the day after

With larger families (is eleven of us large?) and seasonal fluctuations, you have to be prepared for a disruption. You can only hope it wont be a major one and that everyone will come out fine at the end of the day. We're heading for a disruption.

I've lived in Wisconsin for 46 years and I do not ever remember having a blizzard in November. Recent Christmases have been on the warm side. Snow has been rare in December and not at all a threat in November. And yet he we are. They are predicting a major snow event for tomorrow. A winter storm warning has been issued and the forecasters are assuring us that this one will come, with 100% certainty (though the debate continues as to how much snow. Minimum -- half a foot. Maximum -- much more.

I texted my younger girl not to come up from Chicago tomorrow. (She would have come to the same decision on her own, but I saved her the burden of telling me about it.)

This is a major disappointment for all of us, but I have to think, the cousins are feeling it most of all. I hear tears were shed. And of course, plans needed to be adjusted. Tree trimming together, followed by Muppets Christmas Carol watching, with pizza in hand tomorrow? Wont happen. Brunch, that traditional brunch that I always make before they return to Chicago? Nope. The meeting of the dogs and their next of kin down in the windy city? Not this month. It's all such a bummer, but I at least have the deep satisfaction of knowing that all my babes will be in a safe place. That's a wonderful feeling, believe me. Not to worry about your loved ones is everything!

Of course, Henry is oblivious to all this background noise. He is up, ready to hit the great outdoors at the lovely hour of... 6. 

Yes, it's cold outside. 20F/-7C, but they say it feels much colder. They needn't spend time convincing me. Henry needs his sweater.

My pooch has an upset tummy -- what a surprise! I don't even know what he ate last night. There were things for him to snack on everywhere, and I was not totally innocent in indulging him. A shrimp was consumed. A chewy that promised the presence of turkey with cranberries. I noticed he picked up a chunk of dropped corn muffin. I probably did not notice a whole lot more that he found by going from one person to the next and looking up with his pleading eyes. 

Well, we will be mindful about foods today. A regular breakfast, for me, for him.

Henry does have a sentimental attachment to his toy turkey. Me, I look over at him and admire how large he really is!

I FaceTime with my two Chicago grandgirls.

We were all to go to Clasen's Bakery together. This is a firm holiday tradition: taking pictures of kids in the large gingerbread house. Since my own girls were little. Baked goods placed, sometimes surreptitiously, into the shopping cart, some selected by kids, some by adults. Always a large supply of hearts moons and stars purchased for the winter weeks ahead. The Chicago family asked if I could do some Clasen's shopping for them, so that they could decorate their tree next week with those chocolate covered gingerbread cookies on hand. Of course I will! I drop off Henry at my daughter's and head out to Clasen's.

(terribly empty)

My next needed stop is at the pet store. Henry would probably benefit from some bland chicken and rice food for a while (so the internet tells me). The two big kids beg to go along, so we make an outing of it: Henry, who has a hard time resisting all those bones and treats in the store, and the two kids who are endlessly amused by his antics, and of course me, paying for it all, because -- did I mention this? -- taking care of a dog is not cheap. 

Henry does a lot of resting afterwards, though I do think he needs to stretch a bit, so I take him to the Edge's dog play area. This is a wonderful spot for a dog who loves to throw himself a ball.

We were supposed to join my daughter and her family for an outing to the Christmas tree farm, but in the end I opted out. It's a bit of a drive, and the place is bound to be extremely busy. Since I'm not buying a tree, Henry and I would only be a tag along. Perhaps a disruptive presence at that, since Henry and Goose are not likely to stay calm once they find each other. Still, Henry needs a solid run today. Patti Klein, here we come!

 

 

 

You might say the day reads as being rather anti-climatic.  Added to Henry's upset tummy, I have a slight cold. The air outside feels polar. I spend much of the day on the couch with pooch resting at my side. And of course there is the disappointment of not having the younger family here for our own special post-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving.

And yet, I have that holiday buzz -- from the one that is now history and the one that's ahead of us. And I have the music. And two plants arrived that are to replace the flowers at my breakfast table. (Winter grocery store flowers are rarely stunning, or inexpensive.)  I think I'll light a spruce scented candle tonight. Happily, I'm stocked on these cookies.

And I do love snow. Especially when my car gets to wait out the storm in the garage and someone else will be clearing the driveway. There are pieces of leftover turkey in the fridge. And I'm smack in the middle of the last book in the Thursday Murder Club series. Not much to groan about, is there?

with so much love... 

Happy Thanksgiving

To be alive, to know love, to have food and shelter. Warm in winter, cool in summer. It's so weird that luck determines much of your fortune. You can manipulate outcomes, of course. But fighting illness, losing or gaining a soulmate or two or three, living in peace or a war torn region -- that's rarely your doing. Good fortune is little more than a favorable hand of cards. My father, who liked to reflect on just about anything in his older years, died very much alone (girlfriend notwithstanding), chained to alcohol. And yet, he looked back on decades of his life and said -- I was just so lucky. 

I woke up this morning from a dream where I was explaining to my teacher why I failed to prepare for her exam (and therefore got a failing grade). In the dream, I reviewed my life of strange choices, made impulsively, and I noted that most of the time, it all worked out just fine. Luck was with me. Dreams are often twisted fragments of reality. This one wasn't so twisted (though I never quite got a failing grade, lucky devil that I was!).

I'm thankful for having had a good enough set of cards so that, despite stumbles and messes here and there, I could work out grand outcomes at every turn. 

Reeling back to something more prosaic, I'm grateful for all the things I describe here on Ocean. Henry's sweet morning greeting, the frost on the ground, his warm sweater which makes him look like a pooch setting out for the ski hills, breakfast, family, Ed... you know the details -- they're here in some configuration. Every day.

(a bitter cold Thanksgiving)

("I'm ready to go in")

Henry and I go to my daughter's home. For the morning, and then again in the afternoon and evening. 

The two dogs, of course, are delighted with this arrangement. They have their moments of active crazies, but not nearly as much as in our first visits.

The Thanksgiving Day parade is on -- a tradition that no one wants to break, even if most of it is only mildly entertaining. 

(getting ready)

Eventually, Snowdrop and I take the dogs out. I don't know about Goose, but for Henry this is a time to abandon all learning and good manners.

It's like putting a boisterous child on a bus with another boisterous child. You'll find yourself with a big multiplier of boisterousness.

Kids eat lunch, dogs occupy themselves in ways I'd rather not know about. Though I'd guess anything that Henry is at the table waiting for a handout. 

 

We take the two guys out to the Penni Klein dog park. 

(three kids, two big dogs)

We knew it would be cold of course. Below freezing for sure. But the wind! Biting force, right in your face. Well, the pooches got their romp.

I go back to the Edge to do a little prep cooking and baking. I'd made the cranberry sauce this morning. Time to bake corn muffins and prepare the beans, the mushrooms, the corn, the herbs and yes, the dreadfully potatoes that require a mandoline slicer -- the one for which I lost the safety holder. I try to keep slices of fingers out of the potato mix.

And now I am back at the big house with the five of them, the two pooches and Ed.

(most likely, she's mixing things up for him)

The turkey is in the oven, as are the potatoes. The corn and, separately, the green beans and mushrooms are on the stove top. 

 

And the Thanksgiving meal is ready. 

(gossiping about their humans)

 

 (Henry is eyeing the turkey)

 

 

It's not my 73rd Thanksgiving with family at a large table staring at a giant roast turkey. I skipped a whole stack of them when I lived in Poland. And of course, there were the years when it was just Ed and me and the kids were visiting other sets of parents. I never roasted a bird for just the two of us. We went for Chinese food once, Japanese another time, Indian yet another, and finally a traditional restaurant Thanksgiving meal which was probably the least interesting of them all. But here we are, at the table with the older of the younger families and it is lively and delicious and contentment flows from one side of the table to the other and yes, I am extremely thankful. For the luck, for the love. For Thanksgiving.

 

One dog is happy to rest and wait for the meal to be done. The other is at each person's side, waiting to see if anyone will cave and give him a piece of turkey. (I have never caved. I cannot be so confident with the kids.) Two rescue dogs, from the same state, with such different personalities. And anxieties, born, I'm sure of their rough beginnings. Goose is scared of big men. If Ed stand us, he barks at him. Sitting down, he comes to him for rubs and comfort. But once he moves around again, Goose let's out his woofs.

 

 

 

For Henry, on the other hand, it's all about familiarity. Ed is old stuff for him. He loves to come over for scratches and pats. But, meet a stranger waiting for the elevator at the Edge and my pooch lets loose with his own set of barks.

 

(to get three kids and two dogs to be still for a photos was... challenging! Ed did his best..) 

 

 

(the young family did better with just one dog -- their own.)

 

 

Thanksgiving, 2025. A superbly warm and loving day for all of us. Beautiful here, and in Chicago, and in your home too, I hope.

 

 

 With so much love!!

the day before

Poor Wednesday: never to stand out as it chugs along at the tail end of November. It'll always be thought of as the day before Thanksgiving. People talk about food -- to be eaten tomorrow. They bake, they shop, they pack things up. For tomorrow. These days, they're thrilled that kids have the day off from school (it wasn't a day off back when) -- no hustling them out in the morning -- until those kids start pestering and clamoring for attention.  Weather speculations abound: will is be icy? Windy? Will flights be cancelled? Everyone hates traveling on this day and yet it is (according to Flight Aware) the most traveled day of the year.

Today, this Wednesday before Thanksgiving really got pummeled from all sides by a squiggle in the Polar Vortex, sending unseasonably cold weather our way for the holiday weekend and beyond. People are saying -- not since the 1960s have we had this in Wisconsin on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. 

There are snow flurries, there is wind. Such a wind! I did not sleep well last night (my fault, don't ask) and I waited for it to be 6 a.m. not because I wanted to prolong my time in bed, but out of principle. Let's not keep pushing wake up time, my dearest Henry. Wait.

He waits.

And now we are out and it is indeed so cold. 

 

 

I should have put a sweater on him, except I was in some zombie state that did not allow me to think and make decisions, so Henry and I both suffered. Not for long though. We did not stay out beyond the necessary potty run. 

Breakfast. A dilemma for me: should I drink coffee or should I try to catch up on sleep? Not a hard decision. I want that jolt of caffeine. I want our routines. 

Yes, as I eat my oatmeal, Henry "hides" his dental chew.

This is his last day at doggie daycare for a while. (They close for the long holiday.)  And it's not a full day there either. But, I'm eager to get him in to play by mid morning, so that he'll get his movement in for the day.

I stop by my daughter's to drop off a toaster oven and a roasting pan. It's great to see a relaxed, pajama'd household. One of the kids is a little off in health so he is resting extra hard. Another is bouncing around, looking for playmates. The third -- well, she asks if she can hang out with me today.  I tell her all that I have to do -- drive over to the bakery to pick up tomorrow's dessert. Laundry. Fill up with gas. Oh, and my daughter would so like it if I took Goose over to daycare on my way to wherever. Wherever happens to be in the opposite direction, but no matter. Snowdrop and I take the pooch and do my errands, ending up at the Edge, where I fix her lunch and she reads and we read and it's so mellow and relaxing that honestly, I think this will have been my calmest moment of the day. Of the weekend really.

I take her back home, run over to the grocery store, and then make my way back to claim Henry. He needs a bath. These are his doctor's orders. So that he would rid himself of stuff he likely carried with him from the shelters still. I know, I know, he had a bath already. The goal is to thoroughly cleanse him, inside and out. I had a hard time finding a grooming place that still had openings this week. (The vet assistant told me -- oh, you can just bathe him yourself... Seriously? My easily scared dog that had a hard time accepting the shiny floor in the lobby of this building? In a bathtub? Ha ha ha.) The one service that did fit him in is sort of like a Spa. Not that I wanted this to be a 3 hour ordeal (for I am sure Henry will regard it as such), but this is the only way they work with dogs. So I drop off my perplexed pooch and continue with my errands. Pet store to get probiotics for his gut (another recommendation). Walgreens to get Tums for my gut. And every time I stop at a store and especially a pet store, I am tempted to add a bag (or two) of treats for Henry. There's one that has turkey and cranberries. Not for today, because today is just the day before. But for tomorrow! Oh tomorrow!

When I finally retrieve Henry, he does indeed look clean and shiny. No surprise there. All those treats for a shiny coat I've been pumping into him seem to do the trick (or, he simply has that kind of a coat). I bring him home so he can rest. But because he just had a bath (with a lot of resistance, I hear, especially toward the bathtub), I do put on his jacket. It is way too big. Henry is long, so I go extra large, but he is skinny so that the jacket hangs like a blanket on him. Not that he protests. I can almost feel his shrug: she must know what she's doing with this.

 

The day is not done. We have our weekly training class in the evening.  

(ready!)

 

Goose, the young family's dog, is in the same class, with the dad and Sparrow spearheading his training. Only two people are allowed per dog, but Snowdrop really wanted to join in on this and so I let her partner up with me to train Henry. 

(he got lots of belly rubs from her)

 

 

On the one hand, it's easier for the dog to have one trainer to pay attention to, but I'm not trying to make this easier for Henry. Getting him to completely relax with people who are not me is important. For my pup, taking instructions from Snowdrop is a new way for him to relate to her. And so I back off a little and let them work on some of the commands. (He's smooth as peaches on so many of them -- sit, come, stay, touch, eyes on me -- all done seamlessly. But getting him to lie down will take weeks. No, months. Years maybe. Workin' on it!)

 

 

 

Oh, Henry, you lead a rich and full life. I am so happy for you!
 

with so much love... 

one foggy November morning...

If Henry was tired last night, he was certainly not tired this morning. Up at 5, then 5:30, then finally 6 -- my breaking point. Alright, you ridiculous pooch! You with the sweet face and soulful eyes!

I'd left the tree lights on because it really is lovely to see the delicate glow in the room next door, and then to get up to the full spectacle of a tree in an otherwise dark room (because yes, Henry, it is still dark outside).

Only in the photo do I see that one segment of a different sort. In real time, they're all the same. Go figure.

It is a very foggy morning. Really foggy! No one is out yet. Just me and the black dog. 

 

 

And somehow it's a happy walk. I don't know why this pup puts a bounce into my morning routines, but he does. Henry wakes up joyful. It's contagious, really it is.

And now come the remaining routines: his breakfast, mine. The hiding of the dental chew. Me finding it. 

An hour-long snuggle, half his torso resting on my lap...

And it's time for daycare. Our kids should clamber to go to school with such enthusiasm. (Well, perhaps today they did: it seems to be pajama day for the entire school system. For reasons not entirely clear to me, kids of all ages love pajama day.) 

Me, I go to the farmhouse. I'd left some stuff there. Wrapping papers. A roasting pan. And I need the printer for a return label. And I'm returning the now empty pots from the balcony. And a Christmas tree stand that I dont need for a fake tree. I truly believed that I took most everything I would ever need with me to the apartment when I moved in mid September. And here I am, carting stuff back and forth, as if I'm still split between two households. Maybe by next summer, I will have settled down for good. Which, at my age, is doubtful, but hey, one can dream.

In the afternoon I think about what constitutes a real wreath and what constitutes a fake one. We are not allowed to hang fresh holiday wreaths or branches on our doors. It falls into the category of fire hazards, much as live Christmas trees. I can understand the rule about trees, but the rule about door hangings puzzles me. I have a wreath that is a "forever" wreath. It's not fresh. The juniper twigs are dry. So if not fresh, then it's okay, right? But if the issue is with the possibility of fire, then of course dry twigs would burn rapidly, much more so than fresh ones. So, if you have a wreath made of sticks, is that not permissible? And if you have a completely fake one, how is that safer? Paper burns. Platic burns as well, releasing toxins into the air. So do any number of other materials. Yet, truly fake wreaths hang gingerly from doors left and right. And how would anything catch fire in the long corridor anyway? The door is made of wood. Surely the door would burn no matter what is hung on it. 

In the end I choose a total fake. The logic behind it? Oh, I just want to be a good citizen not a source of controversy here. Bad enough that my once quiet Henry barks at ax wielding strangers in the hallways. May as well not add fuel to any fire. 

In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. She is now heading into a six day break from school. She is not complaining.

We pick up both her dog, Goose, and my Henry. Two exuberant hounds, eager to take on the world. But not today. Henry and I click into our quiet evening routine: he eats, I eat, he eats a bit of what I eat. He naps, I read and write. And think about November: it's going out with a fury. Looking at the weather forecast for the next ten days, I note that we will stay below freezing every single day, as far as the eye can see. The heated garage never looked so good!

with so much love... 

food for thought

I am reconciled to early morning walks with my dog in the dark now. I may coax my Henry to go back to sleep for another hour, but what's the point, when I myself cannot go back to sleep after a lovely wake up greeting from him? Unless it's before 6, I get up.

The morning walk doesn't have to be long because Henry is quick to settle his affairs out there, but I always give him a bonus stroll and today it was to Squirrel Hill.

(a dark dog on a dark morning)

On our walk back to the Edge, we run into Carol. I met Carol at one of the social gatherings here and I found out that she likes to baby-sit residents' dogs. This is useful information because there will come a time when I have to go out in the evening and don't want to spend $80 for an overnight boarding just for a quick bite with Ed, or with the fam, or whatever else might pull me out of evening hibernation. Carol, therefore, is a person I want to court as a solid mate. However, Henry, who has never met her, has other ideas. As she approaches, he goes on alert. Woof, woof, WOOF! Henry! It's okay, have a treat! Take it down a notch! Carol is sympathetic, but she tells me -- Nina, don't push it. Next time he'll recognize my voice. (turning to Henry) -- I'm not going to hurt her. Carol, Henry is a boy. Oh I know. But he's barking because he wants to protect you, not himself. He's letting me know to stay away from you!

So that's what's going on! I had assumed he barked out of fright. And I wondered -- he getting so confident with people he knows. Why is he getting worse with strangers? Carol gave the ready answer -- because with each day, he feels closer to me and wants to be sure no harm comes to me. I can just imagine his thought process: poor helpless old human, innocent to the core, so easy to knock down by a mean one out there, I need to fend them off! Woof!

At the apartment, he eats, I eat. 

 

 

I give him his dental biscuit, he buries it in his bed. I find it, he tries burying it in the couch. I find it. Then in the spare chair's woolly cover. Why, Henry, why?

 

 

It's back to doggie daycare for him this morning. I use the time to take out the pots of annuals from the balcony and dump them in a nearby field. To pick up some more green beans (don't ask). And to test the holiday lights. 

And finally, I use the time to sit down with my Thanksgiving recipes and set up a cooking schedule. I'm late this year because the big stress of getting a perfect turkey out on the table is off of my shoulders. My son-in-law is doing the meat. I'm left with the sides. These are so set by years of repetition that I really should manage without much fuss. Well, except the cheesy hasselback potato gratin. Why I ever introduced that into the holiday menu is beyond me. Total pain to make and nothing can be done in advance except maybe the grating of the two cheeses. And it is beloved now so there you have it.

 

Sparrow pick up time!

Wait, what's this? Their Goose -- a dog even bigger, or at least heavier than Henry, is in need of a few sheltered minutes while his home is being worked on? Sure! Come on up! 

I cannot imagine two big dogs in the apartment, tearing at each others toys, but Henry is in daycare. Goose smells him of course, and enjoys sampling his various chewies. 

And yes, I put up some lights on the tree. Just to see if I like them there. And now I can see now why people purchase trees with lights built into the branches. On a thinly branched tree like mine, it's hard to hide the wiring. Nonetheless, in the evening, the glow is lovely. 

Snowdrop pick up time!

(Yep, tree is up. Work in progress.)

 

 

Gaga's house inspires endless reading. And munching.

Henry pickup time!

He and I come home to a twinkling tree. If I thought this would catch his interest, I was wrong. He's indifferent to the whole enterprise. Maybe it's because he is concerned about the lingering smell of another dog here. Maybe it's because he seems extra tired tonight. Or maybe it's because fake Christmas trees are just not his thing.

with so much love...