ch.13 (my grandhuman, his legacy)

Where he shall pitch his tent it shall be a dwelling of beauty and grace.
And where he shall make for us a denning place it shall be of grace and beauty.
And those who dwell in his structures shall know the goodness of these his creations.


Frida sleeping on the floor of his room, March 1, 2011.
Every day that he was home for hospice, she went right in and stayed there.
On March 2, after his body was removed and she came over, she never entered that room at all.

Yea and even as he does depart from the corporeal dwelling place of his self
Still shall we know in the memory of the one
And also the persistence of this other, his creations,
The grace and beauty and goodness he did bring unto his works and his living.



Don't know what house this is, but 1950s probably.


North Shore Music Theater, first theater in the round, I believe.


Queechee Village, Vermont.


Probably Martha's Vineyard. How we spent our summer vacations.


Home. The Victorian on Montvale Road, Newton Centre.


Master bedroom, where the recovering Catholic meditated and did yoga.


The Dunmere, Oak Bluffs.


Home office in Hull, I believe.


Kitchen/sun room in Hull, with Monty, Frida's big brother, as it were.


Weymouth, with family.

ch.12, v.1-30 (the epilepsy)

Tho' the hairs of gray that advance upon my head
Now do reach even to the brow above my eye,
Yea, tho' the striped hairs of my youth retreat before this advance,
Still the torment of my puppyhood returns upon the gray matter of my brain.

What figures shall I use to tell you of this catastrophe?
What form and coat does it assume?
Nay, even the cat is not a visitor so fearsome as this.



For it is a force of oblivion that seizes upon me,
Like a boulder dropped of a sudden upon the entrance to a den,
Sealing out even the sliveriest sliver of light from its residents within.

It is a seizure that makes oblivious all that is frida,
Seizing the pathways of the messengers called Synapses
Who would carry the orders of orderliness throughout this organism.
And bereft of their messages the muscles of these limbs
Know no order and do act and contract in calamity
Neither walking nor making any motion that is useful,
And the eyes of this head stare with a bold staring
That sees no thing, fixing it not upon the tablet of my brain.

O my companion, how do we banish this my greatest tormenter?
How build round about the quiet organismation of frida
A wall of sturdy unbreachableness that shall hold off the oblivion
And keep the movement of these muscles
And, yea, also the perceptions of these senses in useful accord?

Nay, this fearsome horde of Nothing
It neither flees before the resounding bark of my voice box
Nor does it cower beneath the solemn command of yours.



Behold, the truest arrow in our quiver,
The butter from peanuts called "pill."
This we shall whet and nock afresh
And let fly against the thief in my night.




Exegesis and Commentary

So just about the same time, last fall, that we were trying to figure out why Nadja couldn't walk anymore, Frida also began having seizures again after a good five-year hiatus. This isn't unusual, since as effective as her medication--phenobarbitol--was, it is also something the nervous system adapts to very well over time. Adapts to so well that at some point the seizure disorder will typically reemerge.

So it did with Frida, always coming in the wee hours of the night and coming out a bit differently than the standard grand mal seizures of her youth. She seemed to stay in the seizure longer, passing from the usual paddling limbs and snapping jaw to a kind of frozen staring that lasted far too long. She also seems now more prone to cluster seizures: two or more in a short time frame.

In the past, vets have said that if the seizures are less frequent than once a month, that's pretty good, but seizures like this even once every couple of months are pretty devastating, since it can be hard to tell if she's going to come back from it. A new medication added to her phenobarb seems to help--now it's maybe about seven to nine weeks between episodes--and we have a supply of vallium on hand that seems to break the seizure's hold on her, but it's pretty challenging, for her and for us.

ch.11, v.12-26 (nadja)

Yea, I look with my eye upon this rich offering of the relics of cheese
And find it also with the multitudinous receptors of my nose.
And, behold, this offering is offered by the hand of human to me alone.

But what shall it profit a dog to gain all of the cheese rinds
If she lose the canine companion of her begging hours?



Yea, and my aged legs that have known many years of perambulation
Carry me among this surfeit of nests for my tired bones.
See how they gather in layers of softness--
The duplex of beds, the club sandwich of beds--
To nestle this houndly hide of mine.

But what shall it profit a dog to have only to herself
All of the dog beds of the denning place
If she lose the curly coated companion of her napping hours?



I shall take from your hand, my companion, this offering of cheese rinds,
And I shall rest my hide upon this tower of beds.
Shall that console us for the absence we cannot fill?

ch.11, v.8-11 (nadja)

Do you depart now, sweet friend of my waiting hours?

A trace of you lingers in the muzzle and eyes of this soft face
But they return not my smell and my look.
And thus you are gone from here.




Saturday morning it was clearly time to let Nadja go. The cancer had compromised her lungs. We're still mourning quietly at home, so don't deluge us with calls and e-mails please. But these thoughts came to me while walking Frida, so they seemed like the right expression for her book.

ch.2, v.57-78

The day shall break in which the hunger of my belly shall be unsated,
The seeking of my muzzle shall find this bowl empty
And you my companion shall find the shelves of your cupboard bare.





Yea, I know well and wag my gratitude at the feasting yielded of those shelves
Today and yesterday and the yesters of those days backward through tenfold years.
Know I well that of the kibblery called vittle vault we have yet not seen the floor,
For even at the precipice of its barrenness a magical revittlezation swells its supply,
And each day the receptors of my nose assess the supply in this cabinet
Of treat pouches plump and colorful like pretty poultries roosting in a hen house.

Your faith in this path of abundance is quaint my companion
Sweet and naive as the dreams of the puppies of purebred homes
But in it there is weakness of foresight
For do not dogs beyond our counting wander unfed day upon day?
Will not the law of chance make to fall upon our fortune
The straw of affliction and fasting?

This precious scrap of hide you bestow upon me now,
Admonish me not to consume it this hour, nea, nor even this day,
Rather than seek for it thus a perfect storehouse
Here beneath the mighty cushion of the seat that is love
Or perhaps secured safely in this hole I shall dig deep in the ball of snuggling
Or better it may be here in this mighty stronghold of pillow and blanket upon the dogbed called giant
Or . . .

Exegesis and commentary
Just in case you were wondering why I describe Frida as neurotic.
Left to her own devices, she has tried so hard to hide a special treat that she rubbed the skin off the top of her nose and started bleeding.

ch.11, v.1-7 (nadja)

Should thy forelimb tether thee with pain
And steal from thee thy good perambulations--
Alas, take from thee even the hunger of thy belly
And stop up the lappings of the thirst of thy tongue--


Then cast off this malignant tubercle from the trunk of thy body
And cavort across the fields of thy territory upon three legs sturdy and fine.



Be thou tripod and be thou rich of life.


Exegesis and commentary
As some of you already know, Nadja lost a leg to cancer (osteosarcoma) last October. Unfortunately, it's a very aggressive cancer and has probably already metastasized, so tho' we are hoping to have her with us through the winter, we know we can't expect much more than that.

But the key thing is how much happier she is since the amputation: all September, she had been in such awful pain that she barely walked at all and Karen even had to start force-feeding her things like boiled chicken and scrambled eggs. At that point, we didn't have a diagnosis that made sense (she has arthritis, but this seemed awfully extreme for arthritis), and we were beginning to despair that her quality of life could be restored at all.

Then Amy Johnson, a friend and our vet (JP Animal Clinic), referred us to an osteo surgeon at all Angell, and he immediately diagnosed it as said osteosarcoma. We thought the recommended amputation seemed awfully drastic for an eleven-year-old dog that had about six months to live anyway, but it turned out just right: she is enjoying her walks, naps, and food, and the four of us are able to go on walks together. After those excruciating weeks in September and October, having the opportunity to make her happy and comfortable again, if even just for a few months, is totally worth it.


The special harness Karen uses to carry her up and down stairs.
She also has a giant stroller (her carriage) that we can use when she runs out of stamina on a walk--
but her strength improved week by week through October and November.

ch.2, v.52-56

Yea, through millennia untold the noble ancestors of our genera
Met upon the fields of our territories
With backs arched in enmity and ivory weapons unsheathed,
But look now upon this triumph wrought in the heat of Helios--
The truce of the sunspot makes of canid and felid one pack.