Empty Nest

***Bernie and one of her many "monkeys," 2004; St. Paul, Minnesota (the hockey capital of the United States)***

Hey, feel free to follow me on Twitter, chadc324. If you're not on Twitter, get on it.

Today, my roommate, Nichole, became my former roommate. Actually, she's been gone a few days, but the last of her stuff went bye-bye today. She moved in September, 2005, if I'm not mistaken. Once again, time flies.

So I have an empty nest--no Bernie, no Nichole, no Poochie, no numerous others who have shared a roof with me over the years. All gone. It's quiet and creepy. I'm never here. I wake up, I shower, I put my healthful little breakfast in my bag, and I drive or walk to work. Then after work I'm all over the place, sometimes making money sometimes spending it, sometimes teaching sometimes learning, almost all of it always in Minneapolis. Then later I come home. Generally, I go upstairs to this master's quarters. I chill out or slingshot water balloons out my window at my neighbor's house, depending on my mood. Then I sleep, as best I can. I'm not always the best sleeper.

Oh, the other day I was walking up my basement steps, which lead to my back door, which was open, and I was just doing chores and stuff, and I thought as I walked up the steps, Damn I miss that dog. Then I walk outside and there's this dude who lives a couple houses down from me, across the alley, he never says anything--sometimes he'll wave if our paths cross, but we've never spoke--never. Eight years almost. So I walk out the door with that Bernie thought fresh in my head, and I really don't consciously think of that often, and he's walking by on the sidewalk. I didn't acknowledge him, he just blurts out, "I bet you miss that dog, huh?"

Things have changed a lot in the past year. On June 6, 2008, I took Bernie to her first vet appointment in response to her drooling a bit and exhibiting minor behavioral changes. We figured out nothing on that visit, I discovered the masses on my own a couple weeks later. I was definitely sad on or about June 6, 2008. My dog was 14, which is all good, but her mortality was starting to slap me in the face--and her too, I'm sure. She never wanted to be anywhere but here, in my nest. Our nest. In this backyard, on this picture perfect Minnesota evening, listening to the birds, being talked to and pet by the people who walked by--even though the people were more often happy to see the big, fluffy bear-like black dog than vice versa.

So yeah, my crib is empty except for me, but my life is full. Lots of changes thus far in 2009, and we're not even halfway done. I get bored without change, so bring it on. More is just around the corner. . . .