Sometimes it’s easy to forget who I am. I know I’m a small shih-Tzu doggie, but there are days when I feel like I’m a mean and tough rotweiller, and there are other day’s when I feel like I’m a pure-bred yippie Chihuahua, yelping for a bone. It’s easy to feel that other dogs are better than me, and that I must act just like them in order to fit in.
The truth is that I am a spirit of God, and that I am perfect just the way I am. Perfection doesn’t necessarily mean “to be perfect” but rather “to act as if” we are, and to “remember who we are.” That means being of service to others, choosing a loving life, and contributing to the circle somehow….in a positive and uplifting way. Everyone has their part, and everyone is significant and perfect if they just focus on who they truly are within. We still may not be perfect, but when we CHOOSE THE RIGHT we are progressing towards our destiny.
It’s hard for Amber to do sometimes…especially when she gets a text that ruins the moment, or a negative phone call, or a last minute deadline at work…or any communication from S.R. 
Last night the film “Butterfly” was wrapped. Amber was a producer (among many) on the project. It’s only been one nights sleep and already Amber is wondering what project she is going to work on next. Her mind is like a lightening storm, with electric idea’s swirling constantly. There are so many different projects in various states of development. It would be nice if she could just sit still for a moment and enjoy the process a bit more. Living in such a city where everything is fast, and tough, and lovely, and the next big chance is right at your fingertips…but so far away, it makes Ambers head spin—keeping up, and getting ahead, and tripping forward. It’s her destiny though and she loves it all, she thinks.
Amber was asked questions about love yesterday that really made her stop and think. She was asked who she loved the most, who she would have married, and who mattered. It reminded her of a poem that Greg shared with her once. It’s about love, and how even though things weren’t meant to be, they are exactly as they should be.
LETTER TO KATHY FROM WISDOM
My dearest Kathy: When I heard your tears and those of your
mother over the phone from Moore, from the farm
I've never seen and see again and again under the most
uncaring of skies, I thought of this town I'm writing from,
where we came lovers years ago to fish. How odd
we seemed to them there, a lovely young girl and a fat
middle 40's man they mistook for father and daughter
before the sucker lights in their eyes flashed on. That was
when we kissed their petty scorn to dust. Now, I eat alone
in the cafe we ate in then, thinking of your demons, the sad
days you've seen, the hospitals, doctors, the agonizing
breakdowns that left you ashamed. All my other letter
poems I've sent to poets. But you, you were a poet then,
curving lines I love against my groin. Oh, my tenderest
raccoon, odd animal from nowhere scratching for a home,
please believe I want to plant whatever poem will grow
inside you like a decent life. And when the wheat you've known
forever sours in the wrong wind and you smell it
dying in those acres where you played, please know
old towns we loved in matter, lovers matter, playmates, toys,
and we take from our lives those days when everything moved,
tree, cloud, water, sun, blue between two clouds, and moon,
days that danced, vibrating days, chance poem. I want one
who's wondrous and kind to you. I want him sensitive
to wheat and how wheat bends in cloud shade without wind.
Kathy, this is the worst time of day, nearing five, gloom
ubiquitous as harm, work shifts changing. And our lives
are on the line. Until we die our lives are on the mend.
I'll drive home when I finish this, over the pass that's closed
to all but a few, that to us was always open, good days
years ago when our bodies were in motion and the road rolled out
below us like our days. Call me again when the tears build
big inside you, because you were my lover and you matter,
because I send this letter with my hope, my warm love. Dick.
(Ut: Richard Hugo, Making certain it goes on: the collected poems, W.W. Norton, New York 1986.)
There are many men who have mattered to Amber in her lifetime. But the few that she would have “married” are significantly special to her. Damon, Greg, James, Kevin. All for different reasons that never completely flourished, but these are the top of her list, and Allie would agree. It never happened with any of them, but love did…and for that she will be forever grateful.
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