If I had to choose one -- predictability or surprise, I'd say I am more like Henry (who loves predictability) in the mornings and evenings, but am game for random capricious events popping up wildly, or at least impulsively in between. If you're seeing a pattern to my mornings, one that verges on being nearly the same, every single day, well, you'll know that Henry and I are happy with this. So much so that I hug him and bury my face in his warm body excessively then, for the sheer joy of having a loyal pup at my side, equally pleased that not much varies in his life at sunrise.
So yes, he came over and tried a lick of my hand at 6, I told him go back to sleep, he did, returning at 6:30, and this time he gets a big smile out of me as I roll out of bed to greet him. Routine now firmly established.
I'm not quite sure how it can feel prickly, misty, and damp when it's well below freezing outside, but this indeed is how the day starts out. It reminds me of winter in central Europe. The unpleasant side of it. Henry, however, seems oblivious to such fault finding. There's snow, maybe forever for all he knows. Best to enjoy it.
And his delight and familiarity with the terrain make our morning walks really, really awesome.
Oh yes. The snow helps!
Once inside, I tidy up and start in on breakfast. His first, then mine.
Perhaps you noticed that my coffee mug is missing a handle. An unfortunate slip yesterday (not Henry's fault!) led to its breaking off. Well, no matter: during our morning snuggles on the couch...
... I search the internet for a new mug. It has to be large. Sixteen ounces. And it has to be special. I cannot explain why a coffee cup should be anything but a vessel for my morning brew, but to me, the mug is an important component of my early day routine. The setup matters. My sheep cup was chosen by me because I have a warm spot for sheep in Scotland. What should I replace it with? There's little that I like. Finally, after wasting an hour on this, I find an agreeable option on the Target website. Perfect for the holidays. And only $5 (which means it's too cheap for them to mail it to you, but that's okay -- Target is a five minute drive from my place).
I drop off Henry at day care just after 9:30. Always the same. He's delighted to be going there.
And now comes the more random mixed-up sometimes messy sometimes fun part of the day. First, a trip to Target. So many smiling employees, so little information on where I might find that 16 ounce holiday reindeer mug. I'm told it's surely in section 38A with the cheap holiday decorations. Where is section 38A (they dont mark them for customers)? Eventually I find the section, but not the cup. Ask again. Try with the more expensive Christmas items, in the diagonally opposite side of the store. No, not there either. How about in housewares? Back to the northwest section for that. Ah finally. Christmas mugs. But no small reindeer in a scarf. Indeed, all the visible mugs are horribly ugly -- like the Christmas sweater you don't want to own -- garish and ridiculously overdone.
Lesson learned. What's online may not be in the store. I look carefully at their other mugs, to see if there is anything else that will do. And lo! Hidden in the back of the shelf is one solitary cup with a simple scarfed reindeer on it. A Christmas miracle!
(later, at home)
From there I aim to drive to the farmhouse. But across from Target, there's Skechers, the shoe store. Is that a coincidence or what?! Here's the story: when I was at my daughter's for Thanksgiving, I walked Henry every hour. Except for the one time bed wetting, in the first week with me, Henry has never had an accident at the Edge. But he has had two at my daughter's house. That's because he gets excited, and there are several big bowls full of water in their kitchen. He runs, he slurps, and yes, twice he just couldn't hold it in. So now, when there, he gets walked by me. A lot. I put on whatever shoes are in their hallway, because it's always just a quick jaunt -- in and out -- I needn't struggle with getting into my own shoes, I go for the easy option -- her shoes. And I marvel at the fact that her winter boots just slip on. No kidding! You step right into them. The boot is obviously not super high, but it's adequate for some snow on the ground. And it slides on! I almost stole the boots from her, but she is a size 10 and I am a 7.5, so I felt that perhaps I should buy my own. Yet I hesitated. The boots are Skechers, so not very expensive (it's faux everything) and on a Thanksgiving sale, they are really inexpensive. Nonetheless, I've had a lot of purchases lately (I'm looking at you, Henry!), so I held off. But now, fate has led me straight to a Skechers store.
I go inside.
I buy the slip-on boots. Heaven to be able to put a sweater on Henry, a harness, a leash, all of it, and my own coat and cap and gloves, and not have to additionally bend down and fuss with shoes. (Did I tell you that older people spend their days looking for ways to avoid having to bend down?)
Eventually, I make it to the farmette. I say eventually because I realized that I forgot to take with me the dish of baked onions-mushrooms-beans and cheese that I made last night for me, for him. Back to the Edge. Reverse, back to the farmette.
I'm in the farmhouse, we talk strategically about possible futures that await us, time passes. I do not have kids today (or tomorrow or the next day, the schedule being a mess because of their performances) and Ed and I had planned to go skiing in our local park, but now those farmhouse lazies seep in and I just feel like staying put. Watching the deer outside is enough activity for me.
When this happens, the one who feels less lethargic does the coaxing and indeed, eventually, Ed gets me up. I dust off my ski boots and my skis. Off we go.
I never regret our trips to the park, in any season, but I especially love the path we take in the wintertime. The park on one side of the road has real ski trails, but as we drive up, I point out that they aren't groomed yet. That's a shame (if not after this snowfall, then when??). But the silver lining is that we can just go to the section of the park on the other side of the road. There are never any groomed trails and no one ever skis there. Except us, because the path leads us to the forest and in the winter it is totally quiet there, and beautiful.
It's dark by the time I return to the Edge. No sense in melting the screen door now with the hair dryer. That'll be tomorrow's project. For now, I pick up a happy and healthy Henry (he got a good report card from the vet!). We come home to our evening routine, which this month begins with our advent calendars. Henry needs no prompt today.
With good reason: door number two has a food treat behind it and I'd taken off the wrapping, so that the scent led him right to it. He was so enthusiastic about the big (too big!) doughnut cookie inside the compartment, that he decided to go after the entire advent calendar, just in case it would reveal yet another large doughnut. (I made sure he stopped with door number 2.)
That's my puzzle for the day. And the remains of door number 2. The puzzle is slightly harder -- it takes me 30 minutes (I do them without looking at the picture -- Ed says looking at the puzzle picture is cheating and since these are not otherwise demanding, I stick to his methods), and again thematically relevant! A dog!
[It reminds me that yesterday, I finally received the photo from the Santa Paws charity event. Henry, who is indeed chopped off, looks like he can't wait to get away from Santa.]
with lots of love...
