sunshine

That I am not spending the day outside just tells you that I have a streak of laziness running through me. At times dormant, at other times, for example on a January Tuesday -- very much present. It's sunny and warm. 53F/11.5C, which is weird and unheard of and wont be repeated until in March at best. And yet, here I sit. (To my credit, I guess, I did do a 15 minute stint on the balcony again. For the sunshine. I felt like I do when I am in the mountains in the winter and the sun is out. I could almost imagine eating a blueberry tart and maybe sipping a glass of white wine. I have an active imagination.)

Despite yesterday's pledges to myself that I will go to sleep on the early side, I didn't do that. More book reading and puzzle doing. Oh, and I'll admit to watching four episodes of the limited series on Netflix -- North of North, which does give you an inside look at the Inuit culture up in the Arctic circle. I am just not keen on early bedtime when so much pulls at me. I can see myself getting roped into all three again tonight -- the show, the book, the puzzle. And then groan in the morning, because Henry just does not sleep in.

Henry. What a dog! He is so patient with me in the mornings! He wakes me and then waits nearby. No complaints, no yelps, just patient waiting. 

Speaking of waiting, I'm working now on adding the command "wait" in the elevator to the already present "hang back." But is that a good strategy to get him to not pull and bark at strangers? He now tenses up as the elevator doors open. As if I'm asking him to wait because something awful is about to happen. I'm out of ideas on how else to keep him quiet if there are people appearing suddenly as the door slowly opens. Luckily, at 7 a.m. there are rarely people up and about. It almost always is a quiet and calm walk for us then.  

I must say, for all the worrying I do about his rather fierce sounding greeting for strangers, He is far quieter than some of the pooches here. For example, there is a small yappy dog that lives on the ground floor, with the patio doors facing the street. He routinely barks his head off every time he sees Henry outside, for however long Henry is there. The difference is that annoying as the dog may be, he is not scary. Though I do feel sorry for the neighbors. Yap yap yap, nonstop!

Breakfast. Lovely.

My dog. Lovely.

 And big.

 

 

One of my favorite moments is to be with him in the morning, after our breakfasts, and to watch his eyes slowly close in total bliss as I rub his chest and belly.  

 

 

 

Birds outside. Lovely.

Sparrows finches chickadees. 

And here I sit, watching the day unfold. From the inside.

 

When Henry goes to doggie daycare, I do grocery shopping.  And I schedule some stuff that needs to be scheduled (more on that later in the week), and I pay quarterly taxes, and I take out travel medical insurance. There, have I bored you yet? I should have gone for a walk but without Henry by my side, a walk seems so unadventurous!

The kid pickup today is a bit convoluted, but they are both with me for a short visit.

(it's back to Lego for him)

(she's as addicted to these Back to Nature Crispy Wheats as I am)

Snowdrop had an incident in school, about which teachers notified parents, and Snowdrop's mom in turn passed it on to me. Though she is in middle school -- a time of such stress for so many girls -- things have been going rather smoothly for my grandgirl. Aside from the usual small stuff, I heard nothing about mean and denigrating comments. Until today. We talked about it in the car. The funny thing is that the entire incident completely passed the girl by. Must have been the group of kids I don't hang out with -- she said. She calls them the "popular kids" though I never understood this designation, not now, not when my own girls were in school. Sparrow, like any younger child, surely gets his share of older kid stories by coming along for the ride. You can view that as an advantage for him I suppose. Or, perhaps it strikes the fear of God into the poor boy!

In the evening the three of us go to pick up Henry and Goose. 

 

 

 

Their dog is tired after doggie daycare. Mine is hyper! Bouncy, barky, excited. He'll calm down once home, but it usually takes him a while. This is not the time to run into people in the elevator!

And the rest of the evening? Um, no comment. Too engrossed in the stories and dialogues and puzzle pieces. And my dog of course! 

 

 

With so much love... 

 

sunshine and such

I have to stop doing this: reading late. Working on a jigsaw puzzle late. Hanging out with Henry by my side late. Because my pooch does not sleep in the next day to make up for it. My pooch will wake after 6 when the garbage trucks rumble over to pick up trash. And he will come to my side, put his front paws on my bed and wag his tail eagerly, waiting for me to say "good morning Henry!"

Out we go.

My beautiful morning pup!

 

 

 

We have two warm days before us, then we return to the January normal. The kids are off from school and parents have made other arrangements for their care, so I have a day of catching up before me.

First, breakfast.

And a hug.

No, I mean a real hug. With a few belly rubs. He never has too many of those.

 

 

 

Then he's off to play with his dog pals, and I am off to do my run of chores. A haircut, which, as always, is by the Lesser Lake. Remember the Lesser Lake (it's not really called that)? A few bold fishermen who seem to have unwarranted confidence in the strength of the ice cover.

Then the farmhouse for a long overdue visit.

I refrain from commenting on Ed's work on a jigsaw puzzle. (He once thought it was messy. But of course, the play room where he has it scattered is otherwise empty. Of toys.)

He tells me he's catching some vitamin D in the sunlight. But honey, vitamin D does not pour in through glass! It doesn't? No, it doesn't. 

 

Get gas, do a quick clean of the really gross by now interior of the car. And home again.

And what do I do? Go out on the balcony and sunbathe. Yes, sunbathe. I have had surgery on my face less than a week ago because I'd spent too much time out in the sun without protection. The wound hasn't healed yet and here I am sunbathing?? Without protection?

I blame Public Radio and the medical professional interviewed on it: he said, convincingly, that up here in the northern climes, we do not get enough Vitamin D in the winter. Yes, we can take supplements. But he himself still tries hard to be in the sun daily (15 minutes, without protection) because the sun's benefits extend beyond just pumping us with vitamin D. Unfortunately, I was pulling into my destination so I dont quite know what those additional benefits might be (I surely know the downsides!), but still, it sounded good to me. Fifteen minutes with a litter of seed casings and bird poop at my feet. It was, in fact, bliss!

I pick up my exuberant Henry. Happy to be coming home, hungry for his dinner, hungry for some treats and dog stuffies, which he tears apart expertly. It is, in fact, a beautiful evening.

with so much love... 

 

Sunday tales and tails

Henry knew that I needed the time. He was quiet and patient as I burned the light late into the night. He was unusually quiet all morning too. On the couch, next to me, but giving me space.

 

 

Well, head space. I liked the warmth of his canine body next to me just fine.

How do dogs intuit these things? I was in no mood for TV streaming last night. I was not really in a playful state of mind this morning.

I just wanted to finish my book.

A friend of mine said that she thought we all must be immersing ourselves in distractions to avoid thinking about the unfortunate political situations we find ourselves in. That may be true with other distractions, but Maeve Binchy's book alone is responsible for pulling me in so completely that I could not let go of it until I got to the end. 

It's not as if I found myself identifying with the characters, or any aspect of their story. Nor did I especially crave a follow up to their tale, their drama. There should not be a book two on their lives. It would not be interesting. But what a good story it was in the pages of this very first Binchy novel! So good, you'd have to think -- this could only happen in a fiction piece. And yet, of course, bits and pieces of it -- events, feelings, tough breaks, close bonds, pivots -- they happen all the time. To me, certainly. 

I suppose what I loved in the end was the strength of the two main protagonists. Strength, making up for the very real, very human frailty that we all experience at one time or another. Wonderful reading. Really wonderful. (I've already given you the title earlier -- Light a Penny Candle.)

I woke Henry this morning. Not intentionally. Yes, a cough on repeat will wake a dog. Well, at least it was only a few minutes before 7. 

Cold again. That's okay -- it's January.

Breakfast, I read.

When I finish the book (uff! what an ending!), I take Hnery to Prairie Morraine dog park. The huge one just 15 minutes to the south of me. 

It takes us (more accurately it takes me) almost an hour to do the full loop. 

There is a pattern to Henry's behavior: he starts out strong (they all do), then chases only selectively. 

Mostly, he is quiet, but occasionally, if a person pauses near me, he barks. Of course, he's not the only barking dog there, but Henry's barks are like that of a hound -- deep, guttural. So I tell him the usual -- Henry, quiet! Mostly he ignores me. I am reminded of his reaction to people coming at us as the elevator doors open at the Edge. This morning there were 4 Asian people coming out. I'm not sure they spoke any English. I do keep Henry back, away from the elevator doors for just this reason -- if he barks, it can sound frightening. I apologize. I pull him even further away, which probably is a mistake because he resists being taken away from what he sees is his job -- to protect us. But what can I do? I don't want to frighten people. These four were quite taken aback. I couldn't understand their words but I can just imagine their thoughts -- such aggressive dogs here! Of course you'd think that, and there's no use saying that Henry isn't at all aggressive. That he is as mellow as a lamb. But strangers coming at us, at me? He has to let them know that he is a champion at guarding my safety.

I wish he didn't do this. At the same time I feel bad for wishing that. In the park, in the building -- there are dogs that will bark. No one apologizes for them. Today, during our walk, when he did sound off to a passing dog owner, she said to her pup -- look, she's got a barker, like you!

 

 

True and not true. Henry is generally a very quiet dog. When I picked him up at the shelter I asked about that, worrying then that he would be loud in an apartment building. That he would disturb neighbors. The dog attendant said -- I don't think I've ever heard him bark. Yes well, was there anyone for him to protect then? In the first days with me I never heard him bark either. 

Am I even fair to him in always telling him to be quiet (a command that he may or may not yet understand)? I don't know. I tell myself that when I move back to a house (rather than an apartment), I'll ease up on him. But that's still a distant event. In the meantime, too often (probably) I tell him -- good boy for being quiet. Even as I'm thinking -- but isn't he a good boy anyway? Even when he barks at strangers?

 

In the evening, I go over to my daughter's house, bringing with me Sunday dinner. We could have it at the Edge, except that I still cannot bend down and so tidying, stacking a dishwasher -- all these things would be tough for me. 

It's great to see them of course, especially after a rather quiet weekend.

(Sparrow has taken over table setting; he takes it very seriously)

 

Henry loves having the companionship of his BDF (Best Dog Friend). They wrestle. They wag their tails fiercely. They chew fake bones. Henry sniffs for food and too often gets it from kids wanting to form a youthful alliance with him.

It is a lovely evening!

 

 

Maybe you noticed Sparrow's haircut? He had located a pair of hair scissors and thought it would be fun to experiment!

Happy kids, parents, dogs! Tails wagging, kids dancing.

 

 

with so much love... 

 

Saturday flurries

Imagine a dog, a pup really, one who is high-energy, athletic, playful. Yeah, my Henry. It didn't take long for me to figure out that this pup needs a lot of free spirited playtime. On days that doggie daycare is open (most weekdays), Henry has his fill jumping, chasing, sniffing with the other dogs. On weekends and days when he cant go to daycare, I take him to a dog park where, again, he gets his fill jumping, chasing, sniffing. He knows that he needs additional outdoor time for bathroom breaks. He's prompt with those. He understands that this is not play, this is an essential part of his everyday. He's compliant.

Now, how well is that dog, that spirited play loving dog going to do on a long leashed walk? In the city, or where leashes are mandated?

Henry no longer understands these longer walks. They are so rare, that he thinks them to be a burden. An imposition on his freedom. He lets me know by grabbing the leash and pulling it mightily, in the hope that I will free him of it. After all, isn't outdoor time either bathroom time or playtime? Freedom from restraints? Don't I understand that he prefers to fly like the wind? To chase whatever there is to chase? 

I know better than to engage in a tug of war. And yet, what are my options? He is strong. His neck is long and he is perfectly capable of reaching around, even on a harness, and grabbing the leash with his mighty jaw. And in that rope tug-of-war, we are pretty evenly matched. Sometimes I feel he has the advantage because he can hold out longer than I can.

This wont do.

 

I knew Henry would be bouncy the minute I looked outside this morning. My boy got me up at 7, which was terrific. We go out. There is a pretty dusting of snow.

I've been down this path before. We go back in as soon as he is done. We have our lovely morning. Breakfast...

(The amaryllis fell despite the stake, but it sure looks grand as a cut flower...)

A couch moment, with soulful gazes and sweet nothings...

After a brief rest, Henry wants to play. 

I toss him a squeaky toy for a bit. Fine. He chases it. But then he goes to stand by the door. A signal, to be sure. But for what? I put on the harness, we go outside. He does his stuff and then the tugging begins. Eventually I manage to get him back inside. He calms down. I try again. I am determined to take him for a walk. And initially, he is curious and willing.

And then the tugging starts again. 

The conventional wisdom has you stop in your tracks and wait. Bore the dog to death by not moving. Ignore. Don't engage. 

This totally doesn't work if your dog is pulling in a different direction. He doesn't want you to move, he just wants you to take him off leash. Treats? Commands? They're for ninnies! I'm not going to give in so easily! 

One possible solution that I haven't tried yet is taking a favorite toy along to distract him from his tugging and yanking. I doubt that it will work. Other ideas? Up his training and increase the leashed walks I suppose. Ones where he gets rewarded for walking calmly. And eventually, when he and I are old and gray, he will learn.

 

In the early afternoon, I do take him to a dog park. It still is the best option for him. I'm never going to provide him with the exercise he needs otherwise. It's funny -- I'd read (before getting Henry) that a young dog needs no more than five minutes of brisk walking for every month of his life (until he is a full blown adult). At ten months now, this would mean that Henry should get up to 50 minutes and be more than satisfied. This may be true for the average dog. It is most certainly not true for Henry. His long legs carry him far. I'm a brisk walker -- much speedier than your average human. And yet, I'm not speedy enough for Henry. Not when he is feeling playful and wants to release pent up energy. Dog park it is then.

Ed joins us. We all get our steps in!

We try Tati's coffee shop afterwards. I'm still not sure how it is that one can bring dogs inside, but they are definitely welcome and I'm thinking this is a good place to get him comfortable with strange places, strange requirements (shhhh!) and strange people.

We have a wonderful half hour. Henry is plenty tired and he sits between us quietly, trusting that this isn't another one of those places where I'm going to make him step on a scary scale.

(selfie!)

At home, he rests. Forgotten are the pulls and tugs and leash grabs. My dog is the most wonderful dog in the world. Obviously. He's trying to learn. To please. To keep his spirits high. To trust.

with so much love... 

 

Henry Bean and me

Oh that dog of mine! Many steps forward, a couple back. That's great progress, even if at times I have a hard time restraining myself from insisting that he continue forward. As a parent, you know to be gentle with any regression. That there is usually a reason for it. That your child can't help it. That she may be scared or uncertain. Patience is the best tool for you. A calm shrug rather than a push is so much more effective. And kind. 

Why didn't I remember this with Henry?

He woke again just shy of 7. He knows I like him to hang back in the elevator. He hung back. 7 seems to be a popular time to walk your dog. He encountered two this morning. He did not bark.

Such a good boy! 

I always like to finish up my morning routines before I feed him and sit down to my own breakfast. Today those routines were elongated because I had to deal with my wound (in addition to the usual shower, tidying, getting clothed -- you know the drill). The wound from my surgery is, by the way, quite impressive! Hard to believe that a small spot would require cutting my face wide open!

Henry waits. 

Finally I feed the pup, myself...

I snuggle with him...

And then I have an appointment at the vet's for his flu booster.

Henry knows the clinic by now. The first time we were there he was terrified, but by the second time he accepted the staff, and thought nothing of even stepping on the scale for me. 

Today, however, he got scared. He doesn't bark or growl when he is scared. He sits by the door shaking. And he cannot be budged.

Eventually, after lots of coaxing, and some subterfuge, plus a whole cup of baby food, the staff got him behind the counter, gave him his shot and handed him back to me. Great, now let me weigh him!

I am really curious about his weight. I want to know if he is growing, if I'm feeding him the right amount, if he is going to be an even bigger pooch!  

Henry would not step on the scale. I tried, with treats, with baby food, with myself stepping on it. I would not give up! I used commands, persuasion, all of it. Henry just dug in. The staff moved a carpet onto the scale to make it seem like just part of the room. Nope. No go. They told me - come back another time, when he is not also getting a shot. I explained that the shot doesn't bother him, he's just scared of the place. Of being forced to do something that he doesn't quite understand. Besides, I live far away. 

So I kept trying. I hoped someone would volunteer to pick him up. No one did. More coaxing on my part. Nope. He sat by the door putting all his weight into that position. 

By being so insistent, I am sure I made things so much worse for him (to say nothing of the staff who were by now wishing very much that I would go away). Most likely he'll now hesitate about entering the clinic, period. 

I'm not a total idiot. I did not scold or reprimand him. I was smiling and calm. Showering him with treats and praise. But my god, what got into me? Henry did not trust the scale today. Who cares that he was confident just a few weeks back? It wasn't going to work today anyway. Why not just shrug and let it go?

 

We went straight to doggie day care afterwards. All his favorite staff members were there. The door to the outdoor playground was wide open, because the sun was out and it is still quite the warm day (43F/6C). Typically, Henry bounds to the daycare door. Today, he went forward, but he hesitated, looking at me, wondering if there was more uncertainty ahead. 

Totally my fault. I feel like the parent who blamed her child for something that wasn't really their doing. For insisting that the kid sing in the choir even though they can't carry a tune. Or swim across the pool when they're just learning to feel comfortable in deep water. Oh, I can think of too many examples of how we mismanage our expectations! What can I say -- even at 72 I am capable of making upbringing mistakes.

 

I spent the rest of the morning tidying the apartment because today is the day of my monthly professional cleaning. By far the biggest challenge was sweeping up the mess out on the balcony. I didn't do a perfect job, but at least I made a solid effort!

And then comes the bit of luxury -- the cleaning crew washes, dusts, vacuums, I sit at a cafe listening to the buzz around me, enjoying this moment of peace. 

(Return to my apartment: now doesn't it just sparkle??) 

 

 

Friday is "just Snowdrop" day. The girl no longer rushes to the car with a solid grin on her face. Nor is she eager to plunge into the details of her day. And still, rare is the day that when asked, she doesn't give me an "it was fine" answer. Sometimes I get a "great" or "good." Would she tell me were it otherwise? Maybe. Maybe not. With kids, I know not to push.

 

 

 

I pick up Henry at doggie daycare. He, too, appears to have had a "good" day (I'm told). As always, he is thrilled to see me. And as always, he is overexcited to be going home. He barks at a kind pet parent there to pick up her dog. He barks at the management at the Edge -- same two that made him "Pet of the Month" in December, and covered for him when he barked his head off in the first week when I left him alone. Henry, you're doing okay. I understand.

 

Home at last. He gives me his soppy look, eyes pleading for the love that hasn't been his to know until he came home with me.  

 

Cabbage soup tonight. And a Henry by my side. I tell him -- I know you were scared this morning. I'm sorry. I'll do better.

with so much love... 

mending

 I'm supposed to take it easy after yesterday's surgery. Ha! That's what they all say after they're done cutting you and then sewing you back up again. Something about stitches popping open and blood vessels rupturing. Yes, okay, I don't want to disturb their handiwork, but life does move forward. No bending for ten days? You're joking, right? Yesterday I spilled something on the kitchen floor. Henry, of course, leaves messes outside that I have to pick up. I dropped a nail under the table. The balcony is filthy from seed casings and really needed a sweep with my little hand broom. And that's just one day! How am I supposed to do all that if I can't bend lift or work up a sweat? Okay, the last one is easy. The doc's office called today to check up on me. Follow the rules, I'm told. So how do I wipe dry, clean, retrieve? Squat -- they say. I almost laughed. Most of these surgeries are done on older people. Are you telling them all to squat?

If you ask me, the thing that will pop my stitches is my persistent cough. I can really put the pressure on my face hacking away! It did not help me feel better hearing the nurse say yesterday -- oh, you got one of those coughs? Mine lasted a whole year! Great.

Since I'm not allowed to remove the wound cover (yet), I mostly do not pay attention to what's underneath, though I am a bit curious. Tomorrow. I get to start wound care. 

 

But all this is trivial. I slept well and until 7 in the morning! Is this a new trend, Henry? I love getting up at 7! That's just half an hour short of my normal wake up!

Warmish, misty, gloomy.

(waiting for the elevator: there is something about that face that is unquestionably attractive, beguiling, heart-warming...)

 

 

Inside? All warmth, color and contentment.

 

 

 

The rains come down hard today. They remind me of March rains, beating away at a dirty landscape. I pick up the kids, parking the car in the garage and feeling grateful for this bit of luxury. I say to them -- the best thing about living here is that I am so close to you guys, and your schools. The second best thing is the garage. (The worst thing? Certainly that it's relatively distant from the farmette, and that it forces confrontations between Henry and those coming into or leaving the elevator! )

 

 

 

 

 

I'm glad I have plenty of leftovers from several days of energetic cooking. The comfort of veggie cabbage soup cannot be overestimated.  A rainy day demands comfort at home. Maybe with a blanket and a good book. And a grand dog snuggling his head into your lap.

with so much love... 

 

tail chasing

My dog, Henry, isn't one of those that runs in circles trying to catch his tail. But the idea of tail chasing appeals to me today. It feels like I'm doing a lot of this on my own. Even though I'm hoping I do not have much of a tail.

Let me begin the day with dog notes: I just read an article about dog names. As you may remember, I did not give Henry his name -- the shelter picked it. But I like the way it fits him, and besides, I wasn't going to tamper with the little crumb of stability he had in his life, so Henry it is. But the article got me thinking -- had I the choice, what would I name a dog? According to the American Kennel Club, the ten most popular boy dog names in 2025 were: Max, Hank, Teddy, Cooper, Gus, Bear, Duke, Maverick, Charlie, and Finn. None of them make it to my top ten list (for dogs), though Finn is a bit intriguing. Top ten girl dog names for 2025: Luna, Bella, Daisy, Lucy, Ruby, Willow, Maggie, Penny, Nova, and Sadie. From those, I'd go with Sadie, since the connotations are of joy, spunk, and a bit of sass. 

Henry was up late today. A few minutes after 7! Thanks, pal -- I needed that! I'd stayed up way too late reading the incredibly good book by Maeve Binchy. Oh, but that woman knows how to write fiction! However did I miss her all these years?!

It's foggy, gray, uninteresting outside. We do not stay out for long.

And right after, we follow our morning routine which makes me so very happy.

I do have to drop him off at doggie daycare by 9:15, because I have a full morning before me. Heck, it may well be a full morning and full afternoon! 

First -- an hour of Zooming with my southern-living friends. We haven't talked for a while and I wish I could stay on longer, but by 11, I have to be at the surgery clinic for my cheek surgery. I have a skin cancer that the surgeon says with 100% certainly is there due to sun exposure. The fact is, I am lucky that I've had so few skin cancers, especially on my face (but no only), considering how much time I have spent in the sun without sun screen application. Even once the warnings were out about the dangers associated with sunburn, I ignored them all, because I very rarely burn. I just turn brown. So brown in fact, that I was once told I look like I'm from a country south of the border. I felt that to be a compliment! 

The way they approach skin cancers these days is to dig in and study the borders and if there's still cancer around the edges, they dig in some more. On repeat. For as long as it takes to come up with a clean slate. My surgeon said sometimes there is a long tail under the surface so you can be in the surgical room for most of the day as they keep trying to chase the tail's end. They tell you in advance to bring lunch and something to do. As I write this (they're still chasing it!), I have with me a thermos of milky coffee and I'm munching on my favorite granola bars. On a comfy chair that reclines. With a pillow under my knees. How can I not feel anything but grateful for having access to all this? (Why can't it be everyone's right in this country -- access to good medical care?)

My doc asked me if I wanted to be in a study and I said yes without even knowing what the study was. She is the kind of doctor that I want to please because she exudes knowledge and skill and, too, she asked me early on -- do you run? Because you appear to be very muscular.  Wow. How could you not love a doc who tells you that at age 72! In this particular study, she treats the scar -- a long one right down the whole cheek - one way halfway down, and another way halfway up. She then compares how they come out. If one looks better, then that's valuable information for them. As she is sewing me up, I ask her if she remembers her very first surgical patient. "Oh yes!" -- she tells me. "I did not do the face on that one! We start off with less visible surgeries." 

I'm done by late afternoon. The treatment of the wound is somewhat bothersome, but I've heard that it's worse if it's on your back, because then someone has to do it for you. I imagined Ed hopping on his motorcycle everyday to come and take care of my wound and I felt even more grateful that this isn't my predicament. This time around! 

I'm told the scar will be completely healed and formed by the year's end. Right now I look like I got attacked by somebody with a very big knife. Which, I suppose, I was. Although kindly. With only good intentions.

I'm not allowed to move around much for the next several days. No bending, lifting, or brisk walks. Well now, that's a shame. I'd just read in the NYTimes that movement is absolutely the best preventative for brain health and here I am immobilized even as my motivation is especially high (it's always highest right after reading that this is what we all must do). I asked, somewhat impishly -- are you going to tell me that my dog can't lick my face? My surgeon looked properly horrified.

What the heck. I have my book, I have my warm home. Henry will have exercised plenty at doggie daycare. And he is only an occasional face licker (though he does find Snowdrop's somewhat sweaty winter feet especially tasty). 

We are good!

with so much love...