“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


Field of Dreams

I am watching Charlie cat across the street - he is a black & white thing of beauty against the green green of AC's grass and he has just disappeared into the monkey grass and I remember thinking, oh, months ago, that when Maggie died, I should think of her going as that, think of it as her just disappearing around the corner, into the monkey grass, think of it as a field of dreams. You know the scene where James Earl Jones is following the ghost team into the corn, and he reaches out and separates the stalks, looks in and then back at Kevin Costner and just laughs the most joyous laugh? Remember that? A great big beautiful grin on his face? I so hope she is in a field of dreams, and no one is bothering her, she hates that; heaven for Maggie would not be a lot of people petting her. I hope she is watching right now, watching how hard I am trying to get on with it, how I am sitting here in the same old place on this old white couch, the computer in my lap, darkness beginning to fall outside though the sky is still light, that almost 8 o'clock light of April, a light she knew well and loved. I hope she is seeing it and I hope she's noticed that the Saturday night rain has washed all the wisteria petals away, gone to wherever they go, and I hope she has noticed it's chilly for April, that I have this small heater on to keep me warm, and I would like for her to just have a moment when she wishes she were here next to me, pushing the computer off my lap so she could snuggle up and go to sleep, but I would only want her to think about that for a moment, to not regret that it is over, but I wouldn't mind maybe just a little mistiness in her eyes when she thinks about how pleasant that would be. No tears, but maybe a sigh - I am selfish enough to want that.

And so I sit here with Maggie looking over my shoulder, writing once again about the small things of my life, everything the same but oh-so-different, the t.v. on, the sound off as usual, the darkness dropping fast outside, the reflection of the lamp in the glass doors; for the first time I notice my reflection, face lit by that lamp and this computer screen, white couch and white drapes behind me. I look very alone, just me and these words and the ever-darkening sky. I hope Maggie notices that I finally noticed myself over there.

I hope she is listening as I read this aloud.
And the pink flowers.
I hope she knows those were for her.


  1. i don't know how you do it....
    how you make me want to come and sit with you and talk about life and movies we hate and how the iced tea at lunch tasted bitter, so we ordered pepsi instead and how love is a magical and mysterious thing we'll never completely understand and why black looks good on everyone....

  2. Oh Deb I do believe Maggie is in her field of dreams. I always wondered how much courage it must have taken to walk into that cornfield and always knew that in order to separate those cornstalks one must have been content and happy with what this life had given them. Maggie must have been the luckiest cat on the planet and surely she knew that, felt that. Maybe Maggie and Shoeless Joe Jackson are just hanging out in the field listening to you read aloud.
    I am sorry for your loss


  3. brave. beautiful. bittersweet. <3
    what a gift you have...

  4. Oh I am certain of it, she is there in her field of dreams. Certain, too, that your love is there with her, your flowers, your hopes, and your words. And certain that she will peek back at you, every so often, and sigh, but also, smile...

  5. i am glad you put words on the screen ... so full . so empty . that's all.

  6. i think she knows... and, i think her eyes grow misty, for just a moment. blessings to you, Debi... blessings to you...

  7. yes i'm sure that's how maggie went, walking into the field of dreams. I am sure she is listening and hearing the click clack of your fingers on the keys and feeling loved.
    big Hugs

  8. i believe she knows those beautiful pinks are for her. hugs for you.

  9. Where do the flower petals go?
    I love that thought.

    I think that Maggie is using them as a soft and delicate pillow to nestle into as she watches over you.


come. sit under the emma tree & let's talk. i have cookies . . .