a Millie day

Yes, there are still tasks to take care of in the garden (think of this as a constant). And yes, there's always the paperwork that lags behind a move. But Millie has priority today. I want to work through some of the issues she has faced with the move. She's a gentle and sensitive pup and if I ever needed proof of that -- well, I have plenty of it that came with the move.

Her barking at any activity outside (here she is, in position!)...

... you might say is just a puppy thing, perhaps specific to this breed, this dog, this age. Except I don't fully buy that. Millie barks when she doesn't understand who that person (or dog or other living form) is and what their intentions are. At Sally's House, once she understood that construction workers are a fixture and that they will not attack her and pull her limbs out one by one, she ignored them. She dismissed angry dogs, delivery trucks, cars pulling out of driveways with her nose up, as if to say "I cant be bothered with the whole lot of you." I want to get her to that place now, because at the moment, everything that is strange and new can set her off and whereas I do not really mind her barks and songs, I'd rather she learn to hold it in sometime.

Morning walk, morning light...

 

 

We eat breakfast outside...

After a few cuddles, Millie relaxes and keeps an eye on the construction crew next door quietly.

 

 

But then comes the yard and a new set of noises and movements. Again, we cuddle, I let her loose, she is concerned about something, barks, I pick her up, snuggle, let loose. On repeat. But by noon she is visibly more relaxed. We walk over to Tati's coffee shop for lunch with Ed. Typically the cafe is pretty empty in the early afternoon. Not so today. And again she's unsure. All those new people! But, she gets her pup cup and a spot on the couch next to me. Life is good again.

In the late afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop from her summer program and bring her... home. To my home.

This place suits you, I like it  -- she tells me. Indeed it does! 

Sandpiper comes (with dad) to pick her up and he, too, is approving. But of course, kids are easy to please. The younger they are the fewer the judgments. Still, it's great to see everyone with all smiles. And Millie relaxes even more with the little ones here. I can see it in her eyes -- it's just like in my other life, same goofy kids, same belly rubs, same damn brush she uses on me! 

But once you're done with that chair, little guy, it's my turn. There are still some strange noises and movements out there that I need to bark at.

with so much love... 

 

the new delightful normal

 Millie is adjusting. The new routines are awfully much like the old ones. She is finding her place in them.

It's a beautiful day and our spirits are high. Our morning time over breakfast on the porch is grand. My girl is restraining her barks now. Not everyone gets a rousing greeting and in any case, her tail is wagging. She wants to make friends. Me, I'm enjoying a warm beginning to the day, looking over at all that I planted this year. July is a gardener's dream month. It's peak time for blooms. It's hard to take in the fact that we're already one week into the month. 

 

 

 

... Where the potted roses (to be transplanted later) are coming into full bloom.

I get a very welcome message from Ed: he'd been losing a lot chickens to predators. Oh, we've always lost an occasional one to hawks, possum, raccoons. But very rarely. And almost never during the day. But this spring -- three were snatched in broad daylight. Ed has been keeping them under lock to assess the situation and maybe redirect the racoon if indeed it is a raccoon. But yesterday, two things happened -- in the late afternoon, he found a coyote staring into the sheep shed window. And Dance had gone missing for going on 24 hours. He put two and tow together and came up with the obvious -- this animal had been taking chickens, and if non could be caught, she (likely a mom of young ones) could easily go after a cat. There was your answer as to why Dance had not shown up for three meal in a row.

It was a sad ending to the day last night. I'll admit it -- Dance was by far our favorite. The oldest one, named "Dance" by Snowdrop when she was just 3 years old, this cat knew us so well that she could actually have a conversation with us about her needs and desires, about our annoying habits. She loved me, she loved Ed and we loved her right back. In many ways, Dance was to Ed now as Millie is to me. The loss of her was devastating. Plans were hatched -- Ed felt he needed to hire a trapper to go after the coyote who was lurking to find his next feast. We have a half dozen cats at the farmette. Are they all at risk? Along with the chickens?

But in the middle of this night, Dance came back. Without a scratch. We can only guess as to why she was gone for over 24 hours. But hearing this morning about her return, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. You gave us a scare, Dance, you really did!

And Millie rested, and then I took the girl to doggie day care. 

(on the way there...)

 

My big task for today is to say good-bye to Sally's House. (Meaning I have to go over and clean it -- mostly of the mud and debris movers brought into it. Not their fault. There's construction mud everywhere on that block.)

I have positive enough feelings about the place, but at the same time, I always felt it to be transitional housing. Not something I would have ever chosen for a long term home, even ignoring the fact that it was just plain too big, rented to me at a (more or less) affordable rate only because no one in this town starts a lease in February. We're not that kind of a city! And then along comes this renter (me) who wants a short term lease, starting in February. The landlord felt lucky. I felt lucky! It was a good place. And since I managed to keep it spiffy for the time I was there, the clean up was straightforward. 

From there to Steffi's -- to plant the odd plants that have been drying up in pots because I had not the time to put them in. All the plants would benefit from a solid watering and I had the couple of hours to do it today. It's manageable -- setting up Steffi's garden was very challenging, but maintaining it should be just the perfect amount of work for me. 

I'd put up the bird feeder this afternoon and noted that it had had a few visitors already. Finches, sparrows, red tipped blackbirds. They've not used the bird baths yet, but of course, they have plenty of sprinkler water in the area. The house next to mine had turf rolled out around it this weekend and sprinklers are set to spray water at regular intervals. 

 

 

Ed comes over to deal with my mechanical frustrations: the thermostat needs adjustments and the online literature on the little gizmo is voluminous and totally incomprehensible to me. We work on that together and then I am back to planting. and watering. I like the way the garden is developing. I'm trying hard to create a cottage look, but without over-planting. Most of the the flower fields at the farmette are over-planted. It's not that the initial planting was excessive, though some would argue with me there I suppose, but the issue comes up over the years when I do maintenance work, prioritizing weeding and snipping lilies. I could not get to dividing and even discarding some of the lilies. Too much to  do elsewhere. When I drove over to pick up some more compost soil today, I took a moment to inspect the more prominent fields.

(the Big Bed)

 

They have the potential to still look great this year, but it really is too dense in there. Beautiful, but definitely overgrown. And a bit too weedy.

 

I bring Millie home in the late afternoon. There is so much that delights her here. The yard of course, The porch as well. The fact that I no longer gate off the upstairs and doors stay open to all rooms. (Before, she had access to the upstairs only at night and only to one room.) And of course, she loves watching the world go by. Not sure I share her passion for selectively yapping at dogs or people outside, but she cant possibly disturb anyone here, and if this brings her pleasure occasionally -- so be it. I'm sure I have foibles that possibly irritate her (brushing heads the list!) and yet she puts up with it. 

With each day, she is more tuned into the new routines (which do mimic the old routines after all). And so am I. And we are happy.

with so much love... 

  

new beginnings...

Understanding what you need or want out of your days is a process. When I was an adolescent, I thought that if I had the attention, the love of my boyfriend, I would need nothing more. Happiness would be mine. (And in the few weeks we were "together," my cup was indeed full, running over in fact.) And then you learn that it's all not that simple. You tweak things. Proceeding by trial and error mostly. There are things you think are important, yet they prove to be unattainable. You try something new. You indulge some fantasies. Reject others. Money is a problem. Health can be a problem. Sometimes you wish you hadn't gone there. Sometimes you know you shouldn't have gone there. But  sometimes the pieces actually fit!  

I think about all this because I really feel now like I did as a 16 year old who had her first encounter with reciprocal love. Or, what I thought was love. Giddy with delight. And now here I am at 73, again feeling so damn lucky to be where I am right now: with the kids, grandkids. Ed. Millie. Friends (life is never perfect -- I do wish they were physically closer). Retirement. A home that has everything I could possibly need -- at the top of the list? A quiet neighborhood (except for Millie's barking last night, but she had an excuse!), a cottage with an open floor plan with lots of windows. A small garden for me to manage and love. A wee fenced yard where Millie can let loose and have her zoomies. A neat, clean, pile-free interior with everything in its place. And a porch. This porch, where we have our first breakfast together. 

Now about last night: traumatized earlier by two angry dogs, Millie never quite recovered in the evening. The fireworks and firecrackers were constant. All evening long. Pops, booms, bangs. She is not phobic about fireworks (I know many dogs are), but it was just too much, and the new place was beyond her comprehension,  She sat on the chair by the window (who said it's my reading corner? It's our shared reading corner!) and alternated between barking and looking wildly at everything that fluttered or twinkled outside, until we went to bed upstairs, where she finally settled down.

She did sleep well and so did I. First time for a long time. And in the morning she was tentative, but certainly better than last night. Once I put up the gate by the porch stairs outside, she had the freedom to roam there and she loved that. No one was out so early in the morning and she just took at the world at her own pace.

Afterwards, we went inside and I put up artwork. Millie appropriated her best seat ever.

 

 

The downstairs is now finished! I thought she was due for a morning nap so I crated the girl and stepped out to do some yard work. Millie had gotten over her separation anxiety and I'd been able to leave her easily for even three hours without a wince or yelp. Not today. The minute I was out of eyesight, the howling began. I tried a return and a re-exit. Nope. Still howling. Obviously she needs to work up to it again. Not today though. Let's get her used to the new home first. 

I took her to the back yard and sat with her there. She loves the outdoors and she sniffed and played and finally settled under the bench. If I stepped outside the fence area, she'd yelp. If someone went by, she yapped. But slowly she yelped and yapped less. I'd come in and out of her fenced yard and it was okay. For short spells. I planted three plants and watered a corner of the yard and she was fine. An occasional woof, but easily settled. We are making progress!

 

At around noon, Ed came over to help me build a small daybed for the upstairs playroom. Millie had been calming down but the emergence of two huge boxes (with bed parts) unnerved her all over again. She had an accident, even though I'd just taken her out. I can see it in her alert eyes -- when will this drama end?? Soon, dear one. Soon.

 

Once the bed is built,  the three of us walk over to Tati's for lunch. Familiar stuff at last for the old girl!  

I have to wonder what she is thinking: how is it that we walk back, the same (for the most part)  two blocks, but at the end of the walk, we are not what I understood to be our home??

 

Ed leaves then and I go back to hanging up art. Most of it has hung on one wall or another through many moves. They're all favorites, from a lifetime of not having the money for it, but loving nonetheless the idea of joyful art on the wall. Three of my nephew's paintings now are in place. A piece from an Ocean friend. A poster from this year's trip to St Paul de Vance. A painting I picked up in the village of Giverny from the years I used to stay there overnight on repeat. A print of Chopin's house. A very bright painting from the artist who lived next door when I spent three weeks in Pierrerue in the south of France. A small painting from my apartment years in Warsaw. A print of a piece that accompanied my article for the NYTimes. And so on. 

Steffi's House is done. Sure, it's an ongoing project -- how you live in it, how you tend to the flowers and care for the birds that come and visit -- it doesn't stop with the last nail pounded into the wall. But it's all a new chapter for me. The pieces fit into one complex canvas and again I have this blissful feeling that at this moment, I'm in a very special place. 

 

 

 

with so much love... 

a week to remember, day 6

Very late in the morning -- it's almost noon -- I'm finally sitting down to breakfast on my front porch. 

 

 

I feel more like I'm in a coffee shop, at an outdoor table. I have a full view of my street. Kids are playing in the driveway down the block, the building next to mine is in the last stage of completion and people come and go there as well (who will be my new neighbor?). I do not have a roof over me -- just a pergola and this, to me, is one of the outstanding features of my cottage. There is plenty of light coming through it, both for my plants on the porch and through the windows into my living space. 

The pergola style does mean that I am exposed to the elements. Was that a sprinkle I felt? I can move back under the overhang, or I can go inside to my reading nook. I love my options!

It's a late meal because I spent the first four hours of the morning unpacking more boxes. The kitchen is done, the other rooms are half done. Millie is coming home this afternoon and I want to go with Ed and his truck to the recycling dumpsters before that, so that I can get rid of the huge mountain of flattened cardboard. Even with his pickup, I think it'll be a challenge to do it in just one haul. 

(at the dump)

 

 

Is it the 4th of July? For a moment I thought that was yesterday. Dates are merely calendar pages with lists of what I must do at what time. That they actually represent something important -- well fine, but who has time to reflect on that?

A half hour of drinking in this porch moment and then I am back with the boxes. By early afternoon, I have most of them unpacked. This is the one benefit and perhaps the only benefit of moving so often -- you so do not want to be stuck finding space for every item in a box, that you're likely to throw or give away things that are only marginally relevant to your life. I could die tomorrow and my kids would have an easy time dealing with my possessions. But decluttering is only a beginning. Piles begin to form over time. You stuff things randomly into any corner just so you dont have to decide their fate at the moment. If I have any resolve after this last move, it's that I will not create piles and stashes of stuff. I swear I've been saying this for many decades, but this time I've been hit hard by all my packing and unpacking. I placed every item with care at Steffi's House. Perhaps this time though I'll succeed in getting closer to minimalism rather than excess. And I remind myself that I came to America with an American Tourister suitcase and a flight bag (remember those?). True, I left some possessions in Warsaw and I expected to return to them or bring them to my life here, but when my parents got rid of everything I left behind (behind my back!) I have to admit that I didn't miss any of it. And from this suitcase and bag, the possessions multiplied. Because that really is the American way. We like our stuff.

 

But this isn't a trait I want to dwell on. It's the 4th of July and I surely want to say something that has both gravitas and lightheartedness to  it: How about noise? Because I'm hearing a lot of it on this 4th. We are a loud nation. We like to expose ourselves to noise. Our music is loud. And our fireworks are loud and we love them precisely for that reason. Why else keep your kids up late and brave swarms of mosquitoes on this 4th of July if not to revel in the explosiveness of a firework display? Sure, the color and sparkle thrill us too, but you cannot gloss over the fact that we all probably lose a bit of our hearing every year as we attend these displays.

No, of course I'm not going. But I'll hear the noise anyway, because people love popping firecrackers in their driveways on this day. Why? It's the thrill of effectuating a loud bang.

(I must admit that we are not alone in this love of loud sounds. Having lived in a construction zone for 5 months, I listened to a lot of music played by the construction crew. I liked it, but it was decidedly loud, and not in English. Still, even in loudish countries, our exuberance and thrill of the loud puts us way ahead of the pack.

 

Julie brings Millie home at 3 and here's some good news -- I am breaking down the last moving box as they come in! Oh, I still have stuff to do. Pictures to put up. Small things requiring my attention. Lots of plant work. But unpacking? Done! In 24 hours I manged to put away every single item. Phew!

Millie initially does not seem bothered by the new home. She looks around, with curiosity.

 

 

 

Is it because she has seen it before, or does she think we're merely visiting someone? 

She rests, and then I take her out for a walk. I'm only two blocks from Sally's House and yet the location couldn't be more different. I am close to the bike path, the prairie fields, nature that is something other than just mowed lawn.

And at first, Millie is a happy pup. 

 

 

 

But on our walk back, two dogs from a home a few doors down, come running to their own fence line barking and growling at her. I've met the owners before -- nice people who admit they have troubled dogs. Millie freezes. She has encountered mean dogs before -- near Sally's House there are two of them -- but these guys caught her by surprise. My terrified dog pulls like never before to get away from this space, these dogs, their owners, all of it. 

At home, she figures out that if she is on furniture, she can see people out the window. Including the family across the street with little kids playing with firecrackers. Their dad throws something down, it pops, they jump on it, there's smoke. I haven't a clue as to what this firecracker is, but Millie is in no mood for any of it. She barks her head off at all of it -- the loud pops, the kids running around clouds of smoke, and perhaps her own situation -- a dog suddenly in a place that just isn't the home she remembers. The scents are a match, but it all feels... very very strange. different.

 I sit closely with her and when she is in my arms, she quiets down. But her body is stiff. The girl is tense. And when i let her go, she is back on the chairs, barking. At everything.

 

 

I put her in her crate where she cannot see anything. The two growling lunging dogs have put her on alert. It'll take a while now to get her to feel confident again. 

 

And me? I can't believe I'm winding down a year of choppy seas and turbulent winds. Could it be that I am finally settled? My week to remember ends tomorrow, but really it ends today, on July 4th. In my new home.

with so much love... 

 

a week to remember, day 5

What a day. And it still continues. Though in a few minutes it'll be midnight and therefore -- the 4th of July

But let me start with one thought I had today -- Americans who work in service fields are extremely pleasant toward customers. I can't think of another country where I have encountered such a consistent emphasis on friendly, customer-focused, attentive service. (This is why we hear so many complaints by Americans when they travel for the first time abroad. People appear to them to be rude. They're not that, actually, they are just.. normal. (Well, I'm still seeing some rudeness in the old country, or at least indifference to those who come in through the door. A hold over from our postwar era of absolutely lousy, hostile service. Nothing on the shelves, indifference of the clerks.) It's us, here in America who are the outliers. Some of the service workers are kind and friendly by nature, but if that's not your style, you surely will be told by management that your job is to show care. I remember when I did moonlighting in retail, selling L'Occitanae cosmetics. I was instructed to complement customers in some fashion. Just to make them feel good. Personally, I like a hands-off sales clerk who will let me browse without her or him hovering nearby, but I was told to shove that attitude in my pocket and keep it there while I worked behind the counter. Be cheerful, be pleasant. After a while, it becomes second nature.

Perhaps you're thinking that this is a corporate model that is more about bringing in a sale than being genuinely concerned about the person who comes in for a needed something or other. But the fact is that I have always thought that at first blush at least, Americans are genuinely friendly. Maybe we are now going through a phase where we hate everyone who is not like us, and yet, we still reach out with kindness to those seeking our help.

[My two movers today are, in fact, extremely kind and pretty friendly. Young men who surely must loathe their job -- they never stay with it for more than a few months or a year -- so pleasant to deal with on what is turning out to be a very difficult move. It took the two of them six hours to do the job and this despite my moving all fragile stuff on my own.]

Let me roll back to the morning. Without Millie. A good thing, because the day is one big mess pile. In fact, I called Julie, her babysitter, and asked if she could bring Millie not today, but tomorrow. Smart move! Steffi's House is a disaster right now.

I was up early -- at 5 a.m. -- and I did squeeze in a breakfast on the increasingly naked porch...

 

And then it was one mad dash -- to move more stuff. Anything that would require careful handling. To shovel off the wood chips that are still in the driveway. To work with the movers on placement of furniture. To call Ed for help with building a chair. To start unpacking. Very slowly. TO break down boxes. 

I was feeling upbeat all the way until 4 pm. My new reading corner made me totally giddy.

Then I hit that brick wall. I mentioned here that I got talked into switching my mobile service. To bundle it with the internet. I went through the process of doing this. It took forever. Cancel ATT, start Spectrum. Except that once tranferred and activated, the new phone service had such poor reception that I could not complete a single call. Next then was an hour spent with Spectrum trouble shooting. Nothing helped. I think I am simply in a Spectrum/Verizon dead. zone. All to save $10 a month...

Next hour? Spent with Spectrum and ATT canceling the first and reactivating the second (it's called a "winback"). I mean, you have to laugh. Everything was going smoothly, and then here I am, working not on the move but on my phone service. To un-save $10. 

But on the upside, the agents have all been super nice! And friendly. No one grumbled, no one was hostile or blamed me for this back and forth. (They did ask me -- how long did I stick it out with Spectrum and were quite surprised when I said "less than an hour.")

In the evening I return to the boxes.  Ed came, and I so I paused to share the leftover pizza slices with him (and a salad!) but eventually I resumed unpacking. Three moves and I still can't decide which is more loathsome -- the packing or unpacking.At least with the latter, you know you're at the tail end of it. Hard to believe that tonight I'll be in my home finally. Just me and the boxes. Millie comes back tomorrow.

with so much love... 

a week to remember, day 4

The first commercial roller coaster opened in 1884, in Coney Island of course. Oh, the idea had its roots 100 years earlier, in St Petersburg, Russia. Something akin to a mechanical sled on tracks was built at the whim of Catherine the Great. But it was the Coney Island ride that launched the roller coaster as we know it today -- with all the trappings of an amusement park surrounding it.

Roller coasters are popular worldwide, but America has the highest concentration of the thrill coasters that basically make you feel like your guts are plunging way ahead of you into a void of nothingness where up is down, and down is up, and your body shakes and quivers for a long time after, to recover from the shock it just endured. 

We love roller coasters.

I used to love roller coasters, until I didn't. Now, you couldn't pay me to go on one. Feeling dizzy and sick and jarred and tossed around so that the bones rattle is just not pleasurable any more. But it once was. Just like it still is for so many Americans.

*     *     *

I put Millie through a lot this morning. First of all, she and I had another late night. (I had to buy a bed. Not for me. It took a while to find one that was cheap and appropriate. Then of course there was the mattress... by the time I was done, it was midnight.) But there was no sleeping in this morning. Up at 5. Lots to do. 

Millie didn't mind the early wake up. But she does mind the chaos. The changes. The absence of old reliable props. We had breakfast on the porch. She hadn't her usual plants to sniff out, and there was no bench to settle under. It looked and felt different. 

 

My girl, this is our last morning here. I just want to tell you -- all these moves, the work involved -- it's been worth it. Our days here have been beautiful. And they will even more beautiful in Steffi's House.

And then I had to interrupt her morning nap, because the carpet cleaner had arrived. I had four rugs to unroll for them, and of course I had to open up the garage for them. I took the girl with me, thinking that perhaps she'd like a run in the Steffi yard. She did, but when I went into the house for a minute, she got scared. And when the big guy (and he was big) came with his machinery, she got more scared. And when he turned on his carpet cleaning motors, she was totally freaked out. She trembled as I put her in the car.

We snuggled for a while, then I drove her to Happy Dogz where she flew into the room full of familiar everything, tail going at full speed, excitement returning to her dark eyes.

Happy Dogz is closed tomorrow for the holiday weekend, but Julie -- the staff person who took care of Millie when I went to Europe -- happily agreed to take her home for an overnight. In this way, I have the whole day today to finish up with the packing and of course tomorrow, to assist with the move.

It wasn't the smoothest of days, and it was beastly hot once again, with storms hitting us in the early evening. Nothing terrible happened and the move continues to go forward, but there were bumps along the way. I had to call Ed to help with the Internet installation. The process stumped him as well and we spent way too much time trying to understand what our errors were. The movers came to pack up anything I hadn't boxed yet, and they packed all that they weren't supposed to pack (things I needed for the next two days) and did not pack a whole cabinet of stuff that should have been boxed. And I mowed the Sally lawn and the mowing machine swallowed up one of its parts and spit it out in shreds, gashing my leg in the process. Same leg that the neighbor's dog scratched just minutes before. (I said to him -- your dog has very sharp nails. He smiled in agreement. He did then ask -- can I help you with the mowing? And when I paused, trying to think of a polite response, he explained -- you know, because it's so hot and well... what he wanted to say but caught himself  is -- and you're so old...). And the light switch in the house isn't working and the storms knocked down some of my plants. small things that test your ability to stay calm and focused.. 

In the late evening, Ed came over with a pizza. I made a salad, we watched one of our old favorites on TV. I am totally exhausted but I do want to return to the move in a few minutes -- I can start unpacking stuff that I hauled over myself. 

Sally's House feels horribly empty right now: no Millie, no sign of a life in it. I suppose that I never thought of it as a real home. It felt more like I was house sitting for someone. The space was very pleasant, but never quite settled. Three dogs passed through it and that is the way I will remember these months. Henry, Sadey, and finally my sweet Millie. 

Tomorrow, my pup and I will be in Steffi's House. 

with so much love... 

a week to remember, day 3

Millie, 6 a.m. is better than 5:15. We are making progress! Or, is it that we both went to sleep so late last night that the idea of rising at dawn seemed... silly? I had taken my pup for a late evening stroll to Steffi's House. Her first venture inside. I accomplished two things -- I got her acquainted with her future home (she loved it! ...ran off upstairs to explore and came leaping down as if with approval), and additionally, I got to do some measurements. Of course, my set up at the Edge and even in Sally's House is not going to work well in the new place. This in itself is funny, since the same construction company put up both Sally's and Steffi's houses and even in the same year. Much of what is inside one, is a carbon copy of what is inside the other (the cabinets, the fridge, the stove, the fireplace). Though I will say that Steffi's House hasn't some of the shortcomings of Sally's. The flooring isn't as artificial looking, the washer dryer combo isn't the bottom of the barrel, like the ones here which I swear came from the discontinued stack at Walmart. And I love the fact that Steffi's space is small -- appropriate and plenty luxurious, I think, for a single dweller who expects grandkids to sleepover and come over on a regular basis. One open space downstairs (a blend of kitchen/ dining/ living), three small bedrooms upstairs. I had been looking for a house with just two bedrooms, but apparently these are rarely built. Americans like their space.

Add that to my list then:  being American means loving privacy. Physical space around you that others cannot enter without permission. And if you have the money for it, that space ill be big. I have this beautiful book of small houses. I'd always admired them and thought they were both clever and practical. And beautiful! But I have never seen one anywhere. These are custom built architecturally designed homes that make it into magazines and coffee table books (are there still "coffee table books," or is that an idea out of the 60s?), not into our neighborhoods. 

The idea of "lots of space" surely dates back to the years when Europeans arrived on the continental shores of North America, expecting to lay claim to all that they found here. This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land is a fiction. We appear to love privacy more than thinking ourselves to be merely stewards of a land shared by many. And the larger the space, the better. Big cars, big houses, big closets, big fences. At least that is the dream. That it has become less and less attainable is reason for people to feel they've been cheated out of this American idea. And in all honesty, they have been cheated. People here work hard. [Can I add that to my list of Americanisms? I don't know a single Pole whose kid worked summer jobs at mindless menial tasks just to earn some money; I don't know a single American whose kid did not work before graduating high school.]  We have little time off for family or leisure, and at the end of the day, we feel the need to close ourselves off  (in front of the big TV, and I mean big!) to recover. Only recently have we begun to ask -- if we can't even attain a roof over our heads under which we can hide from the rest of the world, what's the point of all that hard work? Well we might wonder.

 

*     *     *

Another steamy day. Nevertheless, I take my breakfast outside. These are the last porch breakfasts for Millie and me and we both enjoy them too much to be put off by hot weather.

And then she rests. I am so tempted to just drop her off at daycare -- I have accelerated everything now and cant wait to get on with it -- but the little girl needs her quiet on the cool floor, with soft jazz or classical playing in the background. At least that's my take on her morning needs. She seems so... content then. And that feeling then seeps into my soul as well. We are both morning-content!

Eventually though I rouse her and take her over to Happy Dogz. It's July 1st, so I have to drive around and pay rents at the various places for which I still owe rents (a small supplement at the Edge and thankfully the last payment at Sally's House). And now finally I can move some stuff and plant some plants and distribute the chips Ed piled onto the driveway. Inside, the cleaning crew is making sure all is well and that Steffi's House is without any trace of germs or meth or whatever else it is that cleaning crews are looking to eliminate.

 

At 11:30, Ed is free from his various Zooms and appointments and we do some more transporting. More kitchen stuff. And some furniture. This is a bit nuts: I have movers this Friday who are there to do the heavy lifting. Why transport the heavy yard benches, the side tables, the plant stands? 

Because I worked so hard at getting the yard together and they mowed the lawn for me at Steffi's today and I was just dying to see how it all would fit together. And, too, Ed helped me build the bird bath which has a gurgling little fountain to it --- here's a post-installation photo:

And the front porch is taking shape as well and I planted another rose, plus a hibiscus which was damn hard today, what with the heat and the rocky soil, so do you blame me for wanting to finally put the missing pieces in place and take it all in? Because it really has been a hell of an effort! Today was perhaps the toughest of all the physically tough days. The heat was unreal and I had the planting and the watering and the moving of wood chips -- I must have gone through at least a six pack of sparkling water and even then I was totally wiped out.

 

I pick up Millie, we stop for a few minutes at the young family's house. I haven't seen Sandpiper since the trip and he is also a huge fan of Millie.

("I want to hold her!")

 

 

 (Snowdrop, hand her over...)

 

 

*     *     *

The cleaning crew at Steffi's was less enthusiastic about the state of the inside. It looked more or less good to me, but then I was expecting the worst. It looked dusty to them. The blinds, windows, the shelves of the cabinets. They worked hard and took all afternoon to get the job done. It's such a luxury to have someone do this for me! Tomorrow, the carpet guys will do the carpet washing (including rugs that I carted over that bear many marks of a puppy being house-trained), and in the afternoon the movers will finish packing all that I left for them (mostly books and cleaning supplies). In other words -- we're moving along exactly at the pace I had laid out for this so many months ago! 

But I never anticipated that I would go for the big one: the transformation of Steffi's Garden. Nor did I expect there to be a blistering heat wave as I finished up work outside (well, it's not exactly finished, but getting there!). Not to be throwing out one cliché after the next, but I do feel like if this doesn't kill me, it'll make me stronger. Physical labor at my age is something we don't seek out, but when you're pushed into it (in this case by some internal drive that leads me to do these things), ultimately, your muscles will thank you for it.

tomorrow -- another big day!

with so much love... 

a week to remember, day 2

I am in my second day of the crazy week of extremes. this time Millie is up at 5:30, which is an improvement over 5:15 I suppose, but still, too early! 

It's stinky hot outside, though at this moment just after sunrise (at 5:21 today) it's quite bearable. Not that I can do anything yet. Millie is with me and the renter has until noon to move out -- two impediments to getting things rolling.

I eat breakfast outside. Every home I have ever lived in had a lovely side to it, even the tiny two room space on ulica Nowowjejska. The room I shared there with my sister was noisy (tram stop underneath the windows) but it had plenty of sunshine! The first house I ever moved to, back in 1984 -- a suburban split level that looked like it would come in first in a contest for "the most ordinary," had a small spot for my first perennial patch. And Sally's House? Well, the porch with the ugly view. I screened off the row of garages in the back alley with plants and once it was warm enough, I ate all my breakfasts here.

I dont really wish that Steffi's House had a screened porch. I suppose if I had stacks of gold hidden under my mattress, I'd think about putting one to the side of the kitchen, but it would be a major construction project and it seems that even for a wealthy person, it's a lot to spend on a whim that would benefit only one. (I write this as I happened to be looking at a NYTimes article about houses for sale in the Hamptons, What are these people thinking?!)

Still, will I take my breakfast out on the front porch? Will there be bugs? How would Millie go in and out? None of the houses in the new development have screen doors in the front -- I suppose that housing style disappeared once every new home got an AC unit. The girl wont be able to step in and out as she does here, at Sally's House. Ed suggested I put up a screened tent outside the garage -- a way cheaper solution than building out a porch, but the aesthetics of it just don't do it for me. 

*     *     *

As I sit and wait for Millie to finish her nap so that I can take her to doggie day care, I think about the news of the day, and that brings me back to the 250th and my fluff thoughts about becoming American. So, we a smitten with our dogs. What else? 

Here's an obvious one: we are full of genuine smiles. They're not fake, nor are they forced. Completely sincere. Is our collective grin born of eternal optimism? Is it because Americans have great teeth? Is it that we want to compete with others in the "happiest nation" rankings? No, can't be that. For one thing, we're only 23rd on the Happiest Nation scale. Many countries outperform us, though we did beat out Afghanistan. 

I think the smiles express our light-hearted approach to social encounters. I look at a photo of a gathering of my Polish friends and they are all so serious! No one cracks a smile. American photos, on the other hand, are full of laugh wrinkles and goofy grins. And that's the way we greet people too. In stores, in casual encounters. The French may have their obligatory "bonjour," but we deliver that big, robust smile. We like feeling proud and happy and showing this side of us to others (even if inside, we're deeply anxious and, as I said yesterday, probably lonely).

 

*     *     *

Well, I got up to put something away and Millie immediately woke up and followed me, so I may as well take her to doggie daycare. It gives me time to pack some more boxes. 

 (awake and aware)

 

 

And at noon, I go over to Steffi's House, thinking all the while -- what if... What if he hasn't moved out? Is it like a hotel checkout -- you get an hour's grace? And what if it's a disaster inside? I'm sweating on this one and it isn't the fault of the heat outside.

 

*     *     * 

I peak through the window into the garage. No one there. No red car, nothing. I try the code I'd put into the garage two years ago. Still works. I go inside. A little muddy in the garage, but nothing a hose and a broom can't fix. I step inside the house. 

The first thing that strikes me is how cold it is. The renter liked the AC to go full blast. I keep my thermostat at 78F/25.5C. He's at 70F/21C.  

The second thing? I am stunned at how clean the place is. Spotless counters. Swept floor. The stove? Looks like it's never been used. Refrigerator? Like new. Oh sure, my critical eye picks out stuff that may need a scrub, but trivially so. Basically, the house is in great shape.

Who was this guy? 

He cared nothing about the outside, but in here -- not a scratch on the wall. Not even a nail hole for a picture. (Except the garbage -- he forgot to empty it. Totally forgiven. And in the basement? No trace if a meth lab! I feel like sending him a letter of gratitude!

For the first time ever, I look at the house with the eyes of a person who is about to live in her own home. It's delightfully smaller than Sally's House. Truly a cottage. With windows everywhere. I am mesmerized by all of it. 

And I am energized. I call Ed. He comes with his truck and dumps a load of chips on the driveway. I'll get to those tomorrow. We clean out the truck and go over to load up plants, rugs, boxes, wall paintings. We make just a couple of round trips. I can see that the heat is really getting to him. Me? A motor has been turned on within me. I want to get on with this move!

We cant do much though. The house has to stay empty until the cleaning crew goes over it tomorrow. And even then, the upstairs will be off limits until the carpet crew gets done the next day. But I've stacked most of the important and breakable stuff in the garage (after scrubbing the floor clean) and I put out some plants on the front porch and I am feeling so good!

 

*     *     *

I pick up Millie. It's been a long day for me, and for her as well. Normally I just let her go to daycare for half-days, but of course, this week, I want her busy and happy all day so I extended her playtime there.

We stop by the young family's house on the way home. The kids are all in full day programs this month which is good, because I have this move to deal with, but it does mean I see less of them. So I do these quick drop-ins just to see their young faces. 

My next move? You're going to have to wheel me out of that house in a wheelchair as I struggle to remember my name and yours. That's how long I intend to stay at Steffi's House.

with so much love...  

 

a week to remember

This week! Let's see -- there's the move. I should be able to enter Steffi's House tomorrow. And start moving things, at least into the garage, in the afternoon. That is the hope. 

Then there's the heat: we aren't heading toward the broiling temperatures experienced in western Europe last week, but still, it's going to be toasty in the upper Midwest. Upwards of 90F/33C. Steamy hot.

And of course, it's the week of the 4th of July. I don't like the traditional markers of this holiday. Celebrating with fireworks, grilled hot dogs, flags and red white and blue garb, neighborhood parades of kids with festooned bikes (decorated by parents with a lot of red white and blue ribbons and bells and whistles on hand) -- I understand the fun in all of it, but for me, crowds, loud noises -- I'd rather pass. And of course, none of these traditional celebrations seem related to the fact that something happened 250 years ago to create a country. This country. We could discuss high and low what constitutes true patriotism, or if patriotism is inexorably intertwined with a support for democracy, but just the fact that there's not consensus on any of this anymore, tells you a lot about how pleasant that discussion would be. So no, I wont allow myself to be serious here, even if the 4th of July demands of us a moment of serious reflection. 

But let me suggest something light for Ocean. Something that would still make us happy to be American with all our foibles and peculiarities and perhaps inflated ideas about our place on this planet. What, looking at the light side of things, strikes me this morning as truly American? What goofy habit is ours and maybe even uniquely ours? I have some ideas. They are not research based. No science behind any of it, at all. Just my own anecdotal observations. Feel free to disagree. Quietly. After all, disagreement seems to be very American right now!

So here's my "it's so American!"-ism for today: 

Americans are besotted with their dogs. (I admit to being truly American in this way as well!) All people in all countries of course love their canines. But we are downright goofy about it. I visit a dog park in Paris. People let their pooches loose and stand around and socialize with each other. I go to a dog park locally, here in Wisconsin. You call your dog, she comes running and you're absolutely thrilled when she arrives! Your heart bursts with glee and pride and love. Good girl! Good job! Atta girl, you sweet muffin, you!  Rub that neck, kiss that face, lean and lanky, or hefty and furry, maybe with a weird snout or with floppy ears -- no matter, he or she is the best dog in the world! You cannot live without her. Seriously.

Look at the treat selection in an American pet store: there are literally hundreds to choose from. Small bites. Bacon. Peanut butter. Salmon. Chicken. Venison. Parts of animals I'd rather not mention. Crunchy. Soft. Smelly. Air dried. You name it, it's there. (You should see my treat supply, left over from when Henry and Sadey ravenously devoured a handful a day. At least that. I was not stingy.)

Oh, I know what you're thinking -- the French are nuts about their dogs as well - they take them out to restaurants for dinner. We take kids and leave dogs at home. They take dogs and leave kids at home. But do they swoon over their pets? They do not. If you catch the owner's eye and say some sweet nothing about their dog, they nod and go back to their escargot and Sauvignon Blanc.The presence of a dog in a restaurant is merely a statement: I train everyone in my household to be respectful of food and use the right utensils. Even the dog.  We, on this side of the ocean, don't take dogs out because our dogs are special and should have the freedom to be themselves and besides, we try to train them, but we really like it when they jump on the couch next to us, or snuggle in our beds, even if they take our favorite spot in it.

Why have we become so pup crazy? (Again, it's just my speculation -- there's no science behind any of this.) Probably because we are lonely and isolated and live in big houses or cramped apartments with nothing but our laptops and our dogs to keep us happy. And laptops are cold and sometimes spit out nasty things, whereas our dogs? Always there, always happy to converse and listen to our crazed ideas about the state of the world.

Dog infatuation. So American!

*     *     *

Speaking of dogs in a bed, mine woke up at 5:15 this morning and jumped down in search of something. Millie is not trustworthy with potty training in that she does not signal well when she has to go. If I take her out and she doesn't pee, I know that she has secretly peed somewhere in the house. She wont do it in my presence. She'll find a hidden corner where I cannot see her. So no, I was not going to stay in bed while she went searching for a good pee spot, especially since the upstairs is carpeted and therefore harder to clean. I got up with her, took her out, came back in, and went to bed.

Well that threw her off! The girl does not like unpredictability. But  I held firm: I dont like being up before 6. I stuck it out, feigning sleep, and then we went downstairs.

Breakfast outside, but I can feel the steam rolling in...

(sweat peas from the farmette gardens)

Very quickly Millie settles down for her morning nap. Why am I not surprised! (5:15? Really Millie?)

As she seemed to really want to sleep (under the couch, as always), I decided to use this opportunity to put in a half a dozen plants in Steffi's Garden. I know what you're thinking -- why not pack up the house instead? Well that wont work: if I start prowling around, she will follow me with great suspicion. She knows something's up.

So I plant. And as I run the hose to the back, I see the garage door open at Steffi's House, and car drive out with a young guy in a baseball cap hiding the better part of his face. My tenant!

Will he yell at me for being in the garden every single day this week? I will stay calm! I have a good comeback: I'm taking care of the yard since you have not wanted to do anything with the lawn yourself. 

But my renter drives away without a word to me. And did I see a light wave of the hand? The car is rather full. He is moving stuff out by himself, in a small car. I will forever wonder why he wanted this big empty house for two years.

 

*     *     *

Millie has a grooming appointment at noon. Oh, does she need it! Hair covers her eyes and her thick coat makes her pant anytime she is out in the sun. I drop her off and return home. To pack, yes that. And still I am not in a hurry. I've switched mail service, water, sewage, electricity, internet, all of it. I have boxes. I took down art. I packed up (more like threw in) all the glassware and most of the dishes. Ed is scheduled to come tomorrow with his truck to dump chips and move these initial boxes and all my plants over to their new home. Yes, there's lots more to pack but Steffi's House is so close that I can shuttle things back and forth easily this week, storms and heat not withstanding. 

So I sit down and read a book -- light stuff: a mystery by the famed dog behaviorist Patricia McConnell -- who is a bit of a local celebrity) and think about my garden.

*     *     *

Millie, you look so different! Were you a good pup for the groomer? 

 

 

 

My girl always looks completely transformed after a haircut (it's her third). This time, she was trimmed to a short coat because of the summer heat. My sheered pup!

She is hungry, she is playful. But she is also aware of missing carpets and stacked boxes. 

I ignore her questioning gaze and feed her lots of treats. have to make a dent in my supply! Besides, I love this girl so much! My totally awesome little pup!

 

 

with so much love...

 

indulging a passion

My sweet Millie tested the waters last night. As we went upstairs, and I followed my nightly routines, she jumped up on the bed and stayed there watching. Will I push her off? She half expected me to. I'd done it before. But on this night, I let her stay. Crating for the night? That ship has now sailed. And honestly, it was sweet to have her there.

Up early. I have so much to accomplish! But first, breakfast.

I notice that after a solid walk and her own breakfast, Millie is ready for a longer morning nap. For this I crate her. This is my time for planting. 

I move the five coral bells to the east of the building where they'll get the appropriate balance of sun and shade. And I put in about a dozen in the freed up space as well as in other spots where I think an addition would be helpful.

Yes, I know. This is not the right moment for planting. I should get the house ready for the move. But really, if you cannot indulge a passion at the age of 73, then what's the point of living into a ripe old age? There is never a perfect moment for doing something that is unnecessary but oh so beautiful. Duty calls all day every day. And of course, eventually your strength wanes and your passion (for flowers in this instance) fizzles into an unrealized daydream.

 

(getting there!)

 

 

 

 

After nearly three hours in the flower beds, I pack up my shovel and buckets and head home.... by way of K&A Nursery. I need some edging plants. Just a few. To be planted probably once I have moved. 

And then, finally, I come home and pick up a well -rested Millie. She deserves a good run in the dog park! I take her there.

My pup is a speedy kangaroo!

 

 

 

On the way back, we pick up Ed and the three of us go to Tati's for lunch. Millie is given a pup cup and this one is in a perfectly sized mug. I intend to give her just some of the cream, but she so loves it that I let her lick the cup clean.

I have here one happy girl!

And now it really is time to put some breakables in boxes. I have a schedule in mind and it includes taking the first batch of stuff over on Tuesday. That would be the day after tomorrow. Millie naps once again (all that running, all that cream!), and I pack. Not a lot, but enough to feel a sense of accomplishment.

with so much love... 

 

neighbors

As you know, I am moving once again. It's been a complicated trajectory and I can't blame you for not keeping pace. Since not every Ocean reader tracks my comings and goings on a regular basis, I will be including quick summaries occasionally, repetitive to some, all new to those infrequent friends. 

A brief synopsis then: with Ed's help, I recently became a homeowner of a cottage-type house in the new development that abuts the farmette lands. I call it Steffi's House, naming it after my grandmother, whose home was the place of my childhood dreams. Steffi's House was originally a back-up plan. I have no ownership interest in the farmhouse and Ed and I are of an age where one of us may keel over at any time. We both agreed that I should not be thrown out to the dogs if Ed, say, had a biking accident and became a vegetable overnight. Housing prices keep going up, so we both thought it would be wise to take the plunge now before I got priced out of the market.

Last fall, I moved out of the farmhouse. I was overwhelmed by it and I didn't think Ed and I could ever agree on a way forward, both in terms of house maintenance and yard work. We were both making too many compromises already. I moved to an apartment to give myself time to figure out what to do next. It became obvious that Ed and I love our life together even if we cannot share the same residence. So I moved closer to him and waited for Steffi's House to shed its renter so that I could move in to what I hope will be my permanent residence. Steffi's House is compact and importantly, just a few minutes' walk to the farmhouse door. My life with Ed has no ready label for it. I used to call him my occasional travel companion (it was a joke). He calls me gorgeous. Or girl friend -- a designation that I hate because it makes me feel like being on a perpetual date. I call him my partner -- another designation we both do not like since we are not a corporation. So, no good label, but a life together, only now mine will be based out of Steffi's House.

The renter is moving out by noon this Tuesday. I hope. I know nothing about the guy except that he pays his bills on time, does not mow the lawn like he's supposed to, and keeps all shades down to the max all the time. No one has ever seen him in the neighborhood which I know sounds ominous. I did notice that someone put out a garbage can on Thursday, so someone's pulling the strings from the inside. I am somewhat terrified of what I will find inside once he moves out.

Before this last year, I have never been a home owner on my own. Yes, my (ex)husband and I had a heavily mortgaged house while the kids were growing up, but once they were out and gone and my now ex moved to Chicago, I switched to an apartment, and then a heavily mortgaged condo, and then to the farmhouse. Ed's farmhouse. I suppose it does feel late to be entering my own house for the first time at age 73. Many people think I should be going to a retirement community and not embarking on the complicated task of taking care of a house. I happen to disagree. I managed the affairs of house maintenance when I was married and I cared for the premises of the ancient farmhouse for the 15 years I lived in it. I know what's at stake. 

But what I never expected was the new layer of complete lunacy imposed on all homeowners in a community and one with a Home Owners Association, as we now live in the world of social media. 

Initially, when I was invited to join the Facebook Group (open to all here, in the new development), I thought -- great! We can share questions and navigate challenges together! And yes, there is that component to it. But there is another: the finger pointing, calling out, ranting and complaining and shaming of neighbors -- all that I find somewhat crazed. Recently, it's been all about dogs. It is true that many people do not pick up after their pooches. I have a neighbor whose dog routinely poops in my yard and there the poop remains. People who give themselves permission to not follow the rules are not going to be swayed by angry rants on a Facebook page. But the discussion has gone a step further: some homeowners have taken to putting up little signs on their property of the type that say"keep your dog off my property." And so now there are rants about that as well. With the other side joining in, along the lines of "I spend a lot of money on my lawn and do not wish to have it ruined by your dog ." Back and forth like that.

I am beginning to think that we are a country that truly struggles with the idea of community. Having just traveled to places where it is assumed (and confirmed by the high-ups) that anyone can hike over any land at any time, so long as they are respectful and quiet, it's hard for me to believe that we are fighting here over whose dog crosses which lawn. And equally troubling is the positioning of the opposition: I remember when in Paris there were no poop laws and walking on the sidewalks of that city was... treacherous. Then suddenly the people decided that this cannot continue. Leaving dog waste on the street stopped, and these days you'll have to walk many, many blocks before you'll come across any dog poop. And I don't think social media shaming can claim credit for that. 

The Facebook page for this development goes beyond dogs trespassing. People get angry about kids cutting across their back lawn. They get angry when the mailman makes a mistake with a letter (we have a communal mail station). They get really worked up when the flowers in the median strips start to get too tall. And garbage collection  -- if it starts ten minutes early, people get upset. And of course, everyone now has Blink or comparable monitoring systems. You can post pictures of what you feel is offensive conduct. And last night I bought a camera too, since I do not want to be labeled as the one person in the entire neighborhood that you can rob and vandalize because the old bitty does not subscribe to new technology.

We live in such strange times..

 

 *     *     *

Millie did not sleep in her crate last night. That's a first! I let her stay out because she hid under the bed when it was time to turn off the light. It was grand to know that she has reached that milestone in her life where she can be trusted at night to have her freedom.

Breakfast on the porch. With my girl under the bench.

I take her then to the big dog park. I can tell she doesn't really remember it. She is very tentative and doesn't stray far from my side.

 (a roll in the grass is always nice!)

 

And surprisingly, she is also tentative with the dogs there. My pup really likes familiarity. She races to get to doggie daycare -- where she knows the people and the dogs. She hasn't the same confidence in the dog park.

But, it's a gorgeous day and we have quite the lovely walk. More dog park walks are ahead for us, I'm sure of it! 

(classic Millie!)

 

 

*     *     *

On our way back home, I stop over at Steffi's House. Hard to believe that in three days I wont have to tiptoe around there as I inspect the yard.

I go over to the crab apple that was transplanted in the mad pre-trip sod removal and garden creation project. The tree initially was really suffering in its new place, but thankfully it seems to have recovered. And a robin has made a nest in its thick foliage. Since the mama bird is screeching at me as I approach it, I know there must be eggs. 

No eggs. But these!

Welcome to this crazy world, baby birds! 

 

*     *     * 

My move prep is going slowly. Really slowly. You'd think you'd pick up speed the third time around but no. I diddle with small stuff. Why am I not packing? 

I go back to posts here on Ocean about my last move. That one was all about Henry of course and the familiar sadness seeps in. I stop reading and come back to the present.

 

*     *     *

One item that has been on my list of must do's is the paying off of bills for the sod rip up and the planting of a small corner of the Steffi garden. I'd been putting it off until the due date because, well, there have been other expenses this month! 

I get to it this afternoon. As I look at the dozen or so plants the landscaper chose for me, I notice five that I just hadn't paid attention to. Coral bells. Heucheras. Why didn't I see this before? Because I'd been ignoring that corner of the garden and concentrating on the rest. But there it is now: 5 heucheras, placed in the front south side bed, in full glorious hot sun. In case you don't know this about coral bells, they detest hot sun and especially afternoon sun. 

Everything is conspiring for me to replant that corner of the bed. 

Millie, you are napping. Let me put you in the crate for an hour while I go to the K&A Nursery and see what perennials are left. 

I pick up a trunk-ful of lovely plants. And I have to wonder -- just like taking on massive planting days before my departure for Poland, I have now acquired more plants that will need to go in soon. Like, this week.The week of my move. Nits, right? 

No matter. I have faith in hard work and careful scheduling. I will get it done. And I will inhabit Steffi's House next week. 

 

*     *     * 

Now that I slammed in on FaceBook, let me give a flip view of it. Today, for example, I found a video reel on doodle ownership and I had to laugh. It's up and down and all around a Millie profile! Here's the text: 

Everyone wants a doodle until they realize ... everything sticks to their fur (Millie! I just brushed you! must you roll in dried plant life?)... rules are just a suggestion (I guess you can jump up on the bed if you really want to...) ... they rearrange the decor (I really think the couch cover belongs on... the couch)... toilet paper (or a tissue) is considered a food group (actually, every item found outside is considered a food group).

The most playful, silly, lovable dog on the planet!

with so much love...