My dog was Pepper.
We came to Elstads as pups
Hallock-born and bred.
Once our dog was lost
While driving on vacation.
Running-board no more.
Two sad weeks later
Drove north. What's that along road?
Pepper, heading home!
Ah! I smell new lumber:
Wadena, our first house owned.
Pepper still ruled roost.
(This is my dog contribution. I guess I cannot separate it from my first homes - but then you symposiats have integrated a few dogs already with rich memories of our homes too - thanks!
This is from Mom, with Valentine's-day love!)
And Happy Birthday, Mom!
ReplyDeleteSo it was Pepper, not Duffy, of the running board. Does this mean there is a different Duffy poem in the works now? Hope so.
I also forgot to mention Dieter, Shvart, Chip, all of whom are worth at least one haiku... Anyone else?
Great poem, Mom--and happy birthday (scroll down for poem). In this query of our family dogs, I wonder if a 'wiki' here would help, a list of all the dogs we've nurtured or who've nurtured us:
ReplyDeletePepper Elstad, Hallock
Duffy Elstad, Franklin?
Scottie? Vold, Glyndon?
Leo Vold, Glyndon
Blackie Knutson, Minneapolis
Fonzie O’Day, Moorhead
Misty Vold, unicorporated Des Plaines
Dieter Elstad, Carlton
Dusty O’Day, Moorhead
Walter Vold, Bejou
Duncan Lamken, Park Ridge
Svart Elstad, Hines
Bruiser Lamken, Park Ridge
Chip Elstad, Cloquet
Thor Jaeger, Blanchardville
Yoshi Vold, Lake Forest
Bronko Lamken, Roztoky
That's 17, and we of course should consider the Rudy cats, Pushkin guinea pigs, Ernie and Bert turtles, et al. But are we missing any canines?
Back to our species, we celebrate Mom's jubilee!
Today, in the glow of St Valentine
and Jagr’s glide into his forty-third
(as he leads his native team to a fifth
Olympic stand) we celebrate Mom,
who made all our visions possible.
It’s nigh on Lent again, ‘masopust’
we call it here—a meat fast festival
that hardly cajoles the revelers from
their meat. As reversals of religions
go, it’s worth a look. But only that.
We were born into a better cause
some thousands years ago—or, to
our modern consciousness, in 1939
when Mom was born to lead us to
the Light. Lent does that through
mothers of the Word, made flesh
and dwelling among us. There are
many reasons to love this turn. Ben
is our Ash Wednesday baby; jaro
(spring) is in the air; Jesus is—
and always is—Sojourner with
us to the foot, if not the bloodied
wrists, of the cross. We know this
through our moms—at Cana and
Park Ridge, and wherever else
we may truly live. I gathered as
a kid the tiny poster on the office
wall that leads me still: ‘a bird does
not sing because it has an answer;
it sings because it has a song!’
Mom, you have sung that song
resoundedly. You’ve given birth
to Lent. You anchor our ancestry
and float us to a vision heaven-
sent, and therefore set to sail.
My apologies for not properly crediting Emma's voice and inspiration on this project. Thanks, Emma!
ReplyDeleteDan, who is Scotty Vold? Are you thinking of Blizzard, just before Leo?
Indeed I am thinking of Blizzard, a black Scottish terrier, right? But I thought 'Blizzard' was another dog ensconced in Elstad lore, between Pepper and Duffy. I obviously have no clear memory of Blizzard, but underscore the need for it's subliminal influence--perhaps he licked my nose or bit my butt, all part of how I've come to love this symbiotic species!
ReplyDelete