Freedom Fountain: A Denny Crane Tale, A Long Tail

When a door is closed, an escape hatch must be opened.



Grab a cup of coffee, or a little pot of hot green tea. Put a dash of cardamum seed right out of the pod into that tea to keep yourself going.... This is another long and winding road.

My door has been closed for some time now, and it took the need for escape, the misfortune of my dearest love, to force me to find my nearest emergency exit. Fortunately, it was not behind me, I was seated in the emergency row. I think I've been there all along. Sometimes those doors are heavy, and like those moms that lift cars off if their children after accidents, you find strength when you need it. Trust, new dear friends, this was not that serious.

As I was tapping away, thumbs a fury with anger and fear over my scale last night, my three boys: Brian the two-legged and, my beloved four-legged fur babies: Denny Crane and Truman Capote returned from their last walk of the night. (To explain, Denny was named after the William Shatner character in "Boston Legal", and Truman Capote, for whom he is named for is obvious, but the reason not-so-much...I am a huge "Breakfast at Tiffany's" fan, which he was, of course the author. Didn't Phillip Seymour Hoffman play him beautifully? Sigh.)

Denny was limping, favoring his front right paw. "Favoring" isn't even the best word, he could barely walk. He immediately found a quiet place in a rarely used corner of the apartment, and hid. This is not Denny's style. The closest he comes to this is a funny habit of having a particular bedtime that he sticks to with better accuracy than one once expected of the rail system.

At 9:30 PM, Denny Crane gets up, walks into my room, to his very luxurious bed made of a dog bed, lined with a chenille dog crate pad (that he literally sucks on in his sleep), which is perched on top of a fleece blanket that he has pawed and shifted and moved into a nest that perfectly surrounds the bed. This bed is next to my bed, as near to my head as possible. When I had a taller bed, his bed was UNDER my bed, UNDER the exact spot my head lay. Now, if this bed gets moved during vacuuming and not put back closely enough, he will drag it, with grunts and snorts until it is back where it belongs.

I may also mention that he sleeps with a stuffed monkey, the kind with the disproportionately long, skinny arms and legs. He has had this monkey since the day he was given to me as a gift by my husband from whom I am now separated. He has long since sucked the face clean off of this monkey, and another one similar to it. He drags it around the house and can be seen hugging it in his sleep, sucking the face, paws twitching.

Back to the story...

I retrieved Denny from his hiding place and put him on the sofa next to me. This caused a kerfuffle as this is Truman's spot when I read and watch TV.

I examined Denny's paw and he was fine until I got between the pads. At this point he pulled his paw away and began incessantly licking his foot.

I wanted to stop him, nothing drives me more bananas than the sound of those dogs licking themselves, or as often happens:Denny grooming Truman's face. Argh! It's awful sounding. But, I figured he had something caught between the pads and he was probably more adept at removal than I.

He stayed next to me until 10:00 PM, my bedtime, and I carried him to bed.

Truman sleeps in the crook of my knees, by the way.

At midnight I woke and heard his gargantuan snoring. All was well.

At 2:00 AM I woke to the same, but could not go back to sleep. I went out to the living room and read awhile, answered Blip comments, and searched the map for interesting places I'd like to "visit" via daily Blips. (Yes new friends, you are victims of my insomnia!)

I also began considering Denny's injury.

If, by "real morning" he was still hurt, he would need to be carried to the elevator and down to the park. Brian could not do this, and walk Truman. Well, he could, I've done it when Denny hurt his hip in the past, but it is easier for me based on my ridiculous anthropomorphizing of these dogs. Carry the baby, walk with the toddler. He does not have that in him for the boys.

I am going to have to go outside in the morning, this is clear. Crap!

Speaking of, Denny has also decided to be constipated. The use of that foot and some extra walking would have been helpful.

So, out we went. I was so focused on Denny that the next thing I knew I was in beautiful, fresh, 62 degree (F) air, in front of the fountain. This fountain is usually surrounded by a walled circle of white roses with four rose covered arched entries. It is beautiful. The roses are currently cut back.

Today, this was my freedom fountain, bubbling it's reclaimed water. (I mention this because of the sustainability model of Playa Vista.)

I set Denny in the dewy grass and began snapping. I had to get my first real outdoor Blip just right! (The jacaranda blip was archival.)

There are four or five fountains from one end of Crescent Park to the other, each a little different. This one is "mine". I've taken more photos, cried more tears, laughed as my dogs walked the ledge of the fountain all the way around and the rose planter all the way around. I once sat, freezing for 90 minutes as an owl hooted from the top of the building you see in the background. There is a metal point, like a lightening rod at the top. She perched there half the night, I could hear her later from my bed, but I stayed with her the 90 minutes I could tolerate.

So, by the time we were ready to go home something odd happened. That crazy dog began a sprint to our apartment. He came in and rolled on the carpet. He then tried to make a nest with those front paws of his out of a sofa pillow.

As I watched this I realized that I was out there with no fear for myself. No anxiety about being outdoors. In fact, I couldn't begin to tell you, ever, what keeps me in. I don't know specifically what I am afraid of. In that park, right there in front of my building? Nothing! I know I am afraid of getting lost going to a new place. I am afraid of car accidents, or even breakdowns (which are unlikely in my car, just trust me on that one.) I am afraid of being far from any place I may know someone well where I might suddenly be hit with symptoms of any of my nine active and one remission status chronic illnesses. But at my park? I don't even bring my cane to the park most visits.

I routinely talk to strangers (I create a facade of no fear to cover my fear). Once I am out, I am reluctant to return home. I have a very noticeable symptom of tiredness: I slur my speech. This has something to do with one of my medications. It makes me sound drunk. So, Brian is usually quick to avail me of an exit from gatherings when that happens, as we are often at political events or fundraisers. I don't drink at all, so he and I know I'm not drunk but what would others know. I never want to leave, and he has to tell me, "you are tired, it's time to go."

So, whatever the problem is, it's buried pretty deep. It can't all be the illness.

Well, now Denny is asleep. Was he faking to force my hand? I don't know. Again, I anthropomorphize. What I do know is that I have a doctor's appointment in 3 hours. That means I'll be leaving AGAIN! Agoraphobia what?

Denny and I are both simply Chronically Awesome! (Google it!)

That Denny Crane. He is thinking right now, "now we know whose name is on the door."

That's a Boston Legal inside joke. And this is the end of another long story.