lots of time?

I really do not understand the science of it: When you are working full time and perhaps raising a family, tending the home, coordinating everyone's life, volunteering, cooking -- the usual stuff, you think about retirement as liberation. As a portal to all those leisure activities you haven't had time for, but would so love to savor. Because absent a job and perhaps raising kids, what else is there to do? It'll be an era of indulgence (you think). Finally, you can plan your day around, oh, I don't know -- playing golf or learning how to make pasta the Italian way. 

As I write this, I'm glancing at the clock: how can it be 1 p.m. already?!  In an hour I have to go to pick up Sparrow (and then Snowdrop), and I've done nothing of value. And yet -- I've been so damn busy that I can almost feel the sweat, despite the fact that it's well below freezing today (and tomorrow, and the next day, and the next week, and the week after...)

Of course, I've taken on these projects: Henry fills the time in the morning between 6:30 and 9:30 (at which point I take him to doggie daycare). The walk, our breakfasts, our couch time...

 

 

It's quite special for me, for him too I hope...

(Henry, you do not need to protect me from the children getting on the school bus...) 

 

 

 (ready to go back home?)

 

 

 

... nevertheless it's a chunk of time, and I suppose I should add to that the time I took to return the purchased dog booties -- a really dumb idea for him, he looked ridiculous and was sure to lose them in the deep snow on his first walk. And packaged and shipped off all those doggie sweaters that were too small. Then there's the birding project: I upped the ante today by adding plant life to the balcony with a shiny bauble no less to attract birds. (So far, none of this has worked.)

And of course, there are spiraling tasks indirectly resulting from having Henry and feeding birds. I was in a plant store, picking up some evergreens for the balcony (realizing I could have just snipped some at the farmette, but oh well) and while there, I fell in love with a cyclamen plant. This one:

They are inexpensive and the one I had at the farmhouse was small and pot bound and yet it bloomed nonstop, regardless of the care it received, or lack thereof, and I thought wouldn't it be nice to have one at the Edge as well. Right under the TV, where there's plenty of free space and lots of sunshine. Only after bringing it home did I remember to check if a cyclamen is toxic for dogs. And indeed it is very toxic. So then I checked every single plant in the apartment and spent a good while rearranging them so that none of the killers would be within Henry's reach. Our cats at the farmhouse knew to avoid plants that would harm them. I'm not sure Henry has those kinds of street smarts and I'd rather not find out. 

Each year, sooner or later I break down and pick up a poinsettia for the table. I did that today. I know these are very toxic as well, but they are the best source of lovely color (especially the ones that are not just plain red) in the winter and they will bloom away until you've had enough of them and toss them in the compost pile. Sorry, poinsettia -- you get a few months, okay?

Yes, there was also a quick run to the grocery store -- oh, let me not list all those boring errands that filled my morning hours. The point is, there will always be tasks and errands. And they will fill your time. And no, I don't know how it is that I managed errands and a job and kids etc in the past, but right now, it does feel like life has not slowed down. Maybe a free hour will emerge tonight so that I can finish my puzzle, but maybe it wont, because, well, Henry may want to play. Or walk. Or destroy the Advent calendar for good.

Okay, time to pick up les enfants. 

(not sure why he has shoes on his hands...)

(wearing mom's shoes, mom's coat...)

They haven't been here to play since last week, so it's quite nice to fall back into our routines. But, too, I know they are tired. Late nights, early mornings -- it's a killer combination when you are seven and ten.

They spend a while on their advent calendars.

 

 

 

 

We pick up Henry. They go home. My pooch comes back with me.

At the Edge, he zips straight to his calendar of course. Ha! No treat behind door no.5. It's a toy day. He accepts his fate, because he is that kind of a dog.

 

 

I smile. It's been a good day. And yes, I managed to put the last pieces into the useless but fun holiday puzzle.

 

 

with so much love... 

 

living in the Edge

Is it living on the Edge or in the Edge? Well, I feel that I've had both. I've moved quickly and some would say dangerously into new ventures, and I've gone from living in the farmhouse to living in the Edge. Technically, the apartment complex (there are two buildings) is called the West Edge, but I like my nickname better.

I've lived in, visited, inspected many, many apartment building in my life. But I have never seen a place that cares so much about making its residents happy. The premises are maintained exceptionally well, but I suppose you can say that about many apartment buildings with a competent management. At the Edge, they go further: they are playful in their approach to the everyday. They have seasonal decorations, they organize resident events, they talk to you as you pass their desk in the lobby. And they love dogs. 

I will likely be moving again this summer, but I will surely miss living here. It's that kind of a place. You return home at the end of the day feeling so lucky as you open the door to your apartment. Everything works. Everything is convenient. True, by American standards, the spaces aren't large and they aren't "posh." Right now I don't need large and I certainly don't want "posh." What I have here is perfect for this year of contemplation and reset.

 *     *     * 

It is bitter cold this morning. Just as predicted. -3F/-20C. Well Henry, what can I say: we're having that Arctic blast coming right at us. 

(Henry puts all his favorite toys by our bedroom window. It's his secret special place.)

 

I had purchased additional sweaters for Henry -- they're all too small and have to go back, but this one works. At least for this year!

(at the Edge: a Santa and a tree)

Henry, should have I purchased winter booties? Because your paws seem to be hurting. And the sidewalks have so much salt!  Hmmm...

Upstairs, I feed him, then make oatmeal for myself. This weather calls for oatmeal!

I glance at my bird feeding station. No visitors so far. (The bird you see is part of the metal bird feeder pole.) I'll be patient.

Couch time.

 

(when Henry curls up to sleep, he looks almost normal sized!)

 

And then I drive my sweet pup to doggie day care. 

*     *     * 

A few quick errands and I am back at the Edge. They have set up a hot chocolate station for the residents -- with toppings, treats and quite good hot chocolate. I have the perfect cup for it -- my second new addition!

I stay for a while. It's my social moment and with an adopted dog now, I feel I am one of the pack here, as one resident after the next appears trailing a pooch.

 

  

I discuss the issue of dog shoes. Most dog owners tell me they're worth trying, though not all dogs tolerate them. I feel that this is the ultimate betrayal of Henry's wild canine genetic makeup, but on the other hand, the winter is long and the salt is horribly prevalent, especially in this rather corporate neighborhood. (Residential blocks are less salty by far.) And of course, as this morning's walk demonstrated, Henry's paws are sensitive to the bitter cold. I know Henry will manage without booties. But that is not the question I'm asking myself: I want my pup to have a good and joyful life. Will booties help? Can't tell unless I try. 

*     *     * 

I work on a larger Christmas jigsaw puzzle for the rest of the morning. I got one that is my idea of just lightly challenging -- sort of like the books I'm reading. So, 500 pieces only, and with a lot of detail, so that I'm not stuck with matching endless pieces of sky or some such monotonous background noise. The goal is to be done in two days. 

I am fully aware of the decadence of doing this. For many reasons. Fitting together pieces of a puzzle is so nicely pointless. (Sort of like putting up a bird feeder when there are no birds.) And it is something that Ed and I could not agree on: he hated the mess of it at Christmas time, because he was especially sensitive to the proliferation of stuff around the holidays. All clutter from his perspective. I tried once and then watched him retreat to the sheep shed to "get away from it all." Over time, he tolerated holiday madness much better, but I didn't push it with the puzzles. Nor did I have the time to complete one in two days. But here, I do. And it will be done before he shows up this weekend.

*     *     * 

In the afternoon I have three visitors: my daughter, Sparrow and Goose. 

 

 

My girl needs to borrow something and so they stop by here before picking up Snowdrop. Tonight is the first day of their Shaw performance, but I decided not to go. Yes, I know, this speaks poorly of my grandmotherlyness. What loving elder person wouldn't attend a Shaw play where two of her grandchildren are making an appearance?

Well, this loving elder person! Both of the kids opted out of the assigned larger parts and stayed with minor roles. It is not worth getting doggie babysitting set up for me to watch a three hour show late into the night on the other side of town, where the kids are hardly on stage at all. This is my justification. Both kids are dramatically inclined and their appearances in theater productions are therefore numerous. Serious stuff: Shaw, Shakespeare. I do try to go to most. But not all. Some day when they receive their Oscars, they will not be able to stand on stage and say --"and thanks to my gaga, who supported us wholeheartedly and faithfully attended every performance we were in." 

The threesome stay for just a bit. Enough for Goose to leave his scent. I'm sure it'll drive Henry nuts tonight when he tries to figure out why his home suddenly smells of his best pal Goose and a thorough search will reveal nothing, no other dog at all.

(Sparrow studies my puzzle)

 

*     *     * 

I pick up a sleepy Henry. Was it the cold outside that wore him out? The end of week exhaustion? Or is it that we have above us a Cold Moon  supermoon -- they say we wont see one like this again until 2042. (Were I to live that long, I'd be nearly 90.) 

My tired pooch is not so tired that he forgets about his Advent Calendar. A treat again! A large gingerman cookie. Let's hope it's nutritious, though judging by the treats so far, I can't say I have confidence in that.

 

I'm nearly done with the puzzle (having, according to Ed, cheated all the way by looking at the picture), though I'm not rushing the last pieces. Like the ending of a good book -- the last bits should be savored. Finished maybe with a milky coffee, tomorrow morning.

with so much love... 

 

a dog and some birds... maybe

Here's a headliner: I woke Henry this morning! I waited for him to nudge me out of "sleep," but he was snoring away in his bed at 6:45. I sat up, wondering if my movement would wake him and it did: he came to attention and ambled over, as if to ask -- did I really oversleep?

It's below freezing, but just barely. Still, I know that the temperature will be dropping throughout the day. By nighttime we will be hitting record lows for early December. Readings of -3F/-16C are expected. That's January stuff! I wish Henry's warm jacket (which I exchanged for a smaller size) would come. But for today, he's fine without anything.

Yes, Henry is in a joyful, playful mood!

And hungry too. His usual voracious appetite seems stronger than ever. My pup is insatiable!

(Is it couch time yet?)

In the late morning, I drop Henry off at daycare and come back to attack the porch screen door. You may recall that it is iced in at the bottom. Impossible to open. And I want to put out a bird feeder!

I use the hair dryer on it full force. And still it will not budge. Of course it wont -- there's ice on the track to which it should be sliding. I reach over as much as I can and continue blowing. The door opens a little, but not enough to squeeze myself through it. I continue blowing, now from the outside. Melting snow and ice rain down on me from above (my open door is letting the heat escape). I'm wondering if I can get electrocuted by all that water coming down on me, on the hair dryer. Just one more minute, let me just try one short minute. I mean, it would be weird to die on a balcony holding a hair dryer. Electrocuted then frozen solid in the Arctic blast. Eventually found, when no one claimed Henry from day care. And then come the questions -- what was she doing, drying her hair outside?

Okay, I should stop. I give one final shove and bingo! The screen door is freed. 

I put out the cylinder of seeds first. I want to see if birds will come here before I unpack the lovely bird feeder. But how do you tell them you've got food anyway?  I search for answers on the internet. And I learn something about feeders on balconies: do not place them too close to the window. You don't want the birds to kill themselves on their lunch hour. And not so as to throw down bird poop on your neighbor's balcony. Too, you should check with your landlord. Oops.

I need to phrase the question carefully: I have some clean, shell-free birdseed. Can I put a bit out on the balcony?

Of course, you should also keep your balcony tidy, but I'm not worried: I'm not expecting a gaggle of geese here. Just the occasional bird. And here's the next problem: how exactly did I imagine I'd attach the feeder to the rail? 

Off I go in search of a clamp and a rod from which to hang the food. 

And I'm thinking -- these projects always seem so easy (and inexpensive) in their initial stages. By the time you're done, you start wondering if you really are a bit nuts. But, here we go -- the cylinder of feed is up. The clerk at Wild Birds Unlimited swore that even on her fifth floor, the birds easily find the feeder. So I'm set. If you build it they will come, right?

 

To have spent so much time on this, when I have Christmas gifts to take care of (and more mundane chores on my to do list) is ridiculously indulgent. Yes, very much so. And it feels great!

I pick up Henry earlier than usual. I want some time with him before we have to head back to his 7:30 training class.

At home, he goes straight for the doggie advent calendar.

Oh no, it's another big sugar coated doggie cookie! People! Too much sugar! Of course, Henry loves it. And he loves the cardboard calendar from where it came. I put it away (much to his disappointment) and settle in to do my puzzle. All about snowmen today. 

 

And after dinner -- his, then mine -- we set out for dog training class. 

 (ready for class to begin)

 

We were supposed to work over the week on our dogs walking by our side. That's all fine and well if the weather is agreeable. Right now, you want your dog to hit the snow piles, where he needs to find his favorite spot. Walking by my side? Another time. And the lie down command? Henry is not interested ever in lying down on command, even if it means a treat awaits. Only on the couch, on my lap please. So, two homework assignments -- not done. But, we're getting very very good at sit, come, touch, stay, watch me, hang back! Not all at once of course. And tonight, we learn "leave it" and "offered attention." This last one isn't really a command, it's teaching your dog to pay attention to you -- where you are, what you are doing -- at all times. Well now, Henry had mastered that one the minute he first walked into the apartment with me back on October 19th. He is always keenly aware of my whereabouts and looks to me for I dont know -- guidance? Instruction? Love?  -- all the time.

We come home late. The temp has dropped precipitously. Henry can't keep his feet in the snow for long. What a winter we're having! Early and fierce. But hey! The birds now have food on my balcony. I'll let you know when the first bird figures that out, and makes an appearance.

with so much love... 

still snowy icy and cold

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... 

for the birds

Yes, I know this about myself: I go through phases. Gardening was a big one. Lasted from 1980 until 2025. Guitar strumming was my love for only a handful of years. Baking? Oh, that stayed with me for decades as well. Then there's birding. I love birds. They're beautiful and mysterious and full of personality, one that I do not really understand, but then who does? For a while, you may recall me listing birds I'd heard that morning. With a bird identifying app, you can go far! And then I stopped writing about birds. Or about cheepers. Or sandhill cranes.

When an interest recedes, it never really goes away. It just stays dormant, tucked away for a better time. I suppose that's what spiked the whole lollapalooza about Henry. I love dogs and now I am at a better time for them.  

So about birds: though I listened and tried to watch for them at the farmette, there was little I could do to support their habitat. I'd talked to Ed about bird baths and bird feeders, but there are problems with both: with six hunting cats, we wanted to discourage rather than encourage birds to come to us. Too, I'd read a lot about bird disease. Feeders and baths have to be well maintained (think: empty and wash and disinfect at least every couple of weeks) because germs spread and we do not need that among our dwindling bird population. Finally, there's a discussion about whether feeding birds encourages some to stay the winter, believing that they have a reliable feeding source, whereas the reality is that they don't. Your piddly and unreliable feeder is a mirage, a temptation that has no backing. 

For all those reasons, I reluctantly stayed away from this project. Until I moved to the Edge.

There are workarounds to all these issues and with the absence of cats or squirrels up here on the fourth floor of the Edge, I have the major problem licked! I can put up and maintain (reliably, all winter) a bird feeder! I'd ordered one on a black Friday sale. And I waited until Henry was once again at doggie daycare to go to the bird store to purchase some bird food.  

All this, of course, after checking off a huge number of chores that had piled up, what with Henry at my side, without pause, for four days now. What about our wake-up time? Well, Henry did try for 5:55 again, but I played 'possum and reluctantly, he went back to his bed for another thirty minutes. I suppose I could have humored him, but it's the principle of the thing! I need to learn how to occasionally say "go away." Or play possum. 

(good morning, Christmas tree!)

 

 

Before going outside, I glance at the weather on my phone. What?! 6F/-14C ?! Well that's a fine way to welcome in December! 

We stay out just long enough for him to bark at a sweet child getting on the school bus (really Henry?).

To be fair, she seemed ghostly in the early morning light, but still...

Breakfast. With Henry hiding his dental chew as usual. 

And then our couch time. Funny how evening couch time with Ed has been replaced with morning couch time with Henry. What is it with me and couch snuggles?

Eventually I take him to day care and begin my drive around town. To the post office, where I get scolded for putting the return address on the back of the envelopes.

Don't blame me! This is an established company that always prints the envelopes this way!

Well they shouldn't. If an envelope flips, our machines will recognize that as a send to address. Dumb machines! 

Then to the vet -- Henry needs one more test and so I need to leave some stuff for them. Next -- a return package to send off. And grocery shopping. (Are you yawning yet?) And finally, my favorite by far -- a trip to Birds Unlimited. The salesperson reassures me that this particular local seed mix will feed those birds that have stayed behind. Well of course she'll say that. She works in a bird food store. Still, I'd read enough to know that she is more or less correct. I buy feed and an additional cube of seeds which I can hang up right away.

Or can I? I bring this stuff home with great enthusiasm. My love for birds is surging. I open the balcony door then tug at the screen.

It wont move.

It's frozen solid. Iced over everywhere. There is no way I can get it to open until there is a thaw, which according to the forecast is never.

I'm not giving up! Tomorrow I'll pick up the old hair dryer that remains at the farmhouse. Surely that will do the trick?

And now it's time to pick up Sparrow. Then Snowdrop.

In between the two, I have a half an hour to do the following: take Sparrow home, pick up his drama clothes and her drama clothes (best guess made as to what those should be), release Goose, walk Goose, crate Goose, drive over with Sparrow to Culvers to pick up something that will resemble a full meal for the both of them, along with gaga fruit, in the car, and then finally drive over to get Snowdrop. They have a dress rehearsal for their Shaw play tonight and I am to get them there by 4, an intriguing  assignment given that Snowdrop is out of school (on the other side of town) at 3:45 and there is a nice sprinkling of icy snow coming down now and slowing down the traffic. We do our best! The kids are in great spirits. Nothing else matters.

 

I pick up Henry soon after. He's ready to come home. And I have a treat for us. Well, for me really, but Henry gets to keep me company for it: He and I both have advent calendars. 

 

 

Mine reveals a small jigsaw puzzle. Fifty pieces. Every day a new one. His? Dog treats of course. A toy today. I teach him to go for it!
 

Yet another squeaky something that he will likely destroy in the fifteen minutes it takes me to do my puzzle. Oh look! It's of a bird today! Two of them in fact.  How appropriate...

Later still, I call Ed to tell him he can now stream additional movies on our joint account. As we navigate the set up by phone, Henry gets impatient. He never was one for my phone conversations. It takes him no time at all to chew through my dangling charging cord. It's dangling no more. Oh, Henry! I get off the phone and look at his big pleading eyes. You're okay, my sweet pup. You're okay! 

 with so much love...