to Paris

I slept well. You know how when you are mega tired, it often takes longer to unwind and your sleep is then interrupted? I think in the last couple of days, I wound myself up so much that I went beyond tired. I was out by midnight and didn't wake up until after 8. Amazing. (Or, is it that I skipped my lunch coffee, only because there was no place or time for it? One can never be sure as to the causes and effects of these things.)

Looking outside a side window, I see it again -- that St Paul de Vance skyline. 

Looking toward the front big window, I can just catch a strip of the Mediterranean.

Breakfast -- simple but near perfect. (Missing: fresh fruit. An apple would have put it at 100% for me.)

I've met the two dashing gentlemen who seem to run the place. Or at least assist Ann who may well own the Villa and be their mother. I can't figure it out and I'm here for such a short time that I wont try. In any case, they were all lovely and sympathetic, not charging me for the missed night. They all remind me of the characters in the art in my room, which I'll show you because it's so appropriate for my stay -- the rain! The umbrellas!

And now to Paris. It is strange, I know, to be flying there. I always take the train. Why wouldn't I -- it's fast reliable comfortable and it bypasses the whole airport scene. But this time I went with the free for me flight (gotta use up those miles!). It's also a question of time. I'd have to backtrack to Marseille and change there. To arrive in Paris at a decent hour, I'd have to leave early. Too early. 

So I catch a ride to the airport. And then my flight to Paris.

In all these movements by cab, encounters with various French people along the way, you may wonder if anything has changed in their attitude toward Americans. My sample is so small right now that I hate to pass judgment, but I'll tell you this much: for me, it feels like things have changed. In my past visits here this year, people were eager to engage. To voice their opinion. To question American support for our current administration. This time I am met with avoidance and silence. Politeness supreme, but there is also that refusal to talk about it. As if doing so would be too painful, both from the economics of it and the emotional charge. To me, it feels like they've given up on trying to understand, because after the last escapades, there's nothing more to say. We know what's at play. Best not to put it into words. I'll let you know if perhaps I just stumbled on the wrong sample of people. Paris may be different. 

 

The flight is on time and easy. I take the train to the city and walk past the Jardin Luxembourg down to Le Baume.

And oh, am I glad to be at this hotel, in what I love to think of as "my room." 

I have gone through so many residential changes in these years, with more to come, and yet, here in Paris, Le Baume has been my home for more than twenty years. The stability, the feeling of familiarity and kindness of the staff, knowing every detail here and liking it all -- this is exactly what I need right now. I have no desire for adventure in Paris. I just want to take each day at a time and run with it as the mood dictates. I can do that here like nowhere else. I am immensely happy to be back.

Immediately I head out to the park. Why? Because Paris is sunny today. It may well be the only sunshine I'll get on my trip. I want its glow and uplifting brilliance. Too, in January and especially on the weekend, the park really does belong to Parisians. (Not exclusively -- there will always be visitors here, even in late January.) If I want to feel myself to be here, in this city, then walking the boulevards of le Jardin Luxembourg is the way to do it.

It is so crowded with seemingly content people that I have to smile. Even at the height of the tourist season, it's never this packed. Of course it's full of strolling people, wouldn't you go out on a warmer, sunny day, after a blast of winter? (Paris had snow last week. Today it's 48F/9C.) Not a single chair is empty. No problem, people find ways to relax and face the sun.)

 

 

 

 

  

 

I've skipped lunch again, deliberately this time. My hotel is next to a shop selling teas. I buy packets of hibiscus-red fruits, including strawberry. At le Baume, I pick up a warm almond croissant -- they put these out for you in the late afternoon. Delicious!

 

 

I unpack. Here for four nights (with a brief trip after to the country, to another familiar place, for a forest walk). Tonight, I'll do nothing unusual. (Perhaps all the time I'm here I'll do nothing unusual.) Indeed, I even go to the restaurant that I've adopted as the easiest and most comfortable meal for me -- at Seulement Sea. So yes, seafood once again. And then home. You have no idea how good it feels to be returning late in the evening to Le Baume.

Later still,  I sort through the puzzle of my return. Just to make things more complicated, I want to see if I can come back a day earlier. There are technical reasons for it. Of course, given the storms pushing through the US, everything for this coming week is booked solid. And still, I make the effort, giving up only late into the night. I write about this because I have long understood that in travel, nothing is set. You can move things around some of the time. And I always try, if it strikes me that a change may be for the best, though as tonight demonstrates, sometimes you just cannot do it. Still, I think you should try and not rest with something you think may not work as well as you had hoped.

 

with so much love... 

records set, explanations offered

So much to take in! Let it not be said that January of this year is a slow month for me. These days are setting records. Bitter cold temperatures (back home), wet skies (south of France), and chaos in my head. January 21st will be a day I wont quickly forget. In the thick of travel, running on absolutely no sleep, jumping from one country to the next, flying great distances and ending up in the wrong place, and in all this, I am putting in place life changes. I do this in moments when I have access to my phone or laptop -- while stuck in traffic in taxis (with a grumbling driver once he discovers I am from the US), swaying on airport buses, and while waiting to disembark a stranded in Marseille airplane, with email systems crashing, cancellations mounting, documents needing to be signed floating in the Internet universe and, like my plane, not landing where they should -- oh, I'd say I had my fill of craziness yesterday.

But I got through it. At dizzying speeds, I got through it and kept all details straight in my head. So no, I'm not fading yet at 72.

And now here I am, waking up to a not too awful looking morning in Marseille. (It's still raining in Nice.)

Marseille. It was a city I'd considered for many repeat trips a few years back. I liked it, I wanted to come back more than once. To a small bed and breakfast, where I made friends with the owner, Odile. (Her b&b has been closed for a while now. Who knows if she is still even there -- she was older.) The tumult of Marseille appealed to me. And then, in what seems to be my style in life, I cut the cord and came back no more. At some point, possibly coinciding with the time I moved to the farmhouse (so maybe a dozen plus years ago), visiting big cities was no longer very attractive to me. I missed nature. The quiet. [Paris is the one place I never abandoned, possibly because I stay in a hotel that is quiet (Le Baume) and it is next to nature (Jardin Luxembourg).]

And yet, here I am, in Marseille again.

Breakfast at the Sofitel is fine. Buffet style, with standout croissants. Fruits, yogurt, an egg, some cake piece. With milky coffee.

Maybe I should hit pause for a while (in my rapid fire decision making) and think about what I just put in place. I was telling one of my daughters a few days back that I've made most major decisions in my life very quickly and though some of them had consequences that were profound, and not always without issue, I've regretted none of them. It all worked out somehow. I've said this before -- I was born under an unlucky star (very sick, living away from my parents, in rather primitive conditions), but very quickly my luck changed. Medical emergencies never put me into a grave, for one thing! I was loved and loved right back. I saw places, did things and stayed afloat financially, despite turbulence and work crises. My grandma, my young families, my friends -- they have been my rocks, my anchors, joined by Ed. So on balance my speedy twists and turns served me well.

Henry was a speedy choice. I fell in love with my daughter's rescue dog and decided I could help a rescue as well. 

Henry turned out to be not an easy dog. In the important domains, he is magnificent. He loves his people deeply and completely.  ("His people" are those whom he has sniffed out approvingly.) His eyes are on me, his heart is big and only growing bigger. His loyalty is 110%. He is smart, routine driven, lap dog affectionate.

But, the word they use to describe many rescues -- "shy" -- isn't what you'd think it is. When you meet a shy person, you think -- they aren't effusive, loud. They don't seek out others. Rather, they need to be sought out. A shy rescue on the other hand, one who isn't comfortable with people he doesn't know, is a dog that has been traumatized and strangers scare him. Strangers scare Henry and the closer he gets to me, the more strangers scare him. His behavior at the Edge has not only not improved, it's gotten worse. The professional advice has been to remove the source of fear -- in his case, elevators, empty hallways that suddenly have people popping out of their apartments, sometimes right outside my door. I cannot do that at the Edge. And when he barks and pulls hard to sniff out these folks, they retreat in terror. It's a vicious cycle that is reinforced each time the elevator opens and there are people on the other side of the door. 

I dont want him (or me!) to have to deal with this. Henry needs to be elsewhere. His best place to learn to relax is not in an apartment building, with long corridors, opening doors, elevators. 

In a couple of weeks, I'll be moving out. To a house. Not Steffi's House -- that one isn't available yet. But there is an empty house waiting for renters just a few steps down from it. Call it the Suelo House (because that's the name of the street it's on). I can have it until Steffi's becomes available this summer.  

I arranged it all in transit yesterday --  a move-in date, a new lease, negotiated as to date and price, movers, help with packing, an ad to find subletters for the Edge (at a discount, so if you know anyone!) -- all of it. 

There's more: I'm getting a second dog. Whereas the move will surely have the benefits I seek, this decision raises some concern among at least some of my beloveds. Even my vet speculated about this: might things get worse? Henry could get jealous. The next rescue can have unanticipated problems. And she can learn from Henry to be on guard (rather than have him learn from her to be calm).

I understand the concerns and I admit that it carries some risk. Nonetheless, a better part of me is convinced that this will help my boy. I am selecting a rescue very very carefully. She must have a verified (through foster care) calmness and friendliness about her. She needs to be older than Henry -- past the feisty and challenging teen years (meaning past 2 in people years). And she can't be black because I like diversity and it's hard enough to photograph these two black dogs (Henry and Goose) anyway.

Henry just loves to play with dogs. Whatever reserve he has had with strangers, he has no shyness with pooches. He has impeccable manners with them and most importantly, they help relax him. At the training, where there are both dogs and strangers, he has no desire to bark and pull. At his Camp right now, I'm getting reports of continued shyness toward people, but complete abandon and joy when he is with his canine friends. I am convinced he will love his new sib.

I do have one in mind, again from Texas, coming up here in mid February. A day after my move! Things will be interesting then! (I have still to do a long interview with the caretakers of this new one, so there is a chance that my twenty questions about her wont yield a great result, but I think I'm solid here.)

Frankly, the biggest puzzler that I have is how to walk two dogs, given my age and given their size (the second one, while smaller than Henry, is still considered medium which, in dog parlance appears to mean nearly 50 pounds, so no petite fille there. But, the new house is close to the dog park and I think we'll spend a lot of time exercising there. 

So here I am in France, writing and thinking about dogs and moves and the details of each of those huge categories! Enough of that! Let's get back to my travels

 

I booked a train to Antibes for just before noon. Antibes is one of those posh Riviera communities and it is a preferable point of departure for my final destination, St Paul de Vance. Nice (the city where I was to fly to) is too big, too full of traffic. My Villa people said get off at Antibes, just before Nice.

Okay, but how is it looking out there in Marseille? Not bad, albeit the big rains are coming, spreading the length of the Mediterranean coast.

After breakfast, I do go out for a short stroll, even though my heart isn't in it. 

(so many sailboats along the coast here!) 

Marseille doesn't lend itself to that kind of inspection. It requires a lot of walking and the distances aren't short and the stuff you pass can get on the gritty side of things. The one thing it did for me today is bring back the past. Thoughts of how much has changed since I was here last in  2015. (It rained then as well, by the way.)

And then I got on my train for Antibes.

And finally, from there, I Uber over to the Villa St Maxime.

(my once encounter with the sea, from the car window: oh, that azure color!)

 

That was one long trip from Madison! 

(the Villa)

 

(view from the garden: the Mediterranean coast has beautiful mimosa bushes in full yellow bloom, from January until March)

 

I do walk over immediately to the Fondation Maeght. This is where you'll find one of the largest collections of 20th century Modern Art in Europe. Bonnard, Chagall, Giacometti, Kadinsky, Leger, Miro -- they're all here, in abundance. (MIro -- in great abundance, sculptures and paintings.)  Here's a link if you want more information. As usual, all you get from me are a couple of favorites. 

The museum was almost empty of course. I'm surprised they keep it open every single day in the winter. A few French people were studying a few pieces very carefully, otherwise it was just me.

Yes, there is a fabulous, enormous sculpture garden. 

What can I say -- there's a lot of wealth in this collection.

I should note that I a little bit enjoyed the moody weather. The drizzle. The dark forest with greens on branches, year round. 

A dog came to greet me. I think he belonged to the caretaker, but I don't really know. I thought about how a couple of years ago France introduced a mandatory subject into its school curriculum: kindness and respect for pets. France may love its coddled dogs, but they too have an "abandoned dogs" problem. The Guardian reports that there were 100 000 dogs dumped and left to fend for themselves in 2023. Perhaps the curriculum is a response to that? In the U.S. the problem is even larger though. In Texas alone, 560 000 dogs and cats entered shelters last year. There are few animal welfare laws and of course the climate allows them to survive. Too, there is the culture of "do what I want." That spills over to control over animals.

From there, I walk to the center of the medieval St Paul de Vance. 

 

 

 

My little hotel (or is it a bed and breakfast maybe? I'm the only guest today..), lovely as it is, has the flaw that it is just outside of town. Normally I would enjoy the hilly walk, but for about 500 meters, there is no sidewalk and the road is very narrow and it curves. Cars come at you and stepping to the side is nearly impossible. There is no side. A fatal flaw that I hope is not really a fatal flaw! If I published this, then I survived the second walk into town for dinner. But I am now glad I came today and not yesterday. It would not have been fun doing it after that long trip, in the rain, dead tired.

Too, I have mixed views of St Paul de Vance. The little hamlet has 50 art galleries, all with big pieces of high quality art. 

For me, they sort of destroy the character of the town. Medieval villages did not have high brow stuff for sale. They were dirty dark and dismal. Of course, that wouldn't draw anyone today and these hilltop villages survive on tourism, but having these extremely expensive shops throughout is a little odd, I think.

I did stop at the perfume store -- the Fragonard Boutique. Out of sentiment for the brand. I'd been to Grasse where their perfumes are made and I do love the scents here, in Provence. And I bought something! A diffuser for my new home! I have never used a diffuser and my daughter tells me you can't smell a thing with them, but that's good, because Ed claims he has issues with scents anyway. (I dont believe him, but I wont push this and when he comes for a visit, I'll hide the bottle.)

 

Dinner? Back to town...

 

 

 

... At Le Moulin de Saint Paul.  It calls itself a bistro (though in my view it does not look like a bistro!)...

 

 

... and it comes recommended by my Villa. It has a talented chef and I was happy as anything with my smoked trout on a veggie blini...

 

 

... my scallops, and my dessert of lavender creme brulee. There, I had a very Provencal meal. And yes, there's that glass of wine. They hand you a list of wines and beverages and I scan the pages, looking for zero alcohol choices and there are non. At least here they pour a reasonable amount. Delta Airlines fills their tumbler-sized glasses to the top.

 

Evening. I'm still signing documents and working out the details of the next month. But I also do feel (finally!) that I am away, in France. And it does feel good to be here again. 

Tomorrow, I go up north, to Paris.

with so much love... 

on my way, but...where am I?

Well that was close! My Madison flight was late coming into Detroit. I made my connection to Amsterdam, but just barely (I was among the last to board). You will know by the end of this post whether my suitcase was equally lucky.

The overseas flight was so easy and smooth - I should have slept some, but I didn't. I watched a horrible 2025 movie with Emma Thompson (Dead of Winter), where one person after the next was bleeding to death or worse (yes, worse!), then turned off the screen and read a very sad and disturbing book about a marriage breaking up (Belle Burden's Strangers). It was compelling enough that it did not make me sleepy. I made the mistake of breaking my abstinence from alcohol and drank a glass of wine hoping it would leave me dozing off but it did nothing of the sort. All the spinning thoughts in my head from the last two nights are still there. Add to them being in an airplane, the wine, the horrible movie and the compelling book and you have yourself a case of total insomnia.

But, here I am in Amsterdam and much as I think the timing of this trip is so wrong, nonetheless, the airport has a long and sweet history for me -- from my first solo trip abroad (when I was just 18, traveling to the U.S. to be a nanny), to years of making connections here on my way to... well, everywhere!

Breakfast? Back to pain au chocolat!

 

 

I'm going to France, but not Paris immediately. My first stop is to be St Paul de Vence -- a small place up in the hills, just to the west of Nice. It's a medieval village and it inspired such greats as Chagall, Picasso and Matisse. (Chagall lived his final years here and is buried in the local cemetery.) On my list of imperatives is a museum:  the Fondation Maeght. More about that later. One other imperative is to walk the village streets and ramparts, and take in the Provence atmosphere in the off off season, but it looks like it will rain the whole two days I am to be there so I may be lowering my ambitions. I've been to this region many times and I swear that their motto here of 300 sunny days per year has failed me for more than 50% of the time. Just click on the link to Nice at the side of Ocean. You'll see lots of photos of... rain. Well, I brought my umbrella. 

I'm getting ahead of myself.

The village can easily be reached from Nice Airport. A taxi ride takes maybe 20 minutes. 

I booked a hotel that looks lovely, with that open air layout that benefits from all the sunshine that streams to this region. (Except not on the days I'm here!) It's called the Villa St. Maxime. You can rent the whole thing because it is really small -- just five rooms. The architecture of the place is stunning -- no surprise, as it is the work of a great architect, Dominic Michaelis. You can read about it here, but let me just note that he is well known for his solar structures and residences that rely on renewable energy. Michaelis is a great believer in the power of waves, the sun and offshore platforms. You can quickly see how he would maybe not be on the same page as our current leadership. (According to the Economist, last year, wind and solar energy overtook fossil fuels in 2025 among countries of the EU, and coal mining fell dramatically on the continent. Having spent my first years in a house in Poland heated by coal, I know too well about coal pollution. I could hypothesize about its link to my prolonged coughing now every time I catch a virus.)

The above text? It is what was supposed to have happened. Madison to Detroit, Detroit to Amsterdam, Amsterdam to Nice, Nice to the Villa. Lovely dinner in a Provencal restaurant. Museum booked for tomorrow morning.

That is not what transpired.

 

Look where we are landing:

I know it's cloudy foggy rainy, but let me assure you, that is not Nice. That is Marseille. Maybe you heard? There was a plane crash at Nice Airport minutes before our landing. The landing gear of that plane did not open and they did a belly landing. They had sprayed the runway with foam. No one was hurt! Amazing and fantastic. But the airport is closed. So here we are, in Marseille. 

It's a long drive to Nice from here and it's an even longer train ride. All those hills and cliffs! I wont get to St Paul de Vance tonight. I called the Sofitel in Marseille, because they are affiliated with my airline and I know I will get reimbursed for it. They had only three rooms available (why is Marseille so popular in January?) so I grabbed one. Here is my view. In the rain. Because it's also raining hard in Marseille. Wet but lovely.

 

 

You know how often I come to France, how much of it I have explored.I do believe this is the first time in my life when I have resorted to staying in a chain hotel. It feels remarkably like the Sofitel in Chicago. Am I even in France?  

I am far from the restaurant circuit -- a bit of a walk and normally I would not shy away from it, but I am dead tired and it is raining and anyway, I'm not supposed to be in Marseille! Room service brings me a Mediterranean fish. They have no non-alcoholic beers or wines so wisely, I drink water.

 

 

All this time I have been working my phone nonstop. I am changing things around in February. Majorly! To accomplish this, I had to coordinate many moving pieces. More on this later. What really unnerved me tonight is that my email crashed. Completely. Nothing came in, nothing went out, just as I was rearranging my life and depending so much on confirmations via email. I worked for an hour troubleshooting. I Zoomed Ed. We worked together for another hour. It reminded me very much of our early life together when we would travel and the Internet would stop working. We would spend endless time trying to figure out why. 

In the end he told me to call my email provider and I did and of course, the problem was theirs, not mine. I could have sang with joy. Not my problem! -- are my favorite words at the moment.

Right now I have to try hard to get some sleep.

Tomorrow, I hope to get to Nice. For one night in St Paul de Vance. Ridiculously short but there you have it. 

with so much love...

away

I wasn't very worried about leaving Henry at camp for eleven days. He'd been there in December and had a great time. I like their staff. He has a nice space, upgraded to one with furniture (though I don't know what kind of furniture. Could be a stool for all they've shown me). There are dogs. Henry loves to play with dogs! I purchased time with them. All good? 

Then why did I wake early and go over the plan for the day a million times in my head? When he came to greet me, I was fully awake. 

(brace for the elevator)

 

Cold today, but it is going to be even colder in the coming days! I'm not going to look for comparables, but I will throw out the possibility that the North Pole and us wont be that far apart. Way below 0F. Like maybe -20F/-30C. 

But this morning, it's just your regular January Wisconsin cold. With some flurries to add spice to the day. 

I had tried to leave nothing unusual for the morning. Nothing that would raise concern in Henry. We ate our breakfasts...

We snuggled, perhaps extra hard on my part...

I had his bags in the car already. My navigator pooch did notice that we were going in a different direction, but still, he trusts me. Maybe a park?

Not a park. Camp K9. My anxiety level, though not as high as his, is definitely on the upswing. We get out of the car. I have treats, I have sweet words. Henry looks at me, at his surroundings, sits down. Wont budge. He is shaking so much that I swear he looks like he's possessed.

My heart breaks. Really, it just splits and shatters. 

After very many minutes, he responds to coaxing. Someone else goes in with their dog. That reassures him. He goes in, hugging the wall all the time.

The staff person (she has such a gentle manner!) and I try to coax him to his "room." She resorts to tugging, but I know that wont work: when he sits, he will not be moved. You'd have to drag him on his butt. He wont follow me. He wont go without me. 

My heart is racing.

She asks -- is it okay if I pick him up? Can you? He is a big guy! I can do it. 

Henry does not protest. He's terrified, but he wont aggress. He's a gentle spirit through and through. My beloved Henry! Carried away.

She tells me he relaxed instantly once inside. I left plenty of instructions, blankets, toys, food, treats. I know he'll be okay. And yet, there were the tears.

 

At home, I finish packing, watering plants, feeding birds, tidying everything. I noted that my first flight is delayed. The weather is bad across most of the United States, but it's January -- I have never left without weather issues. I expect all will go okay. Maybe.

I drive to the farmette, Ed takes me to the airport. 

So much on my mind right now! All the questions of yesterday just got pushed forward to today. My friend wished me a happy trip. I wrote back -- right now, I just want to stay home, read my book and snuggle with my dog. But I guess I can read my book in France and my dog seems to be doing okay. So I'm off.

I'll write tomorrow. From France, if all goes well. 

with SO much love! 

Sisimiut

Madison is the second largest city in Wisconsin. Sisimiut is the second largest city in Greenland. Madison is 2200 miles south of the Arctic Circle. Sisimiut is 25 miles north of the Arctic Circle. Today's lows in Madison were far lower than the lows of Sisimiut. No wonder we have our eyes out for that territory. Palm tree weather over there! Sure, below freezing, but with our know-how, anything's possible.

Henry slept far better than I did. Too much in my head right now. Not helped by the fact that I was nearly at the end of my second Maeve Binchy book and it was captivating! Plus I had picked Adolescence (the Netflix mini series that claimed more than one award last week) for my evening viewing pleasure and I have to say, it's been a long time since I've seen such a good series on TV. At once riveting and terrifying (because of the huge negative impact social media can have on kids), I wondered if I should just binge watch all four episodes. In the end I pulled myself away after one, but the show stayed with me and kept me awake. As did the book. As did my musings about Henry. As did the forthcoming trip. Who says older people ruminate over one issue? I jumped between so many! I tell you, it was not a peaceful night.

And the morning was cold. But beautiful.

And breakfast was wonderful. I finished the book and liked the ending and I snuggled with Henry and life was good again. 

(getting bigger...)

 

 

When I drove him to doggie daycare (his last trip there for a good many days), he strained as usual to look out the front window (Snowdrop calls him the navigating Henry) to see where we were going. As soon as we got to the last quarter mile, he began whining and wagging to go be with his playmates. He is that happy to be with other dogs. 

 

At home, I pack Henry's suitcase. Tomorrow he goes to camp. Am I nervous about this? Of course I am! But unlike the first time, I do know he will manage and will come home a happy pup. 

 

In the afternoon I have a complicated pick up: of Sparrow at school, of mom at work, of Snowdrop after drama club, of Henry and Goose from daycare. We do it all. And talk about multi-tasking! While we were getting Snowdrop, I got a call from Henry's vet to talk about his elevator anxiety. I had to say -- forgive me, I'm in the car, with the kids and we're driving up to Culver's, excuse me for a minute, (turning now to the Culver's drive-up ordering) that'll be a kid's meal with a cheeseburger with nothing on it, yes of course with the cheese, just nothing else, with small fries with ketchup, and water and no, we don't have a custard chip and also a medium fries with no ketchup, no nothing else on that either, okay now about the elevator fears...What is it kids? Yes, that's doctor Sarah, your aunt's best friend from school... now back to the issue of the elevator... I was thinking, maybe I should get a second dog for him? Multitasking I tell you!

(these two are not afraid of elevators)

(how they love the excitement of the two dogs coming home...)

Home. Henry is snuggled up next to me, having me feel terrible for leaving him tomorrow. I'm binge finishing the Adolescence series. I finished the book, I ate up all the left-overs. I did not finish packing. I did not finish telling Henry how much I'll miss him. I'll ask them to send photos, every day! 

with so much love...

 

Kugluktut

What do I have in common with the people living in Kugluktut Canada? (Kugluktut, with a population of about 1300, is a Canadian community along the Arctic Ocean, north of the Arctic Circle.) Last night and today, we, here in Middleton Wisconsin exactly tracked the temperatures of that hamlet. 

Henry and I went out for a walk when it had warmed up to -7F/-22C.

But what about last night? Have we been evicted yet??

Well. It's as if the weekend had never happened. Yesterday, there was no movement in the hallways after 9 p.m.. Henry was mellow. No woofs at all. He followed me to the bedroom, as in the old times, and went to sleep at the same moment that I went to sleep.

Of course, before I rejoice too much, I have to acknowledge the fact that Henry still does not like sounds and movement just outside my door, especially at night when the world is otherwise quiet. I can't assume that there will be no repeat of the weekend evening mess. And speaking of mess, when I was tidying up this morning, I saw that over the weekend, obviously at the time of his greatest agitation, he had an accident on the carpet in the spare room. That's a first, and it speaks volumes to the degree of his agitation then. 

This morning? Calm as ever. 

(In his warmest jacket, which is a pain to take off -- both he and I know this!)

Breakfast, lovely.

A hug and a cuddle...

And off he goes to doggie daycare, while I head to Barriques Cafe to contemplate the events of the weekend, the events of the week to come, and, importantly, my younger girl whose birthday it is today.

She had sent me over the weekend a photo of herself, sitting next to me. 

 

 

 

I was then 40 obviously, she was 8. One last time playing around with curls for me, one last time playing around with bangs for her. Has she changed much since then? Have I? Well of course, in the obvious ways that growing and aging will provide. But in essence -- no. She has the same good heart, sharp brain, artistic inclination, quiet demeanor. She processes everything, but you'll likely not know about it. Like her sister, she is a great advice giver to me (and their advice is the same only 50% of the time, so I get different perspectives!). She is extremely generous with me in letting me write about her and I try to honor and respect that (for both daughters!) by not crossing boundaries of privacy. 

I hope she is happy today. I know she is happy in life. May it always bring her joy and deep satisfaction! Happy happy birthday, sweet child of mine! With endless love and a fabric twinkle in my eye. Different that we are, nonetheless, we are so much of the same fabric.

 

I also think about the fence at Steffi's House. The one I want to build before I move there this summer. I'm getting a lot of pushback from the HOA, despite the fact that it is exactly the same as fencing on other properties. Same area, same style, same everything. I've thrown at the developer (who basically runs the HOA) all my best legal arguments and still, he balks. We are on round 862 it seems. I persevere!

 

So where am I heading with the dog, the potential eviction, my life? Well, as my older daughter pointed out, there have been no complaints to management thus far and so it's premature to start packing. Enduring elevator rides may have to be our burden for the months to come. But why speculate about that. One day at a time.

 

As for my life -- I'm leaving on a trip I had planned way back in the summer. I had been going to the French Alps in January for several years now. Snowdrop would very much like to go back. But I said a hard no to that. Not this year, when so much else is going on. Judging by the number of avalanches they have had in the Swiss and French Alps this year, I can't say that I have great regrets! 

But I did put in a trip for myself, just to France and not to the mountains. And though I would like to save money given every unexpected expense under the sun I paid for it a while back and I decided to stick with it. It's been a while. The longest break for me since I got divorced, now more than 20 years ago. American that I am, Europe is very much a part of me too and I don't know how many more trips I have before me. So I'm off, on Wednesday. 

 

I do realize that I am going to Europe at the height of hatred for Americans. If you read the comments to the daily stories of our imperialism and disregard for, and downright hostility toward just about everything that's good and right about this world, you'll see that most, written by Canadians and Europeans, are seething with anger. Not only at our leadership, but at us, all of us, because fury tends to spill over like that. We are in fact viewed now as a failed country with a political apparatus that put in place those whose greed and power threaten to dismantle all the progress made toward peace, environmental conservation, human rights. We always have had a far reaching power to aid and along with it -- power to destroy. It seems we're using it mightily now. So much destruction, causing suffering and frankly panic. 

 If you think that their wrath is unfair, that "you didn't vote for him," well I disagree that it's unfair. We've paraded proudly the Great American Idea as if it were our own for decades now. Should we shy away from taking responsibility for the chaotic mess that we have unleashed? I remember all too well as a postwar kid living in Poland how deep was my antipathy toward Germans. All Germans. Because in some fashion I felt they seeded the rise of the Nazi party. Hitler also did not get the majority of the popular vote. His party peaked at 44% in 1933, when suppression and intimidation were at play. After that, well, there were no other parties to vote for. Clever dude. Nevertheless, I bristled at the sound of the German language, long after World War II.

I'm stepping into that world of distrust and dislike for Americans now, equipped only with shirts and a cap that have the word Resist emblazoned on them. How paltry! How sad. But I will not run away from it. I am an American and I need to face up to what my country is doing to the world order. If it hurts to hear it -- so be it. It's the least that I can do -- allow others to vent, to tell me how betrayed they feel.

 

In the meantime, I have a day off and since Henry is with his dog pals (thank goodness! not a day for lovely walks, given the temps!), I take out my suitcase and pack it up for the trip. Unusual for me to do it this early, but I have much to do tomorrow and the next day and so I pack.

 

Evening. It is, of course Martin Luther King Jr Day. There are so many quotes that I could write down here and have us be moved by them. I chose this one, because it seems so of the moment, even though it came out of a sermon delivered in 1967: If we are to have peace on earth, our loyalties must become ecumenical (I take that to mean "of the world," promoting unity and cooperation) rather than sectional. Our loyalties must transcend our race, our tribe, our class, and our nation; and this means we must develop a world perspective.

with so much love... 

 

thinking and singing

What is the well known admonishment? You can't change someone's behavior, but you can change your reaction toward it? I'll be working on that today.

Henry had a late night of agitated barking. My calm as pie pup who had issued no howl or woof all day long, let it out starting at around 10, when once again there were comings and goings out in the hallway. It lasted until 12:30 -- the time the last person left an apartment across the way from mine.

I could tell that Henry was agitated. I'd turned out the lights already but he would not, could not settle down. And he kept coming to my bedside, putting his paws up on it, licking my hand -- not typical behavior for him at all. Was he looking for reassurance, or giving reassurance to me? I honestly can't tell. I was really tempted to let him come up on the bed (it is the one place where I do not allow him and he is scrupulous in following my rules here), so that I could stroke him, rub his tummy, calm him down. But I knew it would be a mistake. In the long run he'd stay with me in the bed but would not be reassured by it. Evening prowling out in the hallway puts him on alert and I doubt I can make that go away in one act or one day or even as the trainer said -- in the 6 months I am to be here still.

At the same time, I do have great sympathy for the innocent people in my building (even for my upstairs neighbors, who right on cue, resumed sex last night, though mercifully it was very brief, possibly because it had been so long...). People are allowed to leave late and talk quietly in the hallways. Henry's barks, on the other hand, are loud. They bother me and I love my dog! After a day of a blissfully silent dog, I had two hours of frazzled nerves -- his and mine. 

This morning, I see myself as having three choices: the fist is an already scheduled consultation with the vet. I doubt that drugging Henry for my six Edge months is the answer, but maybe? The owner of the training school thinks this is what I should do, at least for the elevator people problem, but for this late night howling too I suppose. My second answer it to proactively move out before they kick me out of here. I have to assume that they would allow me to break the lease given the problem I'm having with his noise level, though it may be that they'd want me out, but keep my rent til the end of the lease anyway. That is of course a nonstarter. I don't have that kind of money to waste. The third option is for me to stay despite notices and warnings from management that I'm sure they're writing as we speak. It's very hard to actually evict a renter under the laws we have in the state. It would take months -- perhaps enough time for my lease to run out and for me to have a place to move to. Steffi's house is available midsummer. I'm needling the person who lives there to move out sooner, but he's got a good deal going and I can't see him giving it up voluntarily.

No, the fourth option of giving Henry up is not on the table. If Henry were at all aggressive, I'd reluctantly go that route. But I know him to be exactly the opposite: loving, kind, smart, making every effort to please. I love him, he loves me. It ends there.

Were I to move out, by force , or on my own initiative, where would I go? Having Henry makes a return to the farmhouse not only unlikely but impossible. What would happen to the cats there in the dead of winter? Too, Ed loves quiet. Pancake scratching Henry's eyes out would not be a quiet scene. 

Henry and I could hang out in my daughter's basement, but for many many many reasons, I'd like not to have to do that. Yes I would go there rather than pack my belongings and live in the back seat of the car, but otherwise, I need to be on my own.

Another apartment? That's just plain silly. Henry is not an apartment boy. Rent a house? I actually looked at what's out there in my price range. I would positively HATE moving to someone's house rental in the dead of winter and for only 6 months. And of course, in Madison's tight housing market, there are slim pickings.

So where do I go with this? I return to the "change my attitude," because unless I get some miracle meds into my boy, I sure am not going to change Henry in a short period of time. I need to accept that this is him now. That his fear of the unknown is part of who he is. I need to find a way to get enough sleep anyway. I need to not fret endlessly about what the neighbors will say. There are other barking dogs in the building. Perhaps equally hated. Let the people complain. They have a right to do it. I will do my best to calm him, but that is all I will do. 

 

Henry slept later this morning. I wouldn't say it was a total zonk out until the brunch hour, but it was a good solid hour behind his normal schedule. Not surprised -- he needs his sleep just as much as I need mine.

By the time we go out, the sun is out.

 

It is a bitter cold day. Highs in the single digits (so -13C maybe). Henry's paws are hurting so our walk is brief.

I haven't even given him breakfast and he goes straight  to the couch to rest.

My poor, tired pup.

I eat as he snoozes...

And then I take stock. We'll need to walk, but not just yet. Henry continues to rest while I process in my head  these two nights of a scared puppy. Big dog that he is, he's just a puppy, trying to understand his place in this world.

 

We go out for some exercise at Penni Klein dog park.  Initially we are alone. He does run, but he also engages me in play -- of the type for which I am a poor candidate.

I am glad when suddenly two dogs show up. The chase is on. 

My pup is tired afterwards. To be expected. I use the time to prepare dinner for the young family. Henry and I are over at their place, with my dinner. And it's great to let the dogs cavort without anyone being bothered by them. Oh, the luxury of a house!

Two of the three kids (including the one who had his hair cut to meet his own scissor work) are reading, one is pretending he is one of the dogs.

 

 

 

 

 

Somehow the dinner conversation worked it's way to music. And singing. (And yes, that's Henry, sitting patiently and wondering if someone would throw him some food.)

 

 

None of the kids are confident singers and unfortunately it has become a vicious self-fulfilling prophecy. They mostly do not like to sing. It turns out the parents haven't given up on them. My daughter has been sporadically teaching herself guitar and she is determined to someday have the family singing.

And then she says -- you know gaga plays the guitar... We should all sing with her on the guitar. I had to laugh. Two days ago Ed had finally disposed of my guitar on Craigslist. I hadn't touched it in years -- indeed ever since I figured out that the kids don't really like to sing. My daughter wasn't deterred. You can play mine!

To say I'm rusty is sort of like saying Henry only occasionally barks. Both are true, but they hide a bigger reality. Still, I put on my cap, the one that came in the mail for me today (it says "Resist Together' -- I figured I might like it during my forthcoming travels) and we sit down to sing. Songs of peace, songs for kids, silly ones, serious ones.

 

 

And the kids join in. And it is wonderful!

 

At home, I am prepared for a rerun of the past two nights, though perhaps some people are working tomorrow, so they wont keep such late hours. Henry, my darling love, you need your beauty rest! As do I...

 

 

with so much love...