie down by grabbing a foreleg in her teeth and sacking him, shades of John Elway or Jay Cutler. I usually yell out the kitchen door, coffee cup in hand, 'That's my girl!" I sure wish I could have done that to my brother back in the day. Would have evened things up a little.                                                                                                                                                                  
    So this morning it poured. HALLELUJAH! However, no puppy play today. ( I remember when the boys were little and we'd have to stay in on the two or three days it ever rained in Southern California during their childhood, and the hours (and my nerves)  seemed to stretch like silly putty. Two young dogs who need to wrestle and frolic tend to recreate those young motherhood days.
    Around noon I leashed them up and prayed the rain would hold off until we got back, intending to take them around the block just once. Just once, I did not put the training harness on 70-80-lb. Zeus, thinking,' I can handle this around the block'. 200 yards down the street my post-cancer arms were in disagreement. " Zeusie, Gramma gonna take you home. You are hurting me..." and after depositing the squirrel-chasing-with-the-velocity-of-a go-kart Zeus back at The Cottage, Shiloh and I set out again. Heading into our regular walk, which takes us down the block, up another street, and up a back stretch behind the neighborhood ending at our backyard, when my already frayed body and nerves wondered if perhaps I should change my mind and take us back home. What if it starts pouring and we are at the far point? Just then she circled me and I did a twirl with my arm over my head, just like ballroom dancing, to keep the leash from twirling me. I looked down at that beautiful toffee-colored canine thanking me with her eyes for a walk without The Pup for once, and said to her, "Welp, we're already out, and we'll finish what we started. Right? " Shiloh wagged her elegant tail at me in agreement and trotted happily along, splashing in the gutters.
     My life adventures and misadventures very often resemble taking a dog for a walk in between rain showers. I haven't always planned well, and my leaps of faith have many times been into a puddle, knee-deep in swirling water. Sometimes I make it back home without getting soaked. More often than not, I get splashed by a passing driver too close to the curb, or go out lacking a jacket or umbrella and end up bedraggled and bemoaning my fate.
     I can choose to either 'stay at home', be bored and unproductive and annoyed at my circumstance, or I can put this body and soul into motion, threatening rainclouds or not. It's easier to be annoyed when your endorphin level is elevated.
      I've often wondered why I have had this extended recovery, balking mightily at the respite, thinking I OUGHT TO BE DOING SOMETHING. 'Staying at home' does not mean sitting on the couch and hoping for something good to happen. DOING SOMETHING is not always what is visible to the world. Only God marks your true progress... and I've learned that means using the time to heal and be a healer, 'clear out closets' of trapped thoughts, and being a good steward of my life and heart, and soul.
      I didn't survive cancer to 'stay at home'. I have to keep walking to get home someday. Dogs may pull hard at the leash, they might knock over a trash can or two, and I may get chased by unleashed canines defending their turf. All of that pales in comparison to the gratitude of being alive, able to think, and sing, and walk, and pray, feeling the breeze on my face. John 16:33 " You will have trouble on this earth, but take heart..."
     Pat Benatar, my opera-trained 80's rocker idol, sang it: 


It's always one thing or another, seems like we never get ahead

Reaching out for the brass ring, and landin' in the dirt instead
We can't get past yesterday, we're only countin' down from ten

It seems like every move we make, brings us back where we began


You gotta run between the raindrops if  you wanna see the sun; 
Run run run between the raindrops, run between the raindrops if 
you wanna see the sun;
 Run run run, run baby run.


 Think I'll keep taking the chances to be drenched.