One of the deals about my little company is that I'm pretty much the whole enchilada--artist, writer, marketer, promoter, fulfillment person, maintenance, webmaster, accountant--you name it. Except every now and then, for a few hours a week, some interesting and willing helper will come and provide support in times of overwhelm.
More about these heroic people another day.
Today, I'm writing to further my intentions to be a lot more active blog-wise, since my first and only one thus far took place months ago.
A key reason to increase my activity is to create community with the many people who have become fans and friends of Lightmark Press. And to share some of the stories and pictures that touch my heart.
Case in point: I was crossing the street in the center of town last week and saw a big, shiny tan truck pull up to the light. It was a double-cab, and out of the back window there were two funny and very sweet dog faces enjoying their day. To my delight, the truck passed me and then parked, so I ran over and asked if I could take a picture. And thus, I met John Jenkel and Zak and Lila. Zak was 12 or 13, a yellow Lab with that beautiful old white face that retrievers get in their elder years. And Lila was 2 or 3, possible a Belgian Malinois, an LA street dog headed to a kill shelter until John said yes, come to Vashon.
This post includes one of the shots I took. And some day, it will hopefully become a card. The process of finding the right caption can take a while.
And your comments and suggestions are welcome!
That's part one of the story.
Part two is this email that I received from John a week later:
"It is curious that you noticed Zak the Lab and Lyla when you did . I am sad to inform that Zak collapsed this past weekend , and after examination and exploratory surgery , had to be put down . I am crushed , but thankful that you caught a glimpse of his notable spirit when you did . Attached is a photo I always liked - you may have it if you like."
I often feel that the dogs of this world plan my life more than I do. This was just such a case--a poignant gift on a warm August afternoon.