Author Archives: Sherry Gomes

Bianca’s Last Day

17 Monday Nov 2014

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BIANCA’S LAST DAY

When I wrote about Bianca’s passing, I said I’d come back and write about her last day. Honestly, it hurt too much for a long time to think about it. But tonight, something reminded me of her, bringing tears to my eyes. I realized I wanted, needed to write about her. I can’t easily talk about the loss of those I love, but I can write.

What triggered it tonight? A simple silly thing. Watching the video of Jersey Boys. I sang so many songs to Bianca, usually based on her nickname, Beanie Baby or just Beanie. Several years ago, when I lived in San Rafael, I went to see the musical Jersey Boys in San Francisco. I loved it, totally blown away by it. The next day, I was listening to the sound track. Bianca came up to me, just as the song sherry Baby began. I’d grown up hating that damn song, due to people singing it at me in school to tease me. But you know it says,

Sherh eh eh eh eh reee yee bay yay bee. And so on.

Sorry screen reader users, I can’t get it to read that the way Frankie Valli sings it.

But anyway, I had my hand on Bianca’s head, and I started singing it,

Bee ee e e e e nee bay yay bee, beanie baby, Bee e nee, girl you guide me so right, guide guide, guide me so right.

I went on with words like, you’d better ask your trainer. Or why don’t we go out, with your harness on, moving slow and steady, I’m so glad you’re my I ine. And so on.

So, forever after, it became one of the many Beanie Baby songs.

I must hear that in my oldies play list many times, but tonight, listening to the actors singing it on the DVD, remembering how she loved me singing her little songs to her, how she’d wag and wiggle, it just made me cry. I miss her a lot.

The other day, I had something on a paper towel on my desk, and again on the table near my chair here in the living room. Suddenly, it struck me that I need not worry about things like paper towels anymore. Beanie would have grabbed an unattended paper towel, pulling it and everything on it, onto the floor, where she could devour and shred to her little heart’s content. Yes, it’s a relief not to have to dog proof to that degree. Petunia wouldn’t think of grabbing something on a table, of course. But at the same time, it was a little tiny bit sad to know I don’t have to worry about all that anymore.

All this to explain, why tonight, of all times, I wanted to finish the story about Bianca’s last day.

There’s not too much to say really. I took the day off work, and I sent Petunia over to my friends home for part of the day. I made it a fairly normal day for Bianca. Okay, I did feed her twice the normal amount of food she got at meals, actually did that every day since I knew she would be leaving me forever. I also cuddled her a lot, sitting by her and petting her and talking to her about all our adventures, about how much I loved her and how I thanked God every day for the joy and love she brought into my life.

When Joylene came to pick us up to go to the vet, at my request, she brought a bacon cheese burger. Remember, Bianca was a guide dog, then a retired guide dog living with another working dog. She’d never been allowed suche food. That’s not to say Miss Mischief hadn’t snuck a few things over the years. But she’d never been cheerfully given a forbidden burger. I tore it into a few pieces and put it in her bowl. She inhaled that thing! It was gone in about thirty seconds. And she was one heck of a happy dog.

Later, at the vet, just before Dr. Natalie came to begin the process of sending Bianca on to her next great adventure, I gave Beanie the last treat, something she’d discovered to my great horror a few years before, and something she had tried hard to experience again over the years. I pulled a chocolate bar out of my purse and proceeded to feed it to her from my hand. The last thing I could give her.

And the rest, I believe I’ve talked about in another post. I did all I could to make Bianca’s last day something special, giving her time, attention and treats. I miss her, but her antics live on in my heart.

I’m planning to write a book about her, a funny book. Not your typical inspirational guide dog book, but a book about the good he bad, the funny and not so funny parts of living with a dog like Bianca. In fact, I’ve already started it. It will be my final tribute and thank you to a beloved companion. So missed, and never forgotten.

Thoughts on Birthdays

22 Wednesday Oct 2014

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Thoughts on birthdays

October 22, 2014

Today is my birthday. And though it’s been quiet, it’s been fun. I’ve gotten tons of birthday wishes through email, facebook, twitter and text message. A friend brought me my favorite caramel frap with extra caramel and a chocolate croissant. And two other friends gave me some kindle books.
Hmmm, wonder how to get jaws to pronounce the word “croissant” correctly? Meaning of course, the correct French pronunciation. Tired of hearing it say, crussant. Humph! Speaking of French, I almost reverted to the way I used to write dates. For years after studying French in high school, I wrote dates the European way, 22 October 2014. But I reverted back some time ago.
Oops, I digress. Sorry.
So, back to my birthday. I heard from family members I haven’t seen or heard from in maybe thirty years. Perhaps a slight exaggeration, but not much. I worked today, so no special plans, and I don’t have a bottle of wine around to have a toast to me.
But here’s the thing, I love my birthday! I mean, why not? It’s the one day a year that is all me, me, me! And what’s the alternative? Not being born? Humph again. Where would the world be without me? Well, it wouldn’t know it was missing me I guess. But seriously, birthdays are a time to rejoice in being alive! So, I love them, mine and everyone else’s. Happy birthday to all the October 22 birthdays out there.
But this is a weird birthday for me. And this is really what I want to write about. Today, I turned fifty-seven. I am now the age my dad was when he died. He was actually about fifty-seven and a half, but who’s counting? The point is that he was fifty-seven when he died following a long agonizing struggle with cancer, and now, I am fifty-seven. I’m not expecting to become instantly sick and die, but I do expect to pass the age of my dad’s life span. And that’s just weird, and unsettling and kinda sad. And a little tiny bit freaky scary.
Odds always were that I would outlive my father. Most kids do outlive their parents after all. I never thought though, in those long ago years when I was young and thought my dad at thirty and then forty was quite old. I was born when he was eighteen, so when you think about it, there wasn’t a huge age difference, but when you’re eight or eighteen, thirty and forty seem really old! Once I was thirty, I knew how really young thirty and forty were.
When dad died, I raged inside, that we had so few years with him. Fifty-seven, I shrieked in my soul! He should have lived till seventy-seven, or eighty-seven or more. Then reaching his age wouldn’t be weird and freaky. But really, fifty-seven?
So, now I ponder, as I have pondered the past few months, approaching this oh so significant and momentous birthday. How am I here? How did I make it to fifty-seven? Will I make it past fifty-seven? Have I accomplished anything in these fifty-seven years? What legacy will I leave behind me? I have no children to mourn or carry on something of me. What of me will be left?
I honestly don’t think like that often. It’s morbid and I don’t tend to think that way. Life is to be lived, to be experienced, a great thing for which I am deeply grateful. But reaching this age, I feel unsettled and strange. It just doesn’t seem right somehow, and I can’t articulate my thoughts very well. I guess when I pass my own fifty-seven and a half, it won’t feel so weird. Or maybe it will. Who knows? I suppose it may be something anyone would consider when reaching the same age as someone beloved who died too young.
Even with all the weird introspection today, I’m glad it’s my birthday. It’s another year I’m alive! My birthday is the day I tend to look back at the year behind, my own personal New Year’s Day, if you will. I like to see what I’ve done, what I’ve accomplished, what I haven’t done, and how I can make the next year better. It’s the time I make my own resolutions, so that when the next birthday comes, I can see what I’ve done or not done. And it has been pretty good. I’ve maintained my home ownership. I trained with a new guide dog. I kept my job! I lost my sweet Bianca, the one truly sad point in this year. I’ve strengthened my friendships. I’ve found more peace in myself. So, yeah, maybe nothing outrageously exciting or outstanding, but contentment is a good thing to have. I’ll take it.
Oh, the resolutions? I don’t know yet. And I never share them. Usually, they’re just about making the next year even slightly better than the year before.
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me. I am getting older, but I also am getting better! Yah Hoooooooo! Bring on another year!

The Bone Whistle, book review

13 Saturday Sep 2014

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Book Review, The Bone Whistle
Book 6 of the Gateway Chronicles
By K. B. Hoyle

From the time I read the first book in this series, The Six, I have been eagerly awaiting, as well as somewhat dreading, this last book in the series. Awaiting it, to discover the answers and ultimate outcome. Dreading it, fearing the age old questions, who would survive. And dreading the end of something that has captivated and thrilled me from the first chapter of the first book.
MINOR SPOILERS AHEAD!

At the end of book five, Darcy’s parents have come to believe she’s into something bad and have told her they are moving away, and that she will not be returning to Cedar Cove Family Camp the following summer. As this book opens, we see Darcy and the showdown with her parents. Darcy knows she absolutely must get to Cedar Cove, so that she and the rest of the Six can get to the gateway and hopefully save Alitheia from the evil that has been trying to destroy it. She ends up telling her parents the truth and they believe she is suffering from some kind of mental illness. Well, who wouldn’t think that? If I had had children and my teenager came and told me a story about gateways into another world I would likely think she’d been smoking something she shouldn’t, had been watching or reading too much fantasy or had a mental illness. But nothing can stop Darcy. She must get there, must find out if her beloved Tellius is alive and must fulfill the destiny of her and the others to save Alitheia at last.
After eluding her parents, Darcy drives alone from Tennessee to Cedar Cove. She is late and she doesn’t know if her friends have crossed over or not. Next thing she knows, she’s waking up in Alitheia, bloody and wounded and not remembering a thing. And this at last is how the final story, the final battle begins. No more spoilers from now on.
I adored this book. It was everything I’d hoped for in the final adventure of this series. All the questions introduced in the first book come to satisfying conclusions, all the answers are there.
What does that prophecy mean?
How are all the messages from the Oracle connected?
Will Colin be redeemed or lost forever?
What will happen to Darcy and the others once their Quest is completed for good or ill?
At last we learn the truth of the prophecy, and the only way the world can be saved. We are reunited with beloved characters, those we have come to know and love. We learn the tasks the six and ultimately Darcy must accomplish. There is adventure, romance and danger. The themes of friendship, love and sacrifice ring strong and true. No great task can be accomplished without great sacrifice and the Bone whistle is no exception to that rule.
And I loved it, every single word, until the last two, the end.
The Six have grown into very special young men and women. Their bonds of friendship and trust have only deepened. Their maturity is beyond their physical years in our world. Their commitment to saving Alitheia and completed their mission is unbroken and enduring. I fell in love with them all over again. And especially Darcy, who has grown from the shy spoiled socially awkward girl we first met all the way back at the start, becoming this true heroine. She is ready to step boldly into her role, to do what must be done. I alternately cheered and wept for her and felt incredibly proud.
If you have followed this series, you will not be disappointed in this last volume. I felt deeply satisfied, full and content. Yes, I wish there would be more, more books, or short stories to show us the characters we love, but realistically, they have reached their finish, come out where they all needed to be. If you’ve never started this series, I encourage you to give it a try. I only wish it was available in more formats, particularly audio, so everyone could have a chance to meet the characters, to visit Alitheia, to learn about day and night Narks and to lose themselves for a little while in the beautiful land of Alitheia and the adventures of the Six.
A most definite five out of five stars and all the praise I can heap on the author and this series. I could babble on endlessly trying to find words to say what the series has meant to me, so I’ll just say, go forth and read. You won’t be sorry.
Thank you, K B Hoyle. And farewell for now to Darcy, Sam, Perry, Lewis, dean and Amelia. And oh yeah, my favorite, dear Yahto Veli. I shall miss you all and will start over at book one and read of your exploits again and again.

one year of home ownership

11 Thursday Sep 2014

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Though today’s date has sad and tragic memories for us all, last year, those memories were … well, not replaced … so I’ll say, new happier memories became a part of the date for me. Because one year ago today, I signed papers for an hour or more, int he company of my friend, my realtor, my loan officer, someone else’s realtor, and a couple other officials. When all the signing and notarizing was complete, I became I first time home owner, at the age of fifty-five!

I’d given up on my dream of owning my own home. Ever since I’d moved out of my dad’s house at age eighteen, I’d dreamed of having my own place. I never thought I’d have the money for a down payment. I didn’t believe it would happen. Well, I told myself, renting isn’t so bad. sure, I’m not investing int he future, but I never have to worry about yard work or maintenance. It’s really okay. But my heart still dreamed, in those secret mopments, those times you hide away and don’t share with anyone, that place in your heart that never can quite give up on the dream.

Then in the summer of 2013, I realized, to my great surprise, that I had the money for a down payment. My friend reminded me, as I thought of trips to Paris and New York, “sherry, you can finally buy a home, what you’ve always wanted.”

“wow, so I could!

Within days, I was in touch with wonderful realtors, Toma nd Beth, and the best person to advise me through the bewildering world of financing, Dianna. They were patient. they answered hundreds of questions, from deep and complicated to mundane and laughable.

And so, on September 11, 2013, on a cold rainy day, I sat in the office, signed those papers, and walked out with keys to my home and a huge pile of documents!

Tom, Beth and I, came back to the condo. I unlocked *my* door for the first time. It was empty and cold, but we walked around, planning where furniture would be placed, talking paint and carpet. had anything ever been so wonderful?

Tom went to the store and came back with wine, crackers and cheese,a nd we toasted to my new role as a home owner. we talked for a long time, while my then guide dog Olga, wandered the empty rooms, sniffing, spent time out in the fenced yard,a nd then laid at our feet, enjoying the company.

over the next few weeks, walls were painted; carpet was replaced, new furniture ordered. And on September 28, I moved into my home officially.

Home ownership is a blast! it’s complicated,a nd there are times I still feel like I’m swimming upstream against the current, over my head and confused. There are expensise you never dream of when you rent. sometimes there’s a nagging fear that something major will go wrong, and I won’t have the money to fix it. Home owner’s insurance is a requirement of course, and it was amazing to renew that yesterday and think, I own a home, I have to have this. coooool!

Because after all, even with the expense, the worry, the finances involved, I am sitting in my living room, in my condo, planning dinner tonight with all those who helped me get here, celebrating the one year anniversary of being a home owner. My dream came true. Yeah, most dreams, they take a hell of a lot of work, time, effort and absolute commitment. They don’t just fall into your lap. except for that unexpected ability to make a down payment, of course.

Am I glad, oh yeah!!!!

Did you know? I own my own home! A sweet, two bedroomd, two bathroom condo, a washer and dryer, a dining room, a small office room, a sweet kitchen and a fabulous fenced yard. It’s mine mine mine mine mine! Yeah, I wouldn’t change a thing.

I offer my thanks to all those who helped me get here. It’s been a wild year with a lot of changes, but every day, I can settle down and let the stress of the day roll off me, relish my own space, lose myself in my own little world.

Dreams do come true. Now, which one is next?

A Legend Moves On

05 Friday Sep 2014

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A Legend Moves On

Today, September 5, 2014, my sweet beloved retired guide dog, Bianca went on to her next great adventure.
I know it’s become tradition to refer to the time when an animal dies as crossing the “rainbow bridge”, but I’ve always hated the very concept of it. It’s frilly and frothy. It’s schmaltzy. There’s nothing frilly, frothy or sappy about death. It’s miserable. It’s disgusting and hateful. It tears your heart to pieces, rips something in you to shreds. It has nothing to do with rainbows. My feelings are more in tune with Edna Saint-Vincent Millay’s poem, I am not Resigned. And though I may be resigned to the choice I’ve had to make for the good of Bianca, as the poet said, I do not approve.
But Bianca is nearly fourteen years old, around 100 in human terms and it’s time for her to go on. Can anyone who ever knew Bianca think of her and rainbows? No, for Bianca, she’s moving on to the next great adventure, and that’s absolutely what I want for her.
When Bianca retired, I wrote a poem called Dancing, because to me, she always seemed to be dancing. She wiggled and wagged and danced through her every moment, full of joy and spirit. I can imagine her dancing over green fields, chasing everything she was taught not to chase in her life, scavenging, eating, sniffing, running and leaping with joy. That’s what I want for her now.
Because now she’s old, she’s ill. She can’t dance. She can’t scrounge and get into mischief. She can’t jump on the bed and cuddle up. She can’t climb into my lap and smother my face in kisses. But still I feel her love surround me, as she spends these last moments lying at my feet.
Ever since she came into my life, back in January of 2003, Bianca has brought so much into my life. I’ve done things, been places, taken chances, I never would have done without her. She knew when I was sad, forgave me when I yelled at her escapades. She made me laugh during the worst of times, when my life was shattered and my confidence broken. She made me laugh every single day. She gave me constant unconditional love. Can I do less for her?
Her passing was gentle, peaceful. I stroked her head and soft ears, petted her back, and told her all the wonderful things about our life together. I sang her song one more time. P rayed a blessing over her. I told her she’d wake up in a field of green green grass, where chocolate plants would grow tall, and friendly cats would play games with her. I told her to find Granny and Dad, and to meet me when my time comes along.
I imagine her, leaping eating, dancing. I see her curled up by a fireplace next to Granny. Or maybe lying at the throne with her head on Jesus’ foot. I see her happy, no longer in pain, no longer tired, no longer old.
The home is quiet, too quiet. There’s an emptiness that can never be filled again. But there’s a sweet young golden retriever, asleep in the corner. She’ll cuddle up to me tonight. She’ll make my heart hurt a tiny bit less.
Bianca was not my first or even my second guide dog, but she has been my soul mate dog, in ways deep and indefinable. Now, with heart heavy and aching, with spirit sad and lonely, I send her on to whatever comes next for her. I pray that she has a blast, that she fills the hearts of those around her with joy, and that when my turn comes, she will be there to meet me, wagging, wiggling and dancing for joy again.

Bianca’s Song
to the tune of Black and white by Three dog Night

“The dog is black; her name means white,
She guides by day and sleeps at night,
The dog is black; her name means white,
With her by my side, my world is right,
A beautiful sight.”

Go Bianca, fly away into your new adventure. I love you and will never forget you.

I AM NOT RESIGNED

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be,
for so it has been, time out of mind.
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.
Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go;
but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew, A formula,
A phrase remains,-but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,-
They are gone.
They are gone to feed the roses.
Elegant and curled Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom.
I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave Gently they go,
the beautiful, the tender, the kind.
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve.
And I am not resigned.
Edna Saint-Vincent Millay, “Dirge Without Music”

thoughts on Father’s day

15 Sunday Jun 2014

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It’s father’s day, and oh how I hate it! Every time I read an email subject on a list that says “happy father’s day” I want to yell and throw things. I hate Father’s Day!

My dad died in 1997 at the ripe young age of fifty-seven. So, yeah, it’s been closer to twenty years than ten, and I still miss him so. Granted, some years are better than tohers. some years, I manage to pass through this day without wanting to have tantrums or breaking down and feeling emotional and out of sorts.

Other years, like this year, I feel angry and cheated, emotional and out of sorts. Other than necessary laundry and taking care of the dogs, I’ve done little today, and I plan to keep it that way. I want to curl up in my hole and bury my head in the proverbial sand and forget that thousands and millions of people in the world can go hug their dads todaya nd tell them how much they love them. What wouldn’t I give to be able to do that, to hug my dad, to sit on his lap, to tell him I love him, to hear him say he loves me.

In just a few months, I’ll be as old as my dad was when he died. that’s a frigging weird feeling, you know. Fifty-seven didn’t seem old when Dad died,a nd I railed against the fate that would take such a young man. Now that I’m nearly that age, it feels both young and old. I feel sometimes still like the young girl I was. Other times, I feel ancient and tired. The nature of life means that normally we do outlive our parents, but it’s not frigging fair when they die well before they should.

damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!!! Let me just have my tantrum and be emotional and out of sorts today. And don’t let the world tell ya that you’ve grieved long enough or it’s time to be over it. You never really do get over losing someone you love, not really, not ever. You learn to hide it. You learn to pretend and put on a face to the world, the face the world expects. But sometimes, inside, you’re still that scared little girl who wants daddy to come along and fix everything and keep you safe, and fight your dragons. Or just hold you on his lap with his arms tight around you.

R.I.P. Jerry Peter gomes, 1939-1997
I love you and miss you, forever.

Olga update

28 Wednesday May 2014

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I don’t think I’ve mentioned this here. Judy, Olga’s new mom, let me know a couple weeks ago that Olga has developed arthritis. For anyone who forgot, Olga is my just retired guide dog. She had her physical in February, and there was no indication of arthritis then. I feel pretty sad about though thankful I retired her when I did. After all, I’ve lived with the pain of arthritis all my life and I’d never want my dog to live with it and have to keep pulling into the harness. I’m so thankful Olga has such a wonderful new home. Judy and Jim are devoted to her. Judy tells me she’s already completely attached to Olga after just three weeks or so. I’m thankful. But my heart feels sad that I might have missed symptoms and might have made Olga work even longer than she should have. do have to say though, she had no trouble hopping on my bed. lol. I miss her a lot. all my dogs leave of piece of themselves in my soul, and Olga is no exception. Bless her and keep her happy and well.

book review, the Reluctant First Lady

24 Saturday May 2014

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Book review

 

The Reluctant First Lady

By Venita Ellick

 

Summary:

 

Ashley Taylor has been straightforward with her husband, the president-elect of the United States. She supported his candidacy, but she has no intention of assuming the traditional role of First Lady—a position she describes as “First Hostess.” Instead, she will resume her own career as head of one of the largest art museums in New York. The aftermath of her decision triggers reactions from the public, news commentators, late night comedians, and other political factions. While Ashley and Michael wrestle with saving their marriage and preserving their professional lives, the country debates whether the role of First Lady is a necessity, how the media influences the lives of public figures, and how much a woman should sacrifice for the person she loves.

 

 

 

I was excited at the chance to read and review this book. In all the political fiction I’ve read, I’ve only come across one book that has dealt with the idea of a First Lady with a career. That book was Executive Orders, by Tom Clancy. One of the subplots was that Jack Ryan’s wife who was a world renowned eye surgeon refused to give up her career when Jack became president. I loved that part of the story and the details on how she made that work, secret service and all. So, when I was asked to participate in this blog tour for The Reluctant First Lady, I jumped at the chance and could hardly wait to begin the book. I was not disappointed. Whereas Clancy’s First Lady was one subplot in a massive book with many subplots, The Reluctant First Lady is all about the concept of a two-career, commuter marriage when the man becomes president and the woman refuses to give up her career to become the Whitehouse Hostess.

 

The story is contemporary and timely. Someday, we will have a First Lady with her own career, and someday we will have a woman president. One of the aspects I found fascinating was how men and women on both sides of the political aisle reacted angrily to ashley’s decision. Surely, I thought, liberals, women at least, would understand and applaud Ashley’s actions. But the character receives heat for her choices from many corners. She sticks to her guns and is almost too adamant at times. I occasionally found myself wanting to grab both ashley and Michael, knock their heads together and hiss the word, “compromise”. But mostly I felt proud of these two characters and wanted them both to have what they wanted.

 

I know little about art and museums, and the scenes dealing with ashley’s career were some of the most interesting to me. I love learning about new things, and the touches about art and running a museum were just enough to give me knowledge and make me want to learn more without bogging down the overall story.

 

Ellick shows us the public reaction at times by slipping in imaginary newscasts by real news people or jokes from famous comedians, and I loved that! I’d smile when I heard a familiar name, no matter what I thought of their commentary on our Reluctant First Lady. It was touches like these that gives the story an authentic feel and makes it seem as if it could be coming right out of today’s headlines.

 

As the story unwinds, eventually, Ashley must come up with a plan both to keep her career and her marriage, and it was then I loved her most of all, because she chose to have both and she made it work. Isn’t that what we women have worked so hard to achieve?

 

The Reluctant First Lady is fun and funny, heartwarming and thought-provoking at times. It’s one hell of a good read! After all, when an author says she was captivated by the books Mistress of Mellyn and Pride and Prejudice, you know she’s going to tell a tale you’ll want to read again and again. I will read this book again and will be looking for more by this author. I want to know more about how this reluctant First Lady changes what it means to be the First Lady.