Commentary

 

 

 
Have you ever awakened with that FEELING of foreboding or the fear of death, and more important what will come after death? It usually lasts through the first cup of coffee then slowly goes away. Well it happened to me the other morning at about 3 a.m., so I got up and had that cup of coffee and came to the realization that Dickie Becker is completely to blame for it.

It all went down just the way he said it would.

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He shows me the way A boy in a dog suit On a scent Innocent His marble-sized eyes Soft brown nougats Warm Black Crow centers Anchored in opposing tear drops At rest Lying sideways Between the weight of the world And a profound sense of loss He has seen it all And regrets most of it Eyes rimmed as if with kohl It’s a look, a look that cannot be denied You want to give him everything You will give him anything, Anything that will make his tongue come out And swipe his snout Or make him sweep the floor with his tail Call his name Tell him he’s good Ask him if he wants food Ask him if he wants a ride Tell him Mommy’s coming Tell him anyone’s coming For God’s sake just say hello As Quixote upon seeing a windmill, He tilts his head He pumps an eyebrow He’s ready to follow you To the ends of the earth or the driveway, Whichever comes first. “Mommy, why is that doggie so sad?” The little girl pumps her mother’s hand, Her finger wags at Floyd “He can’t help it,” I say in a sing-song way. “His eyes are shaped like sadness. His brows slope down, Like a seesaw always down. He always looks this way, Even when he’s happy And he’s always happy. Isn’t that right, Floyd?” Tilt Pump Lick Wag Giggle The little girl runs over and hugs Floyd, Squeezing his scruff with arms of grace in training. He looks at me as if to say, “Is this the ends of the earth or the driveway?”
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In the Gazette newsroom, we all knew the stories. And over the course of about a year, Bill Eville, managing editor of the Gazette, shared in intimate essays with the rest of the Island community the challenges of raising two small children, Hardy and Pickle, and supporting his wife, Cathlin, through diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy and radiation treatments for breast cancer.
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When Sandy Pimentel from the Martha’s Vineyard Community Services board of directors called me back in January to ask if I would consider hosting the 2013 Possible Dreams auction, taking up the gavel where legendary humorist Art Buchwald left off, I was completely blown away.
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