fun facts Monday

It is 7F/-14C when Henry and I step outside for our morning walk. This is not interesting weather for Henry. This is paws-are-cold weather. 

(did you know that my building is at the intersection of JQH Drive and Holiday Avenue? How did that latter name get attached to a street? And how did the street sign get bent? Questions without answers.)

 

 

It's one thing to run like crazy off leash. You forget about your paws then. And anyway, they barely touch the ground. Trotting slowly alongside your human is different. And not worth the pain. Do your stuff, go back inside -- is Henry's thinking.

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I hear on the radio that the least liked Christmas song of them all is Paul McCartney's Wonderful Christmastime. It's repetitive, the lyrics are dumb. This I cannot understand. There are plenty of songs that fit that description. Mommy kissing Santa Clause is dreadful by definition. I personally find Christmas Shoes deliberately manipulative and a little sick, and Bruce Springsteen's Santa Clause is Coming to Town jingles and rocks your nerves solidly after the fifth repetition of that one line. And still, I put on the Christmas music station on the car radio, listening to a mixture of the pleasant and annoying and somehow I don't mind any of it. Well, if my two or three loathsome ones come on, I switch stations.

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Breakfast. My pup would like me to give up on the dental chews. He has that "anything but dental chews" look on him this morning. I'll think about it, Henry.

Me, I love the same old granola with fruit, yogurt and honey. And of course the sublime milky coffee...

 

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We, the shoppers out there are easily fooled. If you sell packs of cookies at Clasen's German Bakery, rather than raising the price, you just take away a cookie. Next year you up the tab, and the year after you virtually double it because that's the way things work in America (and elsewhere too, I'm sure, but I speak for the country I live in). Labor costs, ingredient costs, tariffs. So what are you, the baker, going to do this year? Here's an idea: take those gigantic gingerbread man cookies, make them half the size, put them in a box with a pretty ribbon and charge a whopping $29 for each. I know bakers rarely make a fortune, but I do think $29 for a cookie is a bit high.  

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I sit on the couch with Henry, his paw is up, he wants a gentle rub. 

 

 

I'm reading the article in the NYTimes about dogs in Japan. This one.  Apparently people in that country are having fewer children and more dogs. Traditions that were once followed with the progression of a child's age (the "3 5 7" rituals) are now followed with you dog. You dress the pooch in a kimono and take him or her to a shrine for a special blessing at those key ages. The photo in the story is very cute, but I have to think that if I put Henry in a kimono it would just be funny!

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The jigsaw puzzle advent calendar which I have been doing dutifully for seven days now (50 pieces of a new puzzle each day) has suddenly become too easy, because I have figured out that the cut is the same for each picture, so that the weird long piece is always on the lower right side. Even without looking at the picture, it's suddenly all very obvious. Should I keep on doing them just because they're there? Or should I admit that this was a really dumb purchase and give up on it today, so I can go back to doing the wonderful bigger more challenging puzzles I have stashed for the winter season?

I'll let you guess which route I take.

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We've had a month of winter weather without it being winter yet. Maybe we should just skip the season and go straight to a snowy spring?

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I sent out the last of my holiday cards today. One of them has to travel to an address at a distance of three blocks. It will take a whole week to get there because mechanization means that it will first have to go to Milwaukee before it returns to Middleton. Weird but true.

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I finished the fifth and last book in the Thursday Murder Club series. I have a stack of more serious stuff to read, but this being December, I'm staying with the lighter novels. I picked up a holiday one and the writing and story line were so bland (despite great reviews) that I gave up and went back instead to Osman (who wrote the Thursday Murder Club). He's promised a 6th, but in the meantime, he has another duo battling crime  -- an aging widower and his daughter-in-law. It's fine, but I miss being in the world of goofy old people.

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Reluctantly, I began wrapping presents today. The worst part? Getting to the big gifts that consume way too much paper.  (I put that off for another day.)  But I have several close runners-up: trying to coordinate paper so that each person has her/his own design. Ugh. And of course the odd shaped present that defies any wrapping strategy that could result in something aesthetically presentable.

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I pick up a tired (and therefore fragile) Sparrow and a tired (and hungry) Snowdrop. These late performance nights (they dont get home until after ten and there still are the evening routines to get through) are doing them no favor. All the grownups involved in their care can't wait for this insanity to be over. (Next Sunday evening is their last show. Can't come soon enough.)

Sparrow and I pause for a few minutes at his house before picking up his sister. And we come just as his mom received the DNA test results for their Goose. Their dog shares some breed genes with Henry (so in my opinion they could be very distant cousins!), but his dominant breed genes are that of an American Staffordshire Terrier and Labrador Retriever. Henry has zero retriever in him! My Rottie Dobbie Husky Pyrennean befuddles curious types when I tell them he is not in anyway a lab. Goose, on the other hand, looks and acts and is in part like a lab and an AST. Of course, we tend to peg them some, and then we exaggerate what we think we're seeing. Still, it's been great fun tracing these dogs' ancestries.

(Bundling up)

 

(Still in her mom's coat)

 

Snowdrop twists my arm and so we get Culvers fries for a snack. I mean, how can you argue with a girl who now throws around words such as dude, chill, and yo bro into the conversation on a regular basis.  

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At the Edge, they catch up with their advent calendars.  Whereas Henry's and mine were less than perfect, the two kids do love theirs. Which is perhaps more important than whether a dog appreciates opening little doors to treats one day at a time.

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Picking up your dog, whether from doggie daycare, or a boarding kennel is perhaps one of the most joyous experiences you can have as a pet person. Their love just throws itself at you. Reheating three day old brussel sprouts for supper for yourself is slightly less exhilarating. The day is always a balance of the sublime and the mundane.

 

 

with so much love... 

a doggy Sunday

How much does your dog reflect your personality, or perhaps you reflect his (I'm keeping it male, as Henry is a boy)? It's a question I ask myself in dog parks. There are growling yappy dogs across all genders and ages of course, but on the other hand, I see a number of gruff old men with their gruff old dogs and I wonder if that's just a coincidence. I have said this many times -- Henry barks sometimes at some strangers moving towards us, and I'm not one to say that he picked any of that up from me. Too, I don't see his behavior as giving me permission to bark at people who irritate or scare me. Still, those gruff old men, letting loose their unpleasant dogs without apology or explanation... It can't just be a random pairing.

Of course, Henry has been with me for less than two months. Maybe I'll feel free to  let out the occasional bark after a year with him.

A year with Henry... I feel so lucky to have that in front of me. Many years with Henry if all goes well. Honestly, I had no idea I would love having a dog this much. Yes, I like animals and dogs especially, but I know, too, the burden of caring for an animal that is actually a high demand beast. And I chose a large one. Deliberately. And I love his size! I know I should be firm about his jumping up to greet me -- he can knock me over easily enough if he jumps hard. And yet, I love those greetings where I can give him the kind of hug I would give a person my own size. (He does not jump on other people. That would be a real no no. Well, he makes an exception for Ed too. And Ed, too, doesn't discourage it.) 

Henry continues to sleep now until 6:30. We go out around 7. I consider that sensible! 

It's still very cold -- we top out at 19F/-7C today. On goes the sweater. 

We got a couple more inches of snow overnight. A lovely cover to the urban dirt that inevitably tarnishes the winter landscape. 

For me, there may be such a thing as too much snow (I know for many, any amount is too much), but I dont know what that limit would be. I've never been in a place that reached it. I have loved every snowfall we've had this year. And I wont mind if it continues, so long as we all stay safe and warm.

Breakfast. Henry seems more tired than hungry this morning. A first! 

Should I limit his activity today? As I call Ed to talk this over, I see Henry getting his bounce back. I feel a dog park is a perfect option: he does not have to run there. Many dogs walk slowly, sticking to their humans the entire time.

The dog park next to the farmette is a good option for us: not too demanding, it is still spacious with good trails. And Ed is happy to join us. Which, of course, makes Henry happy.

Despite the cold and the wind, there is such terrific sunshine, that you can't help but love being outside today. At least I can't help but love it. I comment to my friend later in the day that it truly is joyous to take Henry to an off-leash park, and on a sunny day, it's downright effervescent!

Henry shows no sign of wanting to slow down. Snow? So easy to burrow your head in it in search of treasure (I hear Goose found a dead rabbit this way)!

 

After our walk, I ask Ed if I can snitch some of his windshield wiper fluid. He tells me his supply is low, but we can pick some up at Walmart, which is quite nearby. Hmmm... that's a good idea. I can pick up a regular old door hanger for the wreath. The suction hook I afixed to the door, guaranteed to hold up an elephant, could not manage my not very heavy wreath. Oh, good, then I can pick up some mushrooms and apples there as well. 

Now wait a second: we've got Henry. It's not a great idea to have him wait in the car while you do a full blown shopping. You could walk him... Oh wonderful! After the beauty of the dog park he gets a Walmart parking lot. No. 

We go back and forth on this for a while. Henry sits in the backseat and awaits the decision.  I feel like we're having the type of negotiations usually reserved for parents trying to balance kids and life's daily tasks. 

Eventually we decide that we'll park at Walmart, I'll get the wreath hook while Ed waits with Henry, then he'll get the fluid and his few groceries while I wait with the pooch. And we'll top my fluid at the farmette, where I can walk Henry.

Home: I eat "lunch."

 

 

 

Henry wants to rest. If I'm not on the couch, he'll take the pillow.

But as soon as I sit down, he comes up to my side of it. 

This is my writing set up: computer on lap, Henry's head against my hip, his paw caressing my face.

 

 

 

And once again I take him to Penni Klein just before sunset. For his final big run of the day. Without salt on his paws.

("Hmmm... should I run with dogs or hunt for buried treasure?")

  

 

 

 

There was a lovely older couple in the park with their own dog named Henry. I think we've seen them there before. The woman most certainly was a dog lover and she tried in various ways to engage my Henry. All she got out of him was a series of loud barks. Honestly, I think he warms up faster if you ignore him. But I did feel apologetic. She didn't deserve his booming voice. Perhaps the next class for him should be the one where you train your dog to be socially polite. He may be a shy young pup, but he looks and sounds like a very large and very loud dog when you first meet him. Oh Henry...

At home, I took away his Advent Calendar. Today he "discovered" one more treat of a rather suspect nature (if they dont tell you what's in it, it's suspect). A box with treats? Henry became convinced that the best approach is to tear the calendar to shreds rather than follow the ridiculously slow and gentle process of opening one door at a time. 

Me, I kept to my jigsaw puzzle-a-day calendar, but I began to wonder -- what do I do with 25 completed puzzles? Typically I put jigsaw puzzles back in a puzzle box and pass them on to Goodwill. But these little guys -- is it the recycle bin for them? Perhaps next year I'll stick with chocolates.

with so much love... 

 

 

small challenges

Can you keep up with doing a jigsaw puzzle each day (only 50 pieces), without looking at the picture, this month, even if you have a plateful of things to do in December? Can you stand on one foot with eyes closed for all the time it takes to froth your milk for a morning mug of coffee?  Can you get your dog to pee before you reach the end of the block? Can you put up a blog post with a story and pictures every single day for twenty years and counting? 

Each day opens up an opportunity to challenge yourself in small, inconsequential ways. The roof wont cave, the day wont be less wonderful if you fail. And yet you pose yourself these small goals, taunts really, which perhaps will build your confidence and allow you to grow them into bigger ones that actually amount to something. 

Ed and I both like to give ourselves such assignments, though you could say his are not inconsequential, in that he actually finds useful solutions to real life problems, rather than just finding a missing piece to a jigsaw puzzle. But it is the way we are. It is how I move through the day. One small challenge after the next. 

This morning I had to catch up with the jigsaw puzzle advent calendar: doing the big puzzle these past two days meant that I put aside doing the daily small puzzles. And now I am indeed caught up and it means absolutely nothing, except that I have the satisfaction of knowing that I did what I set out to do. (Somewhat perversely, today's puzzle was of a birdhouse, with birds feeding away!)

 

The morning is lovely. I haven't mentioned this because I didn't want to jinx it, but Henry has been getting up at 6:30, which is great: a real progression toward a more decent start to the day. (I am aiming for 7). It's still cold -- the Arctic blast will be with us for a while. It takes me a good ten minutes to fully clothe myself and Henry, but no matter -- it feels great to step out on a quiet morning before the day begins for most.

I think my pooch is very good at mindfulness: he pauses, he takes it in, he finds his center, he moves on.

At least I imagine this is what he is doing.

 

Breakfast, finally with a table plant that meets the moment.

Snuggles. Big time, on the couch. I know these selfies are getting to be repetitive, but I love them and I love the process. And Henry doesn't mind. He thinks, correctly, that this is just something humans do because they don't know any better. 

Ed comes over and we plan our day together. With Henry of course. My pooch loves Ed's visits. Maybe it's because he was here the first night Henry stayed with me. Maybe it's just that Ed moves slowly and smells of good things. But it's a relief. Goose, my daughter's dog, still barks at him. But Henry is all in.

 

The three of us go to Prairie Morraine dog park.

 

 

 

We do the big loop, which takes an hour and gives all three of us plenty of exercise (it's hilly).

 

 

 

Ed and I sometimes walk at a different pace (I'm faster, but then I stop to take photos). Henry, who has yet a third pace (faster than I could describe)  tries to be inclusive. Follow the big man, run to my side, sprint off to make friends with a dog. And sometimes, a solo expedition into the bush to sniff out whatever is interesting out there.

 

 

 

On these dog park walks, I get to see a lot of dog personalities. Mellow, energetic, ferocious -- I've encountered all of them. This particular doggie had it in for Ed. No matter how much Ed tried to stoop down to his level, the dog would not stop growling at him. Nor did he move on. Frozen into a very hypothetical attack. Small dog takes on big man.

 

 

I think Henry was amused by the whole exchange. We did have to move to a different path to free this mini-pooch from his fierce battle with his perceived enemy. That's fine -- there are plenty of ways to explore the park.

 

 

It's always a shame to get Henry back to civilization. Though it is also true that one hour of energetic sauntering is enough for him. I don't want him to develop hip and joint problems later on.

 

(Time to go, you snow-loving dog!) 

 

 

(We did not try for a selfie of the three of us. That would test the patience of both my guys.)

 

 

(Sweet Henry, I think that seat is meant for Sparrow, not a big guy like you!)

 

At the Edge, all three of us have lunch and each lunch is different. You can guess who gets the milky coffee and who gets the chewie. Ed sticks with crackers and cheese.

The pooch naps, we read. That's what I would call an ideal afternoon. Now if only the birds would discover my feeder outside.  That's not a small challenge for me, that's a big one!

 

In the very late afternoon I go to the nearby Penni Klein dog park. One last good run for the day for the pup while Ed rests on the couch.

Henry's in luck -- the dog there is a great match for him: equally energetic and playful, but also good at reading play signals. It's great to watch them, knowing that the enjoyment is shared.

 

 

 

 

 

Come on my boy, time to head home...

 

 

 

(Happy to see Ed still there...)

 

 

In the early evening, just at dusk, Ed leaves. He always has to put away the chickens at 4:30-ish (winter hours!). I ask him if he minds being tied down with that, especially if the chickens are aging out of the egg laying business. But of course, it's rare that Ed would even consider being away from the farmette in the evening hours, chickens or no chickens. No, he doesn't mind setting his schedule by them. Just as I don't mind setting mine by Henry's needs. 

Tomorrow's challenges? Well, we'll see. They say we may get more snow...

with lots of love... 

 

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...