A Bee's Thoughts on Winter (possiblee)

I wrote this for the December, '08 issue of the Seacoast Beekeepers Newsletter. All I had to do was think like a bee...

'twas weeks before Christmas

and all through the hive

the bees were asleep,

not dead...

but alive!

The honey'd been made,

stored in combs and capped over.

It came from the nectar

of trees

and of clover.

Deep in the hive

down near the bottom

the bees were all clustered,

and there were a lot of 'em!

The Queen and her court

were snuggled in tight,

She was lying 'abed',

but that was alright...

after laying her eggs

all spring and all summer

even Queen mothers

deserve something 'funner.'

The days became shorter,

the temps went down low.

And then came the night

there was finally snow!

They peeked out of the entrance

that looks like a door.

They looked through the mesh

that serves as their floor.

"Powder-sugar is falling!"

they cried with one voice.

Each bee was so happy~

they'd learned,

not by choice,

that mites had a hard time

clinging to skin

that every few weeks

got powdered again.

Beekeepers all know,

and bees will atest,

that mites are some

of the Very Worst Pest.

So seeing that powder fall from the sky,

the bees and the keepers all heaved a big sigh.

May the bees all live long and prosperous lives,

May you have one, or two,

or many, more hives.

Merry Christmas to all,

and may you all be

completely

and totally

Really

mite-free!

Happy New Year, and here's to learning from nature's instructors.

Good bye to our first "Dr. Love"

"I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places

That this heart of mine embraces all day through...

I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day

In everything that's light and gay

I'll always think of you that way..."

Goodbye Butch. You were the best.

Butch, the first "Dr. Love"

was 13 years old when he passed away

on May 5, 2008.

Seacoast Hospice Symposium

A few weeks ago, one of our area organizations, Seacoast Hospice, held a Symposium at University of New Hampshire. ( To see more, clickwww.seacoasthospice.org/events/tg.cfm and www.nnhpco.org/download/education/brochureSeacoastSymposium2008.pdf to see the actual presentations offered.)

Dr. Brother B was invited to attend for the entire day. That was exciting news because normally dogs aren't allowed on the UNH campus. (Funny how over 30 years ago I actually did attend UNH, along with my first dog "E.B." *named after E.B. White.* Back then, dogs could attend class with their owners, and she did. She also came with me on all the days when it was just too gorgeous to sit in class.... she wasn't a good educational influence!)

"B" and I had approximately 50 people attend the presentation "Opening the Door to Music and Animals in Hospice." He did an amazing job, I must say. Turns out, it was a 'watershed' day for him, too.
Later that afternoon, while Ernie and I were walking all the guys, I noticed how "B"'s confidence seemed to have changed... he had a lot! of confidence. It was clear that he was proud of himself~ he'd been nervous when we'd first arrived at the symposium that a.m. but it didn't do him in. "B" discovered how wonderfully kind so many people were. The students in the conference area all went out of their way to speak to him, pet him, and of course so many of the attendees did the same.

That adage really is true... 'old dogs can learn new tricks' and it applies to the rest of us, too.

Brother B's day...

Nope, it wasn't Brother B's birthday~ but it was a very good day for an elderly lady in the dementia unit.
It takes any doctor a while to learn all the sublteties of care-giving. Time and experience are good teachers, and if the doctor is sensitive and empathic, you'll see his skills just by observing him.
This afternoon, we were with our twice-monthly group at this particular nursing home. One of the ladies, who has always loved all of the visiting 'dogtors', had just lost a beloved cat-companion. She's been living at the facility for many years, and as long as I've known her the cat has been with her.
But not today. She came in for the music, and Brother B laid down at her feet. He's been a shy fellow, but today he showed such empathy for this lady. He lay at her feet, and she gently and rhythmically stroked him for many minutes. Then she began taking dried, brown leaves she'd collected and spreading them around his head. He stayed peacefully enjoying her ministrations. We all watched as she tenderly spread the leaves around his head. He looked like a wild deer in the woods.
It was a beautiful picture she created for all of us. And Brother B seemed to know and understand that she needed to care for someone. Especially someone with fur.

The Whole Journey

Today, while standing in a check-out lane, I listened to the young cashier talking with another employee about ways to keep your mind off the desire to smoke a cigarette. That eventually led to her saying that she'd rather die earlier (from smoking-related diseases) than old age, because she just couldn't stand to be like some of the old people she sees.

Since our old fellow Rumford's only been gone a few days, I've been thinking about what 'the whole journey' means for all of us... whether we're the care-givers or the care-receivers. Sooner or later, we're each going to be one (or both) of those two. Whether you're caring for an old animal companion or an old human friend or relative, staying by their side as they make their way to 'the end' is something that helps our own spiritual expansion.

I cried, a lot, before during and after Rum's last day. My heart hurt. I missed him. I remembered how funny he could be, and the day I first met him, and what his fur felt like, and how he'd watch everything with just his eyes moving because he always liked to conserve as much energy as possible. Rum's motto, I swear, was: "Never stand up if you can lie down."

I remember how he made funny/sad noises when he drank water, how he fell down the stairs one day because he was getting weak in his hind legs and never again went upstairs to sleep in our bedroom, and how his dementia made him anxious and afraid at night, in the dark.

He never complained about going to work with me~ just the opposite~ he couldn't wait to hop in the van, meet and enjoy those hundreds of people, over the years, in all those nursing homes, and listen to the same tunes on the clarinet, over and over again. For Rumford, it was all good.

And for me, being with him as he got old and unable to do what he'd always done, well, I got to see how big his spirit had always been even as his body got weaker. In the end, he was just happy to be lying on his bed, with everyone loving him, right up to the last moment of the wonderful jouney known as "Rumford."

Dr. Love's Final Journey

On Good Friday, one of our beloved dogtors crossed over the rainbow bridge. He was helped along by a wonderful human doctor, Debra Discher, and her assistant Ann, from Cape Neddick, Maine.

Dr. Discher and Ann work together in Animal Housecalls. What a blessing to have our old fellow Rumford be able to complete his worldly journey at our home, with his fellow 'brothers' (and Zena, the beautiful white greyhound gal-pal) alongside him in the living room.

No matter how how many greyhounds we've loved and held as they leave this life, it never gets any easier to let them go. Nothing ever phased Rumford, though, and I'm certain that he made the 'journey' with his usual easy-going confidence. And I know he's getting all the love, and food, he could ever want...

The Art of Being Elderly

There's definitely an art to it, being old and letting your essence come through.

For eight years I've been doing this work~ going to nursing homes with one clarinet and several greyhounds, and I never stop being amazed and feeling honoured to simply be with those old folks.

I always tell them "Thanks for letting us come into your home. It isn't everyone who would allow a musician and her dogs into their living room." That's true, you know.

Today Brother B and I went to Amesbury Village. Brother is a little on the shy side. It's because (as I told the residents at the Village) he didn't get adopted until he was nearly 40 in people years. Imagine waiting that long to be adopted! ... they could imagine~ no family, friends disappearing, and being moved from place to place.

Anyway, as soon as we come in to the hallway, we're greeted by the friendliest people saying how beautiful Brother is. And they've just met him... We stop in the p.t. room on our way to the dining hall. The man and woman in there, and the therapists too, tell him he's wonderful. They've lit up like a long-lost friend has finally arrived.

When we go into the dining room, Brother B settles down on the floor while I start to play. The people are all gathered together in a semi-circle around us. They are the beautiful ones... they have interest in their eyes and smiles. Many say how beautiful the dog is, and ask if he's mine.

Nearly everyone's quite old, and many are in wheelchairs. They're quiet, as if they're at a concert. But when I play "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" most of them can't (and don't want to) keep from singing. It's a beautiful sound! I play love songs and they sing to them. Of course, not all love songs are happy... the best ones seem to be about memories and love lost. And they know that.

There's always a jokester in the group, and today he was a fellow near the back. A tall, big man who must have been hard-working; he certainly looked like it. I said, "I forgot to wear green, and it's the month for it..." The fellow in the back said, "Look at me, I've got some green on!" I said, "Ladies, I'll bet he's Irish and he'd like to be kissed..." to which one of the ladies said, "You're right~ he's always wanting to kiss." And the big fellow said, "That sounds good to me, but I've got to be careful~my wife is sitting right here!" It felt as if we were all friends at a party, just joking around.

It's an incredible thing to hear the voices of these people singing together. And they can sing! There's no shyness, or embarassment. On the contrary, these voices are expressive. Listening, I hear pride, love, memories, friendship. They're singing their history. Not just their personal history, but our history as well. And that is an amazing thing to be part of.
When one of them tells me he thinks I play really well, I take that home as a wonderful gift. For people who know this music, that's saying a lot~ and I know it.