there is no such thing as a normal day

Really, when was the last time that I had one? A day without any pivots or abrupt turns? 

As I get nearer to the move, I think less about it. Why? Well, because one way or another, I will get myself where I have to be this Wednesday. There's no turning back (nor do I want to turn back). Will I be ready? Oh, well, is anybody ever really fully ready for anything?

It's a little warmer today, but still below freezing. Henry is in a good mood and you know what they say -- if your pup is happy, you're happy! (That is what they say, right?) 

I have a mini breakfast while he waits for me.

I should have nothing at all because I am going out for breakfast with my two friends, but this would greatly disturb my dog, I'm sure of it. And, too, an early coffee and some morning fruit are essentials that I do not easily give up.

I drop Henry off at doggie day care, still in the swanky new loaner car (which he loves, I can tell!), and then I head downtown to the home of one of the two women with whom I do regular breakfasts.

As always, the food is special and especially good. We eat as if we haven't eaten for days!

 

 

 

 

 

Our hostess has knitted little red caps for us. Decorative items, greatly appreciated. It happens to match the theme and colors of my shirt. 

I learn so much from these two friends! They are just a bit older than me and they lead downtown lives, filling their schedules with events and classes that I did not even know existed. I'm fascinated by them! Body alignments! Kado -- or Zen and the art of flower arranging. (Did you know that arranging just three flowers can take hours?) Arthritis treatments. Pros and cons of burial and cremation! I've not given much thought to any of this. They are like a catalogue of possibilities!

I leave around noon, driving now to give up my loaner car and take back my dirty old Blue Moon. And I get a message telling me that Goose has an eye infection and needs to go home ASAP. Well, both parents are teaching so I offer to do the pick ups. Four pickups today! First, Sparrow.

Then Goose.

Then Snowdrop.

Then Henry. 

In the evening, I turn on the pre-show for the Winter Olympics. 

(Henry gets comfortable...)

 

Some of the competition is underway even before the official start of the Games. I like it all. And just so you know, Wisconsin sent more than a dozen competitors, including much of the women's hokey team and the leading speed skater Jordan Stolz, who started skating in his back yard at the age of five. A real cute video is floating out there where he is first learning to skate on a frozen pond. I suppose his childhood fits the image you might have of a Wisconsinite: likes pizza, loves to fish and hunt moose with his family (on vacation in Alaska -- we do not have moose in Wisconsin). And the hockey team? Four of them are currently students at the University of Wisconsin and two are alumnae, including Hilary Knight who is considered the best hockey player of them all. 

I'm not tribal in my watching of the Games. Meaning I dont watch holding my breath and hoping for big wins for just Americans. Yes, Ilia Malinin, the top male figure skater is American. Yes, Lindsey Vonn, the world's best downhill racer, also American, takes my breath away with her age defying speed. We have the leading dancing pair and we have the figure skating Alysa Liu who is also expected to medal (did you know her birth was the result of a donor egg implantation in a surrogate mother? ... medical technology is so amazing!). Yes, of course, I'm delighted to see Wisconsin so beautifully represented, and I'm in awe of the American winter athletes. I watch the Olympics for them, but also for all winners from all countries. I love to see people succeed at what they set out to do. I can almost feel their joy. I appreciate their dedication.

Did I pack at all today? I did not. Am I worried? As I said at the outset -- I'm not thinking about it that much. I'll process later. Maybe in the middle of the night, or maybe (best of all!) not at all!

with so much love... 

 

a Henry win!

I could not watch the Westminster Dog Show last night because I haven't any of the streaming services that offered it. But this morning, I clicked on a news page to see who was, in the end, Best in Show. Here, you can watch it in this clip. Or, if that doesn't work, you can read the NYTimes article, gifted for you here. It's worth your time, especially if you're looking for a cheery start to your day! And I say this even though I'm not especially a great fan of dog shows. Your pooch wins not on personality, behavior, or even appearance per se. The dog is judged by the breed standard: how well s/he reaches our idea of the ideal. This is such a human construct imposed on the animal world! And the people who breed and place these dogs in competition put the animals through the mill. Constant shows, excessive grooming and then more breeding. So, many would argue that all this is not good, but in my view it's not the worst thing we do to our pets (when done properly) and honestly, watching these dogs show off their awesomeness is kind of fun.

ABC News rightly called last night an emotional win. Penny, the dog who took the big prize, is a Doberman pinscher.  The last time a Dobbie won was in 1989 and would you believe it, that time the handler was Andy Linton -- the same guy that gave us the winning dog last night.

Why spend so much time on this in my post (apart from the fact that I'm rather dog focused these days)? Well, as you know, Henry is a mix. We used to call that being a mutt, but we've upped it a little: mix sounds much nicer. But his most dominant strain is that of a Doberman pinscher. I saw it even before I got the DNA analysis back. Not only does he look exactly like a Dobbie (one with floppy ears, the way nature intended) but he acts like a Dobbie. The words describing Penny -- "she eats anything and everything" and "she's very chill...but she can get pretty pumped up for a bad guy or a squirrel" -- they describe Henry to a T. The big difference? Penny is all Dobbie of course, and she has lead a life of privilege with her owners in Toronto. Henry comes from the streets of a big Texas city. But when I look at Penny, executing her perfect winning pose, I think I'm looking at Henry. I call this, then, a win for my splendid dog!

(no perfect pose today; I'm happy just to go out, then quickly inside)

It's -1F/-18C out there.  I do think that these bitter cold readings will let up a bit in the weeks to come. And again, I dont really mind them when it's a sunny day. And today we'll have plenty of sunshine.

Breakfast.

 

Rest.

Doggie daycare. And oh, do I need it today! My car has to have its brakes replaced. I have boxes to take over to the farmhouse (for a temporary hold). And deliver a check to the utilities people of my soon to be home town. And so on. 

My car dealer gives me a loaner for a couple of days. It's like sticking a box of candy in the face of a sugar deprived child. My car, once lovingly called Blue Moon, though pretty new at 5 years, looks like something you'd fine in junk lot. Today, when I tried to tidy up the back seat, I found old mildewed apple slices that Sparrow once claimed he had eaten. They were stuck in the door pocket. The cover I use to protect the seat from dog debris only covers up years of debris accumulated from transporting many kids many times. The front seat is equally grotesque. I wont point fingers, but really, why does food never reach the mouths of babes, wedging itself instead in crevices that are ill suited for it? And the dust! If I try to wipe it, I merely smear it into a sticky mess. And dont get me started on the salt damage to the mats! So, from this I step into a 2026 version of my car. With all the new technology of course. The service desk person tells me with some degree of sympathy -- I know a great place where you can have your car detailed. I have kids too, you know. Why does my 4 year old daughter come out of the car with food smears on her butt? Why was there milk left in her cup when she handed it to me upside down? 

Fine, I'll have it detailed. Just as soon as we're done with the snow and salt. So, maybe in May?

As I drive the shiny red new one to the farmette, I decide to swing my Sally's House. I can't go inside until next week, but I want to see how the sun hits it. Just to get a sense of the amount of light coming in. I see that there is a van outside from a drywall company. I know they're supposed to patch up some settling cracks. I dare go up and ring the bell.

One of the workers answers. His English isn't terrific, but I try to communicate that I'll be moving in and would like to take a peek inside. The trusting fellow lets me in.

My first impression? It looks way smaller than the stupid wide angle photos make it out to be. This is great news! the house is plenty big, too big in fact. I don't need that to be its main defining characteristic. I speculate out loud where to put the TV. Over there -- he points to space high on the wall, above the mantle. No, this will never happen. To make a TV that prominent is just so wrong for me. And then he asks -- dogs? As in -- do I have dogs. Has the word spread?!  Big? -- he continues. My oh my, Henry's reputation is preceding him! I show him a picture of my pooch. Ay! -- he says, which of course could mean oh my God, or that's nice, or something else altogether. I do not mention Sadey. 

 

Today is a no kid-pickup-day, so I return to moving details at home. Removing nails from the wall, for example. And I wonder -- if I am to live at Sally's House for 5.5 months, which is half a month more than I lived at the Edge, should I even bother hanging art work? I think the answer is obvious. 

 

I pick up Henry a little earlier today. I'm proud of my boy because this morning, after barking at an elevator person, he came into the elevator and sat down obediently as if nothing had happened. Yes, Henry has inner calm. He just needs time. I'm sure of it.

with so much love... 

 

sunshine and boxes

Another cold morning. This is normal. February weather. This isn't an issue for me. Nor for Henry. Nevertheless, I pull on his sweater. 

As we wait for the elevator to go back up, I hear someone getting on upstairs. I put myself in front of Henry, creating some distance between him and the door, and I tell him to wait. He doesn't like this, but I now do it routinely so that if there are people, they wont have to be put off by a large barking dog. But it isn't people, it's just one person -- a young woman -- with a dog about Henry's size, only weightier. The dog snarls and lunges toward Henry. Obviously highly reactive to dogs. In his loudest moments, Henry has never snarled or attacked anyone. This dog? She could hardly restrain him. Later, I tell the management -- do you know that there is a dog here that is even more frightening than Henry? 

And I wonder: in a pet friendly building, what is the contractual obligation here? Must dogs be obedient and calm? I know if they bark excessively inside their units, they get several warnings and then a requirement to take them to a vet to seek out solutions to quiet them. But what about big dogs that are ready to attack your dog? Me, I took the easy way out -- I planned to leave before they threw us out! And I never once worried about Henry hurting anyone. That's not him. But this big brute coming at us? Wow, a regular terror hound!

Breakfast -- quiet. Peaceful. And if you are tired of the same scene each morning, well, at least you do know that in a week it will all change!

I call the vet then. Since I picked Henry up yesterday, I have not heard him cough a single time. Not once. Should I really come in for an exam? No, they tell me -- cancel it. So I do that. And I take him to doggie daycare and he is my happy boy!

 

Me, I stock up on a few groceries and I do some packing. Not a lot. Just a few more boxes that I will take over to the farmhouse for a temporary hold tomorrow. The sun is streaming into the apartment, the sky out there is a cornflower blue. I'll miss having windows that open up to this much sky! Sally's House hasn't the same south facing windows. It doesn't matter though. It has so much of what I need right now. Sunshine pouring into my living space -- that will come later this summer.

 

And then it's the usual -- I pick up Sparrow, we pick up Snowdrop. We ride the elevator which has some importance to me now. Call it the Elevator of Troubles. 

 

And another drop off -- this time of the girl at Girl Scouts and of the boy at home. And only then do I go for Henry.

It was a long day at doggie daycare and he'll have a whole week of long days there. Once I move, however, I have a different vision for the two of us. Well, for the three of us! For now, I settle in for a snuggle. After dinner - his, mine. Leftover shrimp. Yes, he loves those! I share. He returns the favor with a loving gaze. Henry, I think, has a hugely loving gaze...

 

 

yes, with so much love... 

Monday thoughts

I'm moving on February 12th to a house without much of a name. (I had originally thought I'd just call it by a street name, but now I think that's just wrong.) So what, you say? Well, I'm of the belief that giving a name to the place where you live creates history and gives meaning to your time there. In other words, I'm in agreement with this article from House Beautiful. No, I do not read House Beautiful, but when stumped as to how to name my new home, I found a link to it. Such an amusing problem! What should you call your home?  Following its suggestions, I decided on the Sally House. The word sally is sometimes defined as a "sudden rush or leap out, or as a short excursion." Appropriate, don't you think?

 

Henry is now a prompt 6:25 wake up boy. It's a good time to walk him. It's rare to run into people in the elevator at that hour!

 

I think about how hard it is for us humans to get into the mind of a dog. Our rules often don't work well in the canine world. Here's an example of something that is completely counterintuitive to me: did you know that it is very inadvisable to raise two pups from the same litter together? There is a high risk of them developing littermate syndrome -- a codependency that leads to aggression, lack of responsiveness to training, and all those things you'd never want to see in your pet. Such pack animals and yet, to thrive, puppies must be separated. But put them in the same place with another unrelated dog? Friends for life.

Breakfast.

My pup rests. His run in the park yesterday, followed by playtime with Goose were grand, but I know he is sleep deprived. Pups his age, and his size, and his activity level need a solid 15 hours of sleep in a day. He and I are not getting our due share of needed rest!

(Henry loves to sleep in a nesting position -- all curled up into a ball.)

 

 

I then drop him off at daycare, where they tell me he has a cough. I know this to be true, sort of. He's not coughing out on our walks. He's not coughing at home. But get him overexcited? He coughs. Dutifully I call the vet. Of course they can't tell me anything without checking him out, but my vet tells me that this kind of intermittent cough needn't be treated. It will resolve itself and so long as he's not acting sick (he's not), I can ignore it. Yes, but tell that to the doggie day care people! I schedule a vet visit for tomorrow even though she tells me it's not necessary, but I need her to confirm his healthy status so that he can go back to doggie daycare.  

And now I really have to proceed with The List. Call the gas and electric people, visit the municipal offices to start up water and sewer service, go to the farmette with discarded stuff and a box of things that the movers should not be moving -- fragile things that would have to be carefully packed. Waste of time and paper.

 

 

 

More preparations for the move, for the dog. I pick up meds for Sadey. More discussions with the managment at the Edge. This will be my life for the week: plowing through The List.

As I'm driving from one place to the next,  I'm remembering an article I read yesterday that talked of an aspect of aging we don't often think about: older people need to spend more time processing events, conversations, happenings than younger people. I've known this, of course. I need that time to not do anything but think and review stuff from an earlier moment. Younger people need this too, but it takes them no time at all to do it. But here's the problem: older people tend to fill their downtime with the same thing teenagers use for their off hours: they click away at their phones and screens, always processing new information instead of reviewing old stuff. As a result, the processing gets pushed aside and it reappears at night, causing sleeplessness and anxiety in those wonderful wee hours of predawn. I can tell you right now, with my busy week, I will have a lot of deferred processing to contend with at night.

 

In the afternoon I pick up the big two. Sparrow first... 

 

 

then Snowdrop.  

 

 

It's all smooth -- we have a routine going, except routines are there to be changed and today we have another task -- to get Sparrow to his Taekwondo  class in the early evening...

 

 

 

... which luckily is located just by the doggie daycare. I pick up a happy Henry.

An easy supper for me. In the days ahead I'll cook up big pots of chili and soup so that I wont need to bother with dinners next week. Not tonight though. My pup is tired from a full day and so am I.

with so much love... 

 

happy busy February!

Well now, that was an interesting January! And I thought it would be on the quiet side... My predictions have been worthless in recent months. 

Enter February. I know, without doubt that it will be a whopper. But today, once again, I take things slowly. Henry has been waking up earlier than before. He wants to be out by 6:30. That' okay with me. I have to get him out of the house pretty quickly all next week. An earlier wake up only gives us more time to get the day off to a good start. Now if only I would go to sleep earlier as well we would be set!

As I wait with him for the elevator this morning, I find myself wondering if humans pick up their dog's idiosyncrasies.  I know that an owner's temperament can rub off on a dog. I'd like to  believe that my quiet approach to each day has a calming effect on Henry. But is his elevator anxiety rubbing off on me? Am I getting anxious as the elevator door opens, peering to see if anyone is in there, ready to come out at us? Henry, what have you done to my equilibrium?! I should be like Ed. Wild Pancake (the most feral of the feral cats) has no effect on him. His patience is solid. Doesn't bat an eye. I'm positive the elevator would never be anything more than a source of transport for him.

It's cold again, but not Arctic blast cold. Just winter cold. 6F/-14C as we step out.

I have to smile at how different our walks are from those we took in Henry's first weeks here. These days we never even make it up to Squirrel Hill. Just back and forth in front of the apartment building where he knows he has to do his stuff. His exercise never comes from walks. Will that change once we move? I don't know.

Breakfast. With a hug. Before and after.

Henry's feeling more active this morning, so we play ball -- which means I spend a good bit of time crawling under the bed to retrieve his toy. Henry, isn't this supposed to be our quiet couch time?!

I'm now less than two weeks away from adding a new adopted dog to our pack. I text with the new dog's foster mom. I have some more questions (about size, etc). She sends me more pictures.

Perhaps this is the time for me to introduce this new dog here. (I wont send photos. You'll have to wait to see those.)

They named her Sadey, spelled in this unique way. I'm going to stick with it to honor the incredible foster mom who named her. (Sadey, or Sadie are diminutives of Sarah -- a noble woman, so I will have regal Henry and noble Sadey.) 

Sadey was found on the streets of Houston. In a new development where the foster mom lives with her own animals and perhaps partner, though I don't know the details there. It's an all female household -- an important fact to note because Sadey can be less outgoing initially with men. This seems to be a pattern with the Texas rescues. Animal abuse appears to be very gendered there. 

Sadey was living in a ditch with her litter of puppies. (We think this wasn't her first litter, judging by the size of her nipples, so, a practiced mom who is probably not quite two years old right now.) It was hard to see how she could nurse the pups -- she was all skin and bones herself. I've seen the photos. Flea-infested. Heartworm infested. And yet, she cared for those pups as best as she could.

The foster mom took her in and took a couple of the pups as well. I believe some disappeared. Others were taken in by another kind soul. Sadey received the much needed medical care. She stayed with the foster family from October until now. She looks to be fully recovered. 

What drew me to her was her personality. I think it's a good fit for my home. For me. For Henry. For the kids and Goose. For our lifestyle. Henry never had a chance at a foster home. He was shelter bound until I took him in. Sadey had more tumult in her life, but she benefited greatly from the gentle loving care of the foster mom. And importantly, I know a lot more about her than I knew about Henry, who was a bit of a mystery to us all. 

Will Henry and Sadey get along? I've had a lot of worried comments from friends who wonder about this. I'm confident that in the longer term they will be great. Initially? Different dogs react differently to the introduction of another canine. Most who are dog-friendly, get over the initial hesitation. My understanding of Henry is that he is not so much protective of his space, of me. Rather, he is anxious about the unknown. Dogs have never frightened him the way that humans have.  So I would put him in the camp of those who will adapt. But of course, I'll have to see how much help he will need in this. I am not worried about Sadey accepting Henry. I think that one will be easy. 

There is a transport of these Houston canines to Wisconsin coming up in less than two weeks. The exact date depends on the drive, the weather, and the stops along the way. The transport first goes to Nashville, then Louisville, Cincinnati, Indianapolis, and Rockford and finally Portage Wisconsin. (They then continue to Minneapolis.) I have to pick her up in Portage, a little under an hour north of Madison. To me the journey sounds totally traumatic and horrible, but everyone tells me the pups do recover quickly once placed in their new homes. And I should note that this isn't a one time thing: the shelters and agencies looking after strays bring dogs from Houston in this way every two weeks. There are that many that need homes outside of Texas. (A separate shipment goes to the Northeast and another to the Northwest.)

So now I get ready and wait.

 

Henry is eager to go out. He has a very sweet way of standing absolutely still by the door when he wants an outing. Not necessarily to do his stuff. He'll stand there if he wants an adventure as well. A walk, a trip to the daycare. Play time! 

I take him to Prairie Morraine dog park. That park is just heaven on earth for him. 

The dogs, the run, the sniffing, the woods -- it's all fabulous. It takes us just under an hour to circumnavigate the entire park and I read that they are expanding it significantly! This is what being kind to animals looks like.

Today The Chase is in full swing. They chase him, but they can never catch him -- he does a splendid zigzag if they get too close, controlling the direction, claiming the lead. 

Henry is beautiful to watch when he is running. He'll take flying leaps over brush and stretch his body to great lengths to add speed.

 

 

And of course, when we get home, he takes two steps then plunks himself down on the carpet and falls asleep.

 

In the evening I take a dinner over to the young family. Seafood pasta. Out of the six of us, five really love the pasta, three will pick out the shrimp and scallops, and one will devour any scallop in her line of vision. 

Macarons for dessert.

 

 

 

Home again. I have two steady, unrelenting streams of thought: the first concerns Henry. In the dog parks, at the training -- I saw such progress in him! But at the Edge, he is horribly defiant when faced with the elevator situation. He barks his head off if he sees people anywhere near it and tugs to sniff, to back away, to sniff, to back away. Needless to say, I cannot let him approach anyone when he is so loud. They wait for us to go on without them. And of course, this makes him that much more convinced that he has warded off these awful humans. I cannot wait to be done with this! Ten more days. 

My second train of thought is that I'm doing precious little to physically prepare for the move. Too little. Yes, I can blame Henry for it, but am I asking for trouble? When I moved from the farmhouse to the Edge, it didn't really matter if I left some stuff behind. I would pick it up later. But now, I'm handing over the apartment on the day of the move-out. I could keep it longer, but I want to give it the best chance at being taken over by someone else. And, I need the time on the other end to arrange the new place and get ready for Sadey. There's not "leaving stuff behind" option. It all needs to go.

Nevertheless, I worry only in those wakeful moment in the middle of the night. Otherwise -- one day at a time!  And today, that first day of February was just lovely, Henry's elevator woofs notwithstanding! 

with so much love... 

cold, but not North Pole cold

I really lucked out with being away for what turned out to be the coldest week -- one where temperatures were shockingly low even for Wisconsin. Long walks with Henry would have been impossible. Kennels held pop-up classes on how to deal with stir crazy dogs. Henry would surely have gone nuts in the apartment, especially on the weekend, when the doggie daycare is closed. 

Today, it's still well below freezing, but not so bad that we can't plan an outing. Perhaps not an extended one, but something that will give him a chance to run.

Slowly, Henry is returning to normal. He checked on me several times at night, and was up and ready to go at 6:30, but that's within his range of acceptable wake-up times.  We go out, albeit briefly.

 

I stick to our past routines. His breakfast, my breakfast... (things that make me smile: my coffee mug that says "home is where my dog is," and the still unused but oh so pretty candle from the store near the Jardin Luxembourg).

Lots of cuddling in between.

And at 9:30 we have the continuation of the class Henry started before I left -- Intermediate Obedience. 

An interesting hour! The training program is in the same facility as his doggie daycare and my doggie just wants to know why I won't take him off leash so that he can play! Not helped by the fact that one of the training assistants is one of his favorite daycare people! He wants to run, to meet and greet the other dogs and yes, even their owners. The instructor notices that his anxiety with people is significantly reduced. It could be any number of things: he's seeing a repeat of people he'd seen before. Or maybe my vet's medicine. Or his stay at camp. His age maybe? The weather! 

Today he is an extremely clever student with an extremely short attention span. He learns "go to mat" instantly and does it three times, then has enough. I'm glad we're back in training rotation, but I am also glad when the class comes to an end for my frisky boy.

A quick rest at home, and then an outing to the dog park near the farmette.  With Ed.

(on the run)

And it is at the park that I notice the big change in Henry's behavior. In the past, he'd avoid the people there. If someone approached him, he'd bark. If someone stuck out a hand to be sniffed, he would ignore the friendly gesture and bark some more. 

This time, he didn't bark once. And (this was absolutely shocking to see) -- he actually ran up to one or two dog owners and sniffed them of his own volition. 

Is my dear boy finally learning to trust others?

It is true that at the Edge, he is still his old self. He hugs the walls and looks apprehensively at the opening elevator doors. If he sees someone, he barks. I cannot wait for this problem to go away in 12 days. But out in the real world of people and cars and hands and strangers, he may be shedding his panic. Maybe.

In the dog park, he is exuberant! All the dogs are. It's the first reasonably warm day (just below freezing and very sunny) and the dog owners are all thrilled to finally let their pups loose.

Afterwards, the three of us go to the neighborhood coffee shop, Tati's. This Henry knows and understands. We walk in, he immediately goes to the couch and waits for us to join him. 

There is one other couple, sitting at a nearby table and as they watch us (as I do my camera thing...), they smile and comment -- your dog is so well behaved! Ours would be all over this place!

Henry! Your first "good behavior" compliment from strangers! I just beamed and mumbled some inconsequential modest nothings.

When we leave the cafe, I suggest we drive up a couple of blocks to look at the house I'll be moving to in 12 days. Ed is incredulous -- you mean you haven't even seen it?  I smile at that. Ed, tell me, what are the chances of me finding an empty house in this absolutely full neighborhood, available right now, willing to do a 6 month lease, more or less in my price range? It's nothing short of a miracle! Who cares how it looks or feels. Besides, I've seen pictures. 

Driving past it now, I recognize its downsides. It's bigger and more expensive than Steffi's House (where I'll be moving this summer -- just a few blocks away from this one). More rooms, bigger spaces. But I would never buy it, even if I could afford it. Steffi's House is small but sunny, with many big windows facing the south, the east, the west. This house (the Suelo one) has fewer windows and I can see that the living room will not have enough natural light for my taste. It is in very close proximity a neighboring house, and opening up to a construction site on the other side. Across the street, new homes are being built as well. Expect construction noise.

And still, I'm thrilled with it. A house for me and my dogs. A house where the kids can have ample space to play. And all this within walking distance to the farmette!

 

 

 

At home, there's not much I can do now in preparation for the move. I put together a few boxes, but there isn't room to really start in on that project. The kids will be coming here all next week and of course, I dont want to get Henry all nervous again. I look around and pick out things to discard, wishing that I were even braver with tossing out unused items. It's the kitchen that has the bulk of possibly irrelevant items. In cooking, you often don't need a tool for months on end and then suddenly you remember a recipe and boom! You wish you hadn't tossed that potato masher or pastry scraper. Toys are easier to give up. The kids are growing out of many of them rapidly. Books as well. We've carted boxes full to the library. And still, I wish I would just go bare bones on stuff. Well, I have two moves before me this year! An opportunity to really scale back.

Tomorrow, the winter Snow Moon will shine upon us here, in south-central Wisconsin. I'll look up, then lower my head in gratitude. For all that's still good and noble in this world.

with so much love... 

crazy times

A little more than a week ago, I was thinking that perhaps the trip to France was misplaced. That right now, staying home and reading endless novels (in the spare hours that sometimes pop up inbetween kid care and Henry worries) was what I needed, not an overseas adventure.

I was wrong. The trip did me a world of good. It cleared my head and allowed me to think carefully, without distraction, about what comes next. And, of course, Paris is my balm -- a great one for stormy days. And I think we would all agree that we are all living in crazy times, so for that reason alone, any relief from anxiety or stress should be sought out and applied liberally.

But now, here I am entering my period of self-inflicted chaos. A week and a half more in the apartment, dreading each elevator ride with poor terrified Henry, a week and a half of organizing myself, getting ready for the move (how did I do it in just one week back in September? It seems more daunting now, probably because of the added Henry factor), a week and a half of preparing for the arrival of the new dog, a week and a half to get over jet lag and put the trip behind me. 

Let's start with a quiet morning. Henry isn't here yet so I could linger in bed, just like in France. I had gone to bed so late, surely I could stand a few more hours of sleep! Easier said. I have such a flood of imperatives to write down on my many to-do lists, that it's silly to fret in bed about them. Best to get the day rolling. 

Breakfast. Good old granola once again. 

And then I start in on it. Not packing yet. But everything else. (The balcony cleaning alone will take a lifetime! Those birds! Whose idea was this anyway? In my next home, the feeder is going to stay away from any house surfaces.)

 

 

 

I'm glad that latest findings indicate that carrying heavy things is good for you. That it may preserve your muscle mass. That to a degree, it slows down the aging process. Because I think that in my retirement years, I have done a lot of lifting and carrying. Before, it was the grandkids. And soil and wood chips for the garden. Now? Groceries of course. From car to the apartment -- that's a big walk right there. And also boxes. The package delivery room here is a stroll down long corridors. But the big kahuna is all the moving. As I was lugging ten new bankers boxes (because of course I threw away the old ones), I realized that not only have I moved a lot in the last two decades, but I've also moved my mom a lot in the last half dozen years. All those clumsy heavy boxes of stuff -- hers, mine... My muscle mass must be delighted. Let's hope it doesn't let me down in the next couple of weeks.

 

In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop at school. We cant really hang out at the Edge too long...

 

... 
 

 

... because I have to get Henry and it's quite the drive. She is in an especially chatty mood and by the time we reach Camp K9, I feel myself to be fully caught up on her school capers. 

 

Henry. Oh, has he been an interesting pup in his ten days at Camp K9! They wont soon forget him. At first, he destroyed his room furnishings (well, the bed... that's all that was in it). Then he got very nervous with people coming and going. Always though, he was a champ at playtime with other dogs. And eventually he learned to like some staff members enough that he let them nuzzle him. Sometimes. He was to have a bath, but he totally refused to cooperate for that, so they gave up. And now, here I am, ready to take him home.

I watch him come out. They've put a sweater on him. Small wonder -- it's bitter cold outside. He sees me, he sees Snowdrop, but he isn't sure about any of it. As if he can't quite comprehend this. She's back? They're back? Really? 

Within a minute it t sinks in.

He can't stop jumping and nuzzling and licking and being my greatest big pooch. The whole ride back. His nose is on my neck, my ear, my head. 

 (he's our navigator once again)

 

 

All this time I had been wondering -- what is going through his head? Does he think this Camp is his forever future? Does he feel abandoned? When he sees me again, will it fall into place for him? Once back, will the Edge noises and strangers scare him even more? Or maybe less?

Tonight, he is super-glued to me. Almost in a daze. His sad pleading eyes following my every move.

 

 

 

I've learned with Henry that he needs time before he can fully accept a new situation and mark it as an indisputably safe one. That if he turns away and then comes back, I will be there waiting for him.  For now, he is just seems so incredibly relieved to be home again. We will see how the next one and a half weeks will unfold. (I am not even going to think about what comes after!)

with so much love... 

leaving Paris

There are always two ways for me to leave Paris: either catch the early morning flight out, or the late afternoon one. There are benefits and drawbacks to each: leaving early means that you have to be up and out before breakfast. The benefit -- you arrive earlier and not what is, in effect, the middle of the night for you. The afternoon departure of course gives you a full morning in Paris. A leisurely breakfast. One last walk. The price? That late arrival. Usually the decision is easy: I base it on price. One connection is always cheaper. I take that one.

Today I got the late departure flights. And I'm glad! This trip has been all about an easy pace and the removal of constraints to my day. Not rushing this morning gives me that extra moment to let go, to feel the joy of being here.

Breakfast is relaxed. It takes me a whole hour to work through it:

I come toward the end of the breakfast time and I watch the lingerers, the late comers, and the incredibly efficient staff that is here to bring them the foods they want. If you ever read hotel reviews, complaints abound about the poky service in the morning. Many people are anxious to head out. To them, breakfast is just a meal to check off before they really get going. The Hotel Baume has worked hard over the years to perfect the breakfast experience. They've expanded tables to avoid any waiting. They've upped the staff. The whole operation is run so smoothly, though for me, their pace is irrelevant. I am among the lingerers, slowly easing into the day. The servers smile each time they pass my table. They know.

 *     *     *

I go for a walk. I really wanted to visit the chocolate shop called  Les Trois Chocolats. It's about a half hour walk and they are open only on certain days and today happens to be one of them. (For some reason I seem to be following them on Instagram and their photos are astonishingly good!) I've been meaning to stop there for the past three Parisian visits. And again I give myself a firm no, I show too little restraint when faced with excellent chocolate. My bags are full, my wallet is empty. Besides, I'd have to do a brisk walk. Nothing within me is calling for brisk. 

So I walk, at a leisurely pace really, and I almost get killed but for the Americans that I encounter along the way. Here's what happened: 

I'm in no hurry. I have no particular goal. I am meandering through the 5th district, in the direction of Notre Dame. It makes for a pleasant walk, one that I haven't done this time around.  The funny thing is I think about this very issue: how I should be careful, because I sure wouldn't like to wind up in a hospital today. 

Occasionally I pause to take a photo. I've done dangerous things before to frame a good picture. Remember running on the train station and ramming into a metal post? A hospital visit was required after that one. And once, in Paris, I stepped off the curb to get a better shot, right in the path of a careening bus. He saw me and stopped. And honked his horn very loudly. I deserved that!

Today, though, I wasn't in the mood for danger. I waited patiently while a trash van came down the single lane one-way road. I want him out of the picture. He passes behind me, I then step out and try to get a good angle. And then a group of Americans, standing nearby shouts very loudly, screams really: be careful, be careful!  I look around me. The van hadn't made a good turn so he was backing up to try again. He didn't see me right behind him and it was really only inches that separated his reear from me by the time I jumped out of the way. 

 The Americans then screamed at the driver -- you almost killed her! 

The lawyer in me wonders if it was really the driver's fault. Obviously he was going the wrong way. Obviously he should have looked carefully. But you can't really see what's in back unless you have a new car with all the new bells and whistles and screens. And from my perspective? Well, I couldn't possibly expect a car driving backwards. 

I thanked them profusely for saving my life -- in French so they'd think they had saved a French person, perhaps making them feel better about the way America is treating Europeans right now. 

In thinking about it, I dont know that I necessarily would have been killed. He was going slowly and presumably he would not have kept going once he hit me. But broken bones and a hospital visit were definitely in the cards.

The picture that almost broke the camel's back, with that narrow street clearly visible at the bottom: 

I walk back to the hotel. It's a misty day and the air quality isn't the best so I'm glad I didn't venture out far.

Note the audacity of some cyclists here. Headphones on, coat flying, no head protection, but oh that leg sure looks seductive!

 

From here, I'm just a hop skip to my hotel. 

 

I didn't eat a crepe this time. Maybe on my next visit...

And once more, the Baume, with its cheerful and helpful staff, ready to help, ready to say "see you soon."

 

(one more ride in the elevator...)

I have to cab it to the airport. There is now an elevator at the train station, but I can't count on it being functional. In Paris, if you can't carry something up or down  stairs, you should think twice about taking the metro. I am too old to lift and tote heavy stuff many flight of stairs. So I get a taxi. This is the one unfortunate thing about travel to Paris: the taxi ride is too long, too congested, too unpleasant. Ah well, it gives me the one thing to complain about. And yes, I realize it's my own fault. If I had traveled really lightly and purchased nothing, I could have taken the train.

 

*     *     * 

The flight from Paris is on time, which is good because my layover in Detroit is unusually short. Or at least was supposed to be short. As in the trip out, it's that last leg that turns out to be the troublemaker. Something about missing crew, overbooked flight... all unimportant details now because we did take off eventually and we did land in Madison and not in Marseille, though it was nearing midnight, or were I to think in French -- 7 in the morning.

Ed is waiting at the airport. We drive to the farmette, drop him off and I go home. My temporary home -- for the next 12 days. I try not to think about all that needs to be done in preparation for my move. I need to do it without giving any sign to my dog that anything is out of the ordinary. A challenge indeed! 

Good night, from one who is at the moment living at the Edge.

with so much love...