Clearing Out, Calling In.
Petey Sellers loved summer. Most dogs love summer, it’s true, but with Petey, as soon as the sun came out on a regular basis, he smiled like everyone was watching. Petey had a variety of smiles, each one for a different occasion. There was the OMG it’s SUMMER smile; the ever-popular HiHiHiHiHi smile he gave friends with the occasional leg hump; and the YouHaveTreats? IHaveTricks smile he gave his girlfriends at Green Dog. There was a special smile for running through fresh, green grass, finding the perfect patch of sun, and the one that spread from ear to ear when we walked with his favorite people AND dogs with the morning light at our backs.
There were also the smiles he reserved for me, that gentle, quiet one that came after a nap or in the evening when he snuggled up against me; the one after meditation or right before bed when all was calm and we were connected; and the satisfied smile as he settled in for a nap in his bed in the dining room, laying in a patch of sunshine at my feet while I wrote, the smile I miss most of all. Petey’s love for everything knew no bounds, but his love for summer reflected what the rest of us in Portland were thinking: we made it through the gray! The sun is out to stay! Let’s play! I’m smiling right now just thinking about it.
A few weeks ago in therapy, my therapist read my mind, saying exactly what I was thinking as I was thinking it. “What if you don’t know what’s on the other side?” she said. “What then?” I laughed because we never know what’s on the other side, but I knew one thing that wouldn’t be there, at least not in the way it was before – Petey. “I can’t know,” I said, giving a little smile. “But I can clear out and create space, anyway. That’s the only way something else can come in.” “Exactly,” she said, nodding. “Exactly,” I said, knowing.
I’ve always been a fan of reinvention. They say that about Scorpios, that we like to get to the heart of things, but that we also like to start over – and it’s true. When it’s time for something to shift, I usually get a little tap on the shoulder or, if I’m not paying attention, a big, screaming sign. But this time is different. Maybe it’s because it’s been a weird few years. Maybe it’s because I’m older. Or maybe, even though I once moved seven times in eight years and became a pro at clearing out, this wasn’t about a place. This was about a person, a soul mate, a friend. The very best dog.
In 2005, when my then-partner and I moved from Dallas to Portland, we had a huge So-Long-Yard-Sale because we couldn’t fit everything in the moving truck. We wanted to see our friends, but we also needed to raise money for the move, so we invited everyone over for last hugs and treasure hunting. To my delight, most of my favorite things went to friends while also clearing out space for a new adventure. I like to think that one friend still basks in the tangerine glow from that 60’s French industrial lamp; that another gets inspired by the Shag print with the monkeys on it; that still another sometimes plays the Farfisa-ish organ so it doesn’t get too lonely. But leaving one city for another cleared space in a way I could never have anticipated.
In a cute little rental off Hawthorne Street, I rode my bike to the yoga studio, one where, after getting my kid’s yoga certification, I’d teach classes. Later, after getting my adult certification, I’d return there and sub for adult classes. When the relationship that I moved to Portland with came to its conclusion, something healthy for both of us, space cleared, again. I took a break from playing in bands, took classes at The Attic, and started taking my non-copywriting writing seriously. Space cleared, again – and I wrote my first book.
That book, The Theory of Everything, just celebrated its ten-year anniversary. Happy anniversary, little book! It’s been a joy to share it these last few weeks, especially with new friends and young readers who’ve never read it. The other day, someone mentioned that Peter Sellers was in the book. I’d totally forgotten! It was a line about how her French accent sounded like a cross between Peter Sellers and Pepe le Pew, a line I’d always loved. Petey wasn’t even an idea, yet while I was writing this book, but by the time I got him, there were final pass pages, Advance Reader Copies, and a box of printed books, which Petey helped me unbox with his trademark joy and The Book Is Here! smile. He was three years old, and more fully a part of my heart than ever. By then he already loved stuffed pandas, too. It was as if he knew – wanted his own pandaverse. Even though he wasn’t in this book, he slipped in, anyway, like a prophecy. He appeared before he appeared.
Petey was always good at that.
In different ways, though, Petey was a part of every other book I’ve written. He went with me on birding adventures, inspired the dog in my YA that almost sold (one agent said it was one of the best dogs she’d ever read), connected with me on the last one, and is actually in my current one, which could turn out to be a series. Always the Assistant Editor, forever immortal in the hands of readers. The next one will definitely be dedicated to him. It’s Petey! I’m sure he planned it that way.
For me, when a book is wrapping up, almost ready to be released, the next one announces itself. That next idea is in the yard, and then it’s at the door, knocking, begging to be let in and worked on. It’s always been this way for me. As one project ends, I feel the next one beginning. That’s how I know it’s time to let go of a manuscript.
Maybe grief works the same way, too.
One Friday afternoon, I was searching through my emails for something so old, I thought I’d never find it. But in my search, there was suddenly a block of e-mails from July 26th, 2010. This was around the time we got Petey Sellers. Even though I was looking for something for work, the subject lines were all about Petey: Vet #1, Vet #2, Petey to the Office. I opened them up, expecting to see e-mails about a dog, but the insides didn’t match the outsides. The subject lines were about Petey, but the messages were random work emails. I scrolled through and saw a subject line that stopped me in my tracks.
Hi, Mom!
The e-mail was empty. I kept scrolling and saw another one.
Petey Wants to Help You!
Also blank. I got chills and felt a slight breeze.
“Hi, Petey!” I said, smiling. “Hi boy! I would love your help.”
I took a screenshot that showed the two subject lines, but when I went to find it later, it disappeared. I searched again, seeing if I could recreate it, but I never could. Apparently, it was a message, sent by Petey, just for me.
At the beginning of July, I felt ready to clean out, which is probably why, on July 5th, I sprained my ankle. It was a minor sprain even though when it comes to ankles, there’s no such thing. I stepped wrong in dance class, a move I blame on a 96-degree day, my unwise decision to do cardio, and the fact that I had to do it in a cooler room with a higher carpet. My ankle rolled, just a little, and I immediately took off those worn-out shoes and iced it. It felt good the next day, so I wore a brace, just to be sure, and kept going on walks, which wasn’t a problem until it was. A little doctor visit and a finger wag later diagnosed a minor sprain and a suggestion to truly “rest,” which I did.
Luckily, by the time my buyer’s appointment at ReRun, a local vintage store rolled around, my ankle was good enough to help me fill my hatchback with vintage treasures. I didn’t have time to truly go through things, but it was a start – and it felt wonderful. They unloaded and loaded the car, gave me $35 credit, and I was on my way. There’s still plenty of vintage, which is why I’ll be having a Petey Sellers Secret Sale in August. But after that first purge, I came home, rested my ankle, and kept going. I cleaned out Petey’s medicine drawer and donated a bag to charity; when my friend’s dog visited and I picked up Petey’s beds and toys, I didn’t put all of them back out; I cleaned out old spices, moved my bags for Goodwill from the closet to where they could be seen, and made mental notes for the piles in the basement. And then I got Petey’s Go Bag out of the closet.
I made it in 2020, the year our air quality from the wildfires was the worse in the world, and changed it out every season. Now it was full of things for all seasons, most of which I wanted to keep. And there, sitting on top, was his blue fleece. I pulled it out, held it to my nose, and sniffed. Petey. Most of his things had lost their scent, but this one still smelled like him. I cried, hugging it to my chest, and let him wash over me. Petey. It has been so long, eleven months, and also no time at all. I laid down on the fleece as I cried, imagining he was laying there, too. Some days it feels like he was just here; other days I feel every single day since he’s passed. I stayed with the sweatshirt for a moment, knowing the next time I took it out the smell might be gone. But eventually, I put it back in the bag and put it in the closet. It would be there when I was ready.
When you move seven times in eight years, you get used to clearing out on a regular basis. With each move, there’s less — fewer books and records, smaller amounts of clothing, knick-knacks, and furniture pared down to the bare minimum. I was good at “sparking joy” before I even knew what it meant. But as I embarked on this cleaning-out journey and thought about what sparked joy, my heart sank. It was Petey! Petey Sellers sparked joy. Nothing in the material world could compare to that. “Spark your own joy!” Petey said, and I laughed. Of course. It’s what we did during the pandemic, during his treatments, and right here. We always sparked joy. Some days I’d given anything to have him back, but most days I’m glad he’s free from cancer, from pain and suffering, and doesn’t have to deal with that body, anymore. It's truly the end of an era – and the beginning of a new one.
At the beginning of the month, before I sprained my ankle, I made Petey’s sign for his garden. A neighbor, who’s a fan of Petey’s and an artist, supplied me with materials and a lesson, and set me free to create. It was a glorious morning, practicing and painting Petey in the sunshine. She left me alone to write his dedication and tears rolled down my face as I wrote. This sign is glorious. It’s cosmic! It’s a complete and total reflection of my love for him and the way I remember him. This past weekend, I finally placed it in the garden. Some of his plants have died, as summer plants do, and some of them needed to move to get more sun, but overall, his garden is flourishing. Just like my new relationship with him. I visit the garden every morning, tending and saying hello. Petey is here, but also sometimes at the dining table, the yoga mat, in every white butterfly I see. He’s everywhere.
Last Friday as I drove to a friend’s house for an early dinner, I had an accidental Friday Night Dance Party. This ritual fell away when KMHD stopped playing soul on Friday nights, and I missed it. But this night, I was in the car at 5:00, which means I stopped work earlier than usual. I was sitting at a stoplight when “Express Yourself” by Charles Wright and the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band came on. This is one of my favorite songs! Petey and I used to dance anytime it came on because it’s so full of life, so full of joy. I turned the radio up and car danced, singing and waving my arms out the window. As I did, a white butterfly flew in front of my windshield, fluttering and dancing, too. Petey! I kept dancing and smiled, ear to ear, a summer smile. When I came back out to my car after a great dinner and hang with my friends, a white butterfly flew over my shoulder and danced in front of me. He was there! He was with us, visiting some of his favorite people. I threw my arms in the air and danced a little. “Hi Petey!” I said. “I love you!” The butterfly flew on and I drove away, but I smiled, all the way home.
Summer is more than half over, and I don’t want to miss it. I want to have ice cream with sprinkles and see an outside movie; I want my ankle to heal, fully, so I can ride a bike and go on a hike; I want to swim in an outdoor pool, read books outside in the evening, and smile with friends in the sunshine, that smile that says oh HEY! I’m glad to see you! I want to celebrate Petey Sellers with a secret sale, and a backyard party, and to dance, in his honor, and invite others to dance in his honor, too. The things I couldn’t do last year because I was too sad. But I want to make more space, to release even more, to see what comes in. And I feel Petey smiling at that. It’s a summer smile, because wherever he is, it’s summertime all the time; but it’s also a smile that says thank you, I love you, you’ll be okay. It’s the Oooh I’m excited for what’s NEXT smile, the OMG it’s time to let that project go again smile, and are there travel ADVENTURES? I like adventures! smile. It’s also the we’re in a new phase, I’m with you forever, and we’re letting go a bit more smile.
It’s the smile that will stand the test of time, no matter what fills that next space. The end of one era, the beginning of another, with joy waiting around each and every corner. With Petey smiling from wherever he is, loving that everyone’s watching. Happy that I’m sparking my own joy on a regular basis, wherever and however it happens. Isn’t life the best?
Dedication
As I was about to post this on Monday, the news came in that Paul Reubens died. Pee Wee Herman, a.k.a. my hero, passed after a long bout with cancer. In the paper, it said “he privately fought cancer for years with his trademark tenacity and wit” and all I could think of was of course, and also, Petey Sellers. Thank you for your art, Pee Wee! He made it okay to be weird, to talk to things that talked back, and look at everyday life with delight and joy, a practice that informed who I was as a teen and who’d I’d become as an adult. He was so much a part of our lives; my friends and I watched the show and bonded over him; I collected all the toys; and I loved the show so much, my mom taped it for me every Saturday (thanks, Mom!) and sent me the tapes at college. I’m forever grateful for his show, which made the world a happier place, a place where it was okay to be yourself, no matter what that looked like. Thank you. I still know all the words to his song, don’t you? Petey Sellers, be on the lookout! I think you two would like each other. Also, his radio show during the pandemic was a gift.
Books!
If you haven’t read my pandaversary book, The Theory of Everything, you can find copies floating around, and the eBook, always, here. Welcome to the pandaverse! Visit Instagram for more of the celebration, and here’s an 80’s playlist I made for the occasion.
As always, thanks for reading, subscribing, and sharing. It means the world. Stay tuned for announcements about the Petey Sellers Secret Sale and changes to this space coming in September. For now, it’s still free, so share away! Happy smiles, happy summer. xoxo, Kari