Wednesday distractions

With kids and with dogs, you can't always tell -- is it a fluke? An anomaly? Or a new trend that you should either celebrate or worry about? Long time readers, do you remember Snowdrop and sweaters in the summer? I could list dozens such phases that my daughters and grandkids went through that seemed troubling -- or irrelevant. You can't tell until time elapses and you realize that it was nothing -- or that it was a game changer you should have mobilized all available resources to deal with before it spiraled out of control.

So, too, with Henry. His one puddle accident had me worried. Is he really potty trained or was I just lucky for a few days? His early wake-up yesterday had me wringing my hands at this new eagerness to be out before sunrise. His evening bark for attention sent chills of fear -- what if he is now a barker and neighbors will complain? I saw a white note posted on my door yesterday and I panicked: someone is complaining? Does he bounce his Kong too hard? Is it something else? (It was a notice of an upcoming mechanical inspection of the units.)

So let me fast forward to this morning: Henry rolls out of his bed at the foot of my bed at 6:45. He is easy to walk.

(is it too early to celebrate?)

He takes his place on the couch while I eat breakfast...

...knowing that my next step is to go to that spot on the couch, lift half of his heavy torso, and place it on my lap. He rests, I read and write and listen to the oral argument at the Supreme Court. 

 

Fortunately or unfortunately (depending on whether you're looking at my wallet or at Henry's well being), Henry has daily appointments at doggie day care this week. I take him there once he is up and rested, because I have one of my interesting doc appointments (ones where I'm told that I need to keep an eye on something potentially troublesome, but not yet at the stage of worry that would make anyone do anything about it, so I just keep coming back and we dont get anywhere, but at least nothing bad happens either).

Since I am minutes away from Madison Sourdough, I pick up an order of croissants from there (to freeze for another time). And a few cookies for Ed who requested them next time I'm at the bakery. 

It's not a great idea. I do not need the reminder of another era, when picking up treats here was joyous. Similarly, as I drop off the cookies (Ed's not home, or at least not at the farmhouse)...

... I am not tempted to stay. I have a cinnamon roll (our favorite from before), but I take it to Tati's Cafe in the new development. I have an hour to kill before it's time to pick up spinach from our winter CSA. I'd rather kill it at Tati's, though even there, too, the memories are strong -- of kids stopping for ice cream on their way to the farmhouse. 

 

 

 

I watch a couple come in with their dog. Remarkably similar to Henry, but then all big black dogs will forever remind me of Henry. They feed her ice cream. I suppose I could bring Henry here for ice cream some day. (Tati's is the only coffee shop that I know of that allows dogs.) If I decide to move back to this neighborhood. Will I though? (And is ice cream good for dogs anyway? For these young people, it's just a fun shared pleasure -- watching their pup lick up a dish of vanilla ice cream.)

 

 

 

Why all this wealth of feeling now, nearly two months after I opted to move out? I suppose it's because I held out hope that our topic of discussion was just that: something to be discussed, sorted through. What I did not know is that in sorting through facts, recollections, feelings, you're going to dig up stuff that not only doesn't help move things forward, but has this way of dampening your enthusiasm for a resolution at all. If it's this way, then why bother?

I created my own space at the Edge. A friend suggested I retreat into for a while. I think that's wise. Offering solutions, ideas, interpretations isn't getting us anywhere. Indeed, it's just making everything more tangled and complicated.

I pick up spinach, go home to a Zoom call, then head out to pick up Henry. There is a nacho party at the Edge and I stop by just to see who is there. My doc earlier in the day offered some sound advice on the problem I'm facing with my lungs. Different issue, but so similar! Everything in life is just a repeat of something else that already happened! He said -- actually, don't medicate, don't do breathing exercises, don't do any of that. Just distract yourself: with music, a book, anything that you like. Nothing exacerbates your problem more than trying to solve it. Don't try. My daughter (at 38) has your pulmonary issue -- my wife tells me "do something!" I respond -- I know my job, believe me. This is what she has to do.

Henry and I settle on the couch, his sublime head on my lap again. We watch a goofy show together. I am determined to get him interested in TV viewing. So far, no progress. He looks at me instead. With those trusting eyes.

and so much love...