The Song of the Heart : Power in Testimonies

To Create Something Meaningful:

1. Take a part of your heart (usually the hardened, crusty part).
2. Beat yourself up about it.
3. Rip it out of your chest (some bleeding may occur).
4. Massage that part of your heart into soft, supple words and poetic emotions.
5. Create a piece of art directly from your raw and broken heart.
6. Broadcast that broken (and sometimes mended) piece of your heart to the rest of the world.

Art in any form requires an intrusion into your heart and soul. Your human emotions are what translate best into art, because that's what an audience of humans can relate to. I'm not saying that the formula for a good song is to create a pit of self-pity and sing about it. Instead, find something that has meaning to you. Use an experience – or a grief, a victory, or a journey, a lesson you've learned, or a lesson you're learning – to find out where your heart is. As in the movie Happy Feet, a song must come from the heart. But creating something from the heart is only step one through five!

Wiper Blades

The morning was blustery– The wind was strong enough to force leaves across the street and into the neighbor's porch. The sky was having an off-day. It's normal brilliant blue was more of a solemn gray, and the sun had decided to sleep in. Contrary to the typical chirping, fresh, dewy morning that greeted me, today was dreary and humid. The Earth was taking an abnormally long time to awaken.

I looked at where I thought the sun should be– where it always was– and willed it to appear from behind the clouds. This day of all days, I needed the sun.

Mike's First Year

I was thinking of posting this when Mike goes IFT, but on his blog. But I'll post it here as well.

I wish I could just capture him–
His long coat, the thick baggy skin.
All the wrinkles under his chin.
How his face crumples up when he smells something.
The way he mopes around with big heaving sighs,
And snores when he lays his neck across my foot.
The way he tries to hide,
When he's doing something I don't like.
All the sarcastic expressions on his face when I talk to him.
The way he looks when he's half asleep.
And the big swirls of fur on his butt.
The way his panting feels like laughter.
And the way he acts like an elephant,
Afraid of a mouse around the vacuum cleaner.
The way he'll push his shoulder in, and rolls over onto you,
Or maybe the way he softly places his chin on your lap,
And licks your hand so gently when he needs attention.
How his lips flap around lazily,
When he looks at you upside-down.
Or how he points his toes when he stretches.
All of these little things make up him,
And I'm scared I'll forget something so important about my sweet baby.
I never want to forget the feeling of his velvety nose and chin,
Buried warmly into my neck,
Or how strong he is when I hug his chest,
And hear his heart pounding.
How safe I feel,
Like nothing will ever touch me,
When I snuggle up between his paws.
That face he gives when he is looking for me,
And then when he's found me.
His eyes are so heartbreaking,
When someone is leading him away from me.
I never want to forget these things,
Because maybe I'm the only one who will ever know.
His future mom or dad will know a loyal service dog.
But I know him differently–
I am his mommy, since birth.
I know everything about him,
Head to toe.
And I almost needed him,
As much as he needed me.



Mike, I am so honored and privileged to have been your puppy raiser. I hope you go on for great, beautiful things. Thank you for this year. I will miss you always.