Thursday's summary

You see your friends for your breakfast meetup at the end of August. Two weeks later you are moving into an apartment on the other side of town. Only you don't announce it (to those who are not Ocean readers -- hard not to announce a move on Ocean!) -- because really, it's so complicated. Talking about it makes your head spin. People are traveling, so there's a bit of a break in the breakfast gatherings. Next one falls on November 6th. So do you just show up and say -- by the way, I neglected to mention that I actually do not live at the farmhouse anymore and those flower fields? A thing of the past. Oh, and I got a dog and he is very large but a little shy when meeting new people. Let's eat!

I think about this as I take Henry out this morning. Last night's supermoon, the Beaver Moon, is still with us at the early portion of our walk.

 

The weather remains solidly good! It will really get chilly in a couple of days but for now, we are enjoying the lingering fall colors. Here we are on Squirrel Hill, so named by me because Henry is so excited to pick up their scent everywhere!

But I have to hurry. My breakfast meetup is, well, on the other side of town and Henry needs to go to doggie day care first and that's in the opposite direction.

 

(heading downtown, along a very familiar stretch of road...)

 

 

Breakfast with friends. I'm better at writing about rather than talking about life's changes and the reasons for them. How often do you regret your choice of words when describing a tricky situation? Yeah, for me it's quite often. There's not an editing option once you've put down an idea. Still, they're friends, it shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter.

We sit at the table for a very long time. This is normal. We always extend the breakfast into the lunch hour. 

(the food is grand, the setting -- all blue and beautiful) 

 

As we pass the noon hour, I have to take off and return to my new neighborhood. The kids will be waiting.

(Sparrow, with a brief stop at home, where he shows me all the Halloween candy he does not like -- anything with peanuts heads the list)

 

 

 

I would like to say that it was a wonderful afternoon, but unfortunately, Snowdrop slammed the car door on her fingers and much as I like to provide instant remedies for a child's pain, I could not think of any for this beyond time, and a cozy snuggle on the couch. With two chapters of Anne of Green Gables. 

As always, we end the day with picking up Henry. The pooch is so very excited and happy to see us that I forget how shy he really is, until he encounters people he doesn't know indoors and I feel him pulling back. Yesterday, several residents urged me to bring him to that gathering at the Edge, but Henry would have none of it. Possibly not the best time for him -- in the evening he is tired and very hungry. He's going to want to go home. But still, it is a reminder that I have got to get him exposed to more strangers, so that he will slowly let go of his initial shyness. (Once he has a few minutes with you and he sees that you aren't there to beat him up, he is your friend for life.) 

Tonight, predictably, he eats voraciously and then settles on the couch by me. My supper is very late. How can I walk away from this snuggler-supreme?

With so much love... 

Wednesday distractions

With kids and with dogs, you can't always tell -- is it a fluke? An anomaly? Or a new trend that you should either celebrate or worry about? Long time readers, do you remember Snowdrop and sweaters in the summer? I could list dozens such phases that my daughters and grandkids went through that seemed troubling -- or irrelevant. You can't tell until time elapses and you realize that it was nothing -- or that it was a game changer you should have mobilized all available resources to deal with before it spiraled out of control.

So, too, with Henry. His one puddle accident had me worried. Is he really potty trained or was I just lucky for a few days? His early wake-up yesterday had me wringing my hands at this new eagerness to be out before sunrise. His evening bark for attention sent chills of fear -- what if he is now a barker and neighbors will complain? I saw a white note posted on my door yesterday and I panicked: someone is complaining? Does he bounce his Kong too hard? Is it something else? (It was a notice of an upcoming mechanical inspection of the units.)

So let me fast forward to this morning: Henry rolls out of his bed at the foot of my bed at 6:45. He is easy to walk.

(is it too early to celebrate?)

He takes his place on the couch while I eat breakfast...

...knowing that my next step is to go to that spot on the couch, lift half of his heavy torso, and place it on my lap. He rests, I read and write and listen to the oral argument at the Supreme Court. 

 

Fortunately or unfortunately (depending on whether you're looking at my wallet or at Henry's well being), Henry has daily appointments at doggie day care this week. I take him there once he is up and rested, because I have one of my interesting doc appointments (ones where I'm told that I need to keep an eye on something potentially troublesome, but not yet at the stage of worry that would make anyone do anything about it, so I just keep coming back and we dont get anywhere, but at least nothing bad happens either).

Since I am minutes away from Madison Sourdough, I pick up an order of croissants from there (to freeze for another time). And a few cookies for Ed who requested them next time I'm at the bakery. 

It's not a great idea. I do not need the reminder of another era, when picking up treats here was joyous. Similarly, as I drop off the cookies (Ed's not home, or at least not at the farmhouse)...

... I am not tempted to stay. I have a cinnamon roll (our favorite from before), but I take it to Tati's Cafe in the new development. I have an hour to kill before it's time to pick up spinach from our winter CSA. I'd rather kill it at Tati's, though even there, too, the memories are strong -- of kids stopping for ice cream on their way to the farmhouse. 

 

 

 

I watch a couple come in with their dog. Remarkably similar to Henry, but then all big black dogs will forever remind me of Henry. They feed her ice cream. I suppose I could bring Henry here for ice cream some day. (Tati's is the only coffee shop that I know of that allows dogs.) If I decide to move back to this neighborhood. Will I though? (And is ice cream good for dogs anyway? For these young people, it's just a fun shared pleasure -- watching their pup lick up a dish of vanilla ice cream.)

 

 

 

Why all this wealth of feeling now, nearly two months after I opted to move out? I suppose it's because I held out hope that our topic of discussion was just that: something to be discussed, sorted through. What I did not know is that in sorting through facts, recollections, feelings, you're going to dig up stuff that not only doesn't help move things forward, but has this way of dampening your enthusiasm for a resolution at all. If it's this way, then why bother?

I created my own space at the Edge. A friend suggested I retreat into for a while. I think that's wise. Offering solutions, ideas, interpretations isn't getting us anywhere. Indeed, it's just making everything more tangled and complicated.

I pick up spinach, go home to a Zoom call, then head out to pick up Henry. There is a nacho party at the Edge and I stop by just to see who is there. My doc earlier in the day offered some sound advice on the problem I'm facing with my lungs. Different issue, but so similar! Everything in life is just a repeat of something else that already happened! He said -- actually, don't medicate, don't do breathing exercises, don't do any of that. Just distract yourself: with music, a book, anything that you like. Nothing exacerbates your problem more than trying to solve it. Don't try. My daughter (at 38) has your pulmonary issue -- my wife tells me "do something!" I respond -- I know my job, believe me. This is what she has to do.

Henry and I settle on the couch, his sublime head on my lap again. We watch a goofy show together. I am determined to get him interested in TV viewing. So far, no progress. He looks at me instead. With those trusting eyes.

and so much love... 

no, not three fives!

Henry, you're going about it backwards: I took you out late last night. I expect you to push wake-up time as well. I would very much like that. Inch forward to a reliable 7:15. That would be cool. Yesterday, you still woke before sunrise, but at least it was just before sunrise (which is, right now, at 6:37 a.m.). Today's stirring and ultimate get up and stretch was at 5:55 a.m. Henry, not before 6, you hound, you!

I can't take the risk of an accident. We are too early into the game for me to tell you to leave me alone. You want out, you're going to get me up and out. 

(waiting for a squirrel to magically fall out of a tree)

("A new route?")

And then of course, after breakfast (his and mine)...

... Henry decides that actually, it was not enough sleep. He curles up partly on my lap (it could never be totally on my lap because, well, he is a big dog) and takes a long nap, immobilizing me completely so that my coffee gets cold, my smart watch flashes warnings that I should stand already, my chores remain unfinished.

At least I have my Kindle near me. Here's what I am reading: let me preface it by noting that I'm into light fare right now. (I'm saving myself up for Atwood's memoir which is not light fare and which came out today.) Even in this light and breezy mode, good writing is essential for me to stay with a book, and interesting characters are a must as well. I care less about the plot. I just want to enter through a door to a fictional world where I like the people, and where elements of their story make me smile. I get recommendations from a number of sources and I cannot remember where this one came from but it is a very fine match with my mood right now, and I love the author's interpretation of what it's like to go through the day as a septua- or even octogenarian. It's a mystery novel and the ones investigating the crime are... old. Delightfully old rather than decrepitly and invisibly old (though fading friends appear in the story as well). The title? The Thursday Murder Club.

So much of fiction these days (and especially mystery writing) avoids the topic of gaiety in old age. What gaiety exists (adventurousness, curiosity, perhaps romance, any form of delight) seems to be there only for those who haven't quite moved into retirement yet (indeed are not even close to it).  Sure, you'll see books that have superhuman aging heroes and heroines who do remarkable feats, or very sick and very confused players who are one foot out the door already. But this series of books picks out British old people in a retirement home who aren't done drinking their glasses of wine and inserting themselves into the lives (and deaths) of those in their community. It is a very fun read.

 

Once Henry is up, I take him to doggie day care. Since it's one of the last warm-ish days, I have a long postponed date with Ed at the farmhouse. 

(still venerable behind the maples?)

 

 

(sheep shed and crab apple) 

 

We're to do our bike loop from here, the extended one to Grace Cafe in McFarland. I'm not sure I am fully up for it, but I cannot postpone it yet again. It's now or wait until next spring.

It is a strange excursion. At times, we ride alongside and discuss all that still hangs in the air. Then we go single file and I stew about how little progress we have made in this. And I wonder, am I discouraged enough to think we are at the brink of something new and not altogether good for either of us? 

Throughout, it is a pretty ride. Weird interplay of words and scenery. Definitely the latter is the better of the two.

 

We reach Grace and neither of us wants to go in. We sit on curbs, different curbs, separated yet again in our own worlds and thoughts. 

And then we do go in, and we talk about stuff we've read about lately. And I drink my coffee, and we are on our bikes again, and I bring up our ongoing topic and I realize that I am maybe never going to break through. Ed lives in his own headspace. Nothing I say will change things there. New ways of looking at something are blocked at the entrance from ever getting in. Should I keep trying, or is this merely frustrating us both?

Or, am I maybe using the wrong words? Is it him or is it me that's solidifying this separation of thoughts, emotions, lives? I don't have a ready answer there. And I don't know how (or quite frankly if) I can get us out of this morass, swamp, quagmire -- call it what you will, sometimes (right now?) I think it's impossible to push us through, to emerge in daylight once again.

 

I pick up Snowdrop.

It's a full day for her -- she has a preschool meeting of the student council, and a post-school meeting of the drama club. The girl thrives on a full schedule so I'm not concerned about her ability to get through it all, but still, I have to think she is tired, as dusk sets in, and she emerges from the school building.

We go to the Edge for just a short spell. Read, eat, go to retrieve Henry, 

 

 

... then head home. Hers first, then ours. Me and Henry. I had made a huge pot of red lentil soup yesterday -- half for me, half for Ed. This is what cooking has been like for me: a vast amount of food, prepared late into the evening, then no cooking for the next several days. The menu may change, but the strategy remains the same.

Henry, how was your day, my sweet pooch? Difficult? I hope not. 

(immobilized for two hours by my lap dog)

 

 

with so much love... 

Monday with the kids

My grandmother lived by her own set clock:  in bed by 7, up by 5. I am sure that when I was little and lived with her and then later spent summers with her, I was put to bed at that same early hour. When I was school-aged, she was less insistent on a bedtime for me. She closed the door to her own bedroom and that was that. I think I was told not to go outside, but what I did with myself then was up to me. Most likely I read books and wrote in my diary. There was little else to do in that farmhouse and in any case, reading and writing were just fine with me. I was happy.

Henry is like my grandmother, except we fast forward an hour: he dozes off by the new 8 p.m. and is up by the new 6 a.m. I wish he'd putter in the kitchen and fix me breakfast like my grandmother did, but perhaps that's too much to ask of a dog.

Out we go. In time to witness the 6:35 a.m. sunrise.

It's November, but it is still beautiful and colorful outside. And there is a lot of squirrel activity!

I'm thinking that I am actually quite lucky to be living with him in this commercial (yet almost rural) area with really vast swaths of greenery. If you are in a residential neighborhood, you really should strive to keep your dog off of people's lawns. You have the strips by the road for him to sniff out. That's it. Not so here: I have abundant options. Hills and vales of green space. Henry loves it. I love it.

Breakfast and the hour after are his peaceful time. Having tested his options ("no" to chewing the edge of the carpet, to dismantling my cactus plant, to going after my shoe, "good boy Henry" to finding a toy to toss around for two minutes, to standing by the door pretending to really have to go outside again, and to finally taking up most of the couch for a morning nap)...

 

(in this position, the internet identifies him as a Great Dane!)

... he settles down, I catch up with my computer. 

Monday is doggie day care day, not only because I have just come off of a weekend of "Henry and me." On Mondays, I have two kid pickups to do and today it's actually three kid pickups because Sandpiper also needs care (his school happens to be closed today). There isn't room in the car for all those kids and my almost Great Dane! Too, Henry can be disrespectful of boundaries -- a characteristic that amuses and delights Sparrow back there in the car, but may be less exciting for Sandpiper, who is definitely smaller than Henry.

 

(long corridors invite a race)

It's a late Henry pickup for me, not helped by the darkness that creeps up on us so much earlier now. I first take Sandpiper home (he does not want to go to doggy daycare with us), then drive over with the older two to meet up with vivacious Henry. As I drop the kids at their home, I have the idea that maybe Henry would like to say hello to their dog, Goose. Snowdrop and Sparrow are thrilled to take Henry inside. 

 

 

Wild chaos ensues. I'm thinking -- Henry will have had a full day!

My food-obsessed pup is more than ready for his supper. I know what's in store for us. He'll rev up the engines one more time before he settles down to rest. No matter how many hugs and sweet words I give him, it wont be enough. He'll offer one more pleading gaze for attention, a tug on my pants, maybe even a bark or two (unusual for him -- he is a quiet dog), like the child who cannot accept bedtime even when dead tired. Finally,  as I sit down to my own very late meal, he is all smiles: I am on the couch, his head is in my lap. Life is good.

Good night, sweet pooch. Sleep well. And maybe just a little bit longer tomorrow morning?

with so much love... 

 

Sunday, sort of

First on my list of things that define the day for me is wake up time. Congrats, all you people who gained an hour of sleep! I'm sure it'll serve you well. We are a nation of the sleep deprived -- less than 70% of adult Americans get at least seven hours of sleep each night. So, good for you if last night you were one of them! 

I myself had little to gain from the time change. My dog Henry woke at the new 5 a.m., or the old 6 a.m., so an hour earlier than is typical for him. I mumbled -- Henry, you're supposed to move the clock in the opposite direction! Go back to sleep! He did. For another hour. But he got me stirring so the night was lost for me. And of course, we were out and walking by the new 6:15, which is the old 7:15. Which is fine, but it wont feel so fine tomorrow, because, well, 6:15 is just too damn early! At least sunrise is now at 6:34 a.m. so the morning light was lovely, especially with another layer of frost on the ground.

 

As I was taking the morning picture of my pooch, it struck  me that he is not easy to photograph well.  There's the issue of the dark eyes in a dark face. And, too, you don't usually get the full size of him, because Henry's outstanding characteristic is not only his height, but his length. Here's a shot that maybe tells it better:

 

 

Yes, he is still a skinny dog. I can feel his rib cage. Though maybe that's just him? I'm eager to get him to the vet for a thorough exam, though he's not booked for another several weeks so I have to remain curious and feed him by the book until told otherwise: two cups in the morning, two cups in the evening. (If he had his way, he'd eat twice that.)

Since I am still not totally okay, we called off Sunday dinner yet again. So, no visit with the young family, which is a shame. Henry would have liked to go over and see Goose. I would have liked to go over, The kids would have liked a doggy chaos.  We'll aim for next week.

 

I had moved Ed's visit from last night to this morning. Initially I thought it might be nice to eat breakfast with him, maybe with some croissants to add a note of sweetness to the moment? Oh, how much has changed! I haven't a real craving for croissants or cinnamon rolls and I dont want to wait for Ed to wake up and ride over. Nor has he been eating breakfasts of late. So I have my usual meal, enjoying the radio, reading bits and pieces of the more interesting emails.

 

 

 

Soon after, he Ed comes up. I was curious if Henry would remember Ed. They've only met a few times. 

But yes, my pooch was welcoming, even of this big guy with a beard, entering his lair.

 

 

The plan is for the three of us to head out to the Prairie Moraine Dog Park. From here, it's a 16 minute drive. From the farmhouse it is also a 16 minute drive. And from the farmhouse to the Edge? Also a 16 minute drive! Funny how that works. We form a somewhat squiggly equilateral triangle.

Ed and I know that dog park well because it abuts the Ice Age Trail -- a segment of which we have hiked many times. I was always amused to see all those dogs on the other side of the fence. Not in a million years would have I guessed that I would soon be there with a Henry!

The dog park is exceptional: it offers 76 acres (or over 30 hectares) of prairie, woodland, mowed paths-- all fenced in for off leash dog hikes. On a cool but pleasant Sunday morning, the place is teeming with dogs. Big dogs, little dogs, feisty dogs, lazy dogs. You name it -- they are there. But in a way, there is safety in numbers. You can't get away with bringing an aggressive dog to it. I should think dog owners would call you out on it. Henry is boisterous, but he has street smarts. When he senses an unfriendly dog, he stays clear. And he is so food-motivated that recalling him even from a great distance isn't hard. He comes galloping to my side, proud as anything to have this human there, ready to praise him to high heaven and give him a tid bit.

Too, as you venture out onto the trails, the dogs thin out. I have a handful of photos for you -- not enough to give a good sense of the place, although I am sure we will return. Many times. (As a senior, it costs me $20 a year to gain access to all the dog parks in Dane County.) 

("all this, for me??") 

(well, for you and all the other dogs that come here to play)

("I don't even know where to go!")

(this is what joy looks like!)

I realize that aside from very silly selfies, like this one... 

  

 

 

(hey, you try to do a selfie with a dog that's as long as you are tall, and who thinks a smart phone is evil as it distracts me from giving him my full attention!) apart from those, I do not have a photo of just Henry and me. So I ask Ed to snap a few. He does. I love them!

Next time though, I will remember to bring a bottle of water. 

 

 

 

We come back home. Henry naps, Ed naps. Henry chews on a beef stick (I know, I was all about steering clear of beef -- and then along comes Henry), Ed eats lunch. The two have a lot in common.

 

It is, of course, great to have Ed here, but it does really highlight this truth: the apartment is small. The dog is big. Ed is big. You're going to tell me we would have done better in the farmhouse, but the truth is that we would not have done better there. The farmhouse is cat and chicken territory. It hasn't a fence for a dog, so Henry would have to be leashed outside, and it isn't an easy place to take doggie walks, unless I would take him to the park (car ride required) or the new development (road walk required). I created space in the farmhouse for the kids to play in, but it's beyond me to figure out how to create a space for Henry there. In the long run, he'll get used to farmhouse visits, but I know the cats will never get used to him. And I have to admit it -- they were there first. Just like the farmette is really Ed's place: he was there first. I do need to run out my lease at the Edge. After that? Henry and I will move elsewhere. One more move in my life! Maybe the last one, but see where those kinds of predictions get you! 

with so much love...

Henry and me

Happy November... I say that with a hope that it will be happy, even accepting that it is my least favorite month of the year. (I love Thanksgiving, but that holiday comes at the tail end of the month, so you have to push through all those bleak and dark November days before you get there, by which time you're one foot into December anyway.)

A person whose heart is very much aligned with seasonal change and nature's marvels should not dismiss a whole month out of the calendar. And most certainly other months have presented worse days than November could ever deliver. Heatwaves and droughts, storms, blinding blizzards, you name it. And of course, December has the darkest days.  

And yet, here I am, admitting to a prejudice and an aversion that I've carried with me for a very long time.

We start the month with a time change (tomorrow). Normally the "fall back" in time has its bright side: an extra hour to the day! Yeah! But, too, the day suddenly ends way too soon and, too, I now have this great big pup who needs to go out whether the clock says 7 or 6, so I feel I really will have lost an hour of sleep. 

And of course, I start the month still hackin' away with a cough so there's that.

Well, never mind: let's get creative!

Having gone to the farmette many times this past week, I'm pausing today. Ed was to come over tonight, but I told him that spending the night in the same close quarters as a coughing person is not great, so we switched his visit to tomorrow and during the day. That leaves me with an empty Saturday: no Ed, no kids, no friends scheduled. 

But there is Henry.

My beautiful almost 8 month old pup wakes up nicely at 7 (or tomorrow's 6!). I try not to rush with getting him outside. He knows I'm making my way toward a walk. Let's keep it calm.

By 7:15 we are out. The sun will rise today at 7:33, so yes, it's still gloomy out there, especially since it's cloudy. Bleak November indeed!

Henry is heavily into sniffing this morning. This is a good thing for him, but it does mean that our walk has a lot of pauses. Still, a distracted dog is a good dog to work with, because one key element of my training program is to get him to focus on me when I need him to focus on me. Telling a dog to "come" when he is sitting waiting for your next command is easy. Getting him to come when he has picked up the scent of something terribly exciting -- that takes practice. So we practice.

Henry is very attentive to my praise. Unfortunately he is slated to become a one family member dog, which at once has its nice sides (oh that infinite love!), but also it means that I am his. Sharing me with, say, the computer, or the remote for the TV, or my phone -- well, we're working on that.

We eat breakfast. I look at photos from my grandkids' Halloween. It's all rather beautiful.

And then he snoozes on my lap while I catch up on reading. Yes, Henry is very much my lap dog. Not all of his body fits -- between him and me, we do fill the couch! -- but still, I am anchored to my seat, typing with one hand, gently rubbing his ears with my other.

 

When he wakes up, I mobilize myself to take him out for a good run. I realize that walking your dog for exercise is nonsense with a dog like Henry. He gets very little exercise walking next to me and believe me, I am not a pokey walker. He has Greyhound legs! No way does that dog work up a sweat with me leading him!

We go to a new to me off-leash dog park -- Walnut Grove, just six minutes down the road from me.

I'm bundled up, because the day has that November chill to it. With a light occasional drizzle. Perfect for a person with a cold, no?

The park is not big and it hasn't the good walking trails that other parks may have, but Henry loves it anyway. And I work with "come!" and treats and he is so good! 

Eventually another dog joins us. This is just perfect. Talk about good exercise for my guy! And for the other dog as well. Yet another pooch comes in later and both owners thank me for helping them exercise their dogs!

Watching their purebreds, I note the issues they present. The barking. The snarly disposition. The drooly mouth. None of these are Henry's issues. I feel like I'm on the playground with other moms or dads proud as hell of their own, smiling a little at what other parents have to put up with, feeling relieved that even if I dont have it easy, I dont have it that bad at all! 

Even this late morning romp will not be enough for Henry. But it's a good start. At home he sleeps, I write.

In the afternoon, I return to my other dog park, the one in the opposite direction. The one with the longer trails. Because I know Henry will have a happier evening if he runs off some energy in the afternoon as well.

And yes, I am aware that not all vets will recommend dog parks. I can see the dangers: you just don't know who will be there. Unvaccinated dogs. Sick dogs. Aggressive dogs. You just do not know. (In doggie day care, they screen and monitor every single pup that crosses their threshold.)  One bad experience and your dog can become something you don't want him to be: frightened. Sick. More aggressive.

And yet I go. Henry needs the run on weekends. And his temperament is so good for play: he's not aggressive, he's fairly easy to call back for a treat. I watch carefully and cross my fingers. 

 

 

 

So far I've been lucky. The Walnut Grove is in a posh suburb, so I see posh dogs there. At least I know they'll be vaccinated. The other dog park with the long run is significantly more agreeable for exercise, but it's almost in the boonies, out by a small airport, so there is a risk. I go, but I know there is a risk. 

Evening. Just Henry and me tonight. Fiercely loyal -- he to me, I to him.

with so much love...