Lobster On My Shoulder …

January 19, 2020 – Sunday

This week son (Ted) entered a short story contest. I was too chicken to sign up for it … deeming my writing skills “too rusty” compared to other works I’ve read lately. However, I still wanted to know the instructions he was given so that I could “dip my toes in” without really doing so.

The first phase of the contest is (less than) 2500 words – genre: romance, character: woodworker and subject: getting organized. If you don’t use these parameters you are disqualified. Finalists are chosen and they then go on to Round 2 and are given another assignment … until it continues to a winner.

Here’s my unofficial story …

Twilight. My favorite time of the day. As I sat beneath the oak tree in the yard – it hit me. No, not the answer to world peace or how to feed our nation’s hungry … but a perfect little acorn! Pointy end down it hit me – right on top of my head – and along with it the idea of what to do with the task at hand. The seed of the tree became the seed of my idea. From small things grow great things. I rubbed my head and hoped I was right.

He planted the tree before I was born. Our initials are carved into its trunk. He was always hopeful. Who plants a tree unless you are hopeful that there will be a future and someone who will love and enjoy it? He was always believing that there would be tomorrow. Always believing that I would come.

He was the love of my life.

He was decades older than myself but people seemed to understand. He’d known me almost my entire life. It was love at first sight – for both of us. And that’s just the way it was … and continued to be.

Until it wasn’t.

Professionally I am Jacqueline Dumond – aka: The Curator of Clutter. Seriously, that’s my title. Otherwise, I’m known as “JD”. How I got to this point, I’m not really sure. One day I was helping a neighbor organize her linen closet and the next I was juggling talk shows and book signings about all things clutter and organization. That then morphed into curating – saving and displaying what is special and loved as masterfully as in any museum. Which then morphed into the realm of interior design and well, here I am today – kind of a Jacqueline of all trades – but mostly I am the queen of all things clutter. And now … wood.

“JD – I’ve found a tree. Come!”

I hear his voice in my dreams. Husky. Comforting. Reminiscent of wood smoke trails on gloomy autumn days.

I pocketed the acorn – thanking it as I did so – and hurried inside to my tablet. I am an old-fashioned girl … I love my laptop but I can’t live without my legal pad and black fine point.

I snuggled into the corner chair – one of my necessities. I tell my clients, Live with what you love. It’s not a splurge so much as a necessity. That seems to quell their fears of spending too much money on things that they would never think of spending any money on. I have never understood why people buy 4 chairs that are $100 each that they don’t really like – instead of 2 chairs at $200 each that they really love. If you don’t really love something – why buy it?

Love it – Keep it. Loathe it – Lose it. That’s kind of my mantra. It helps keep the clutter (of mine and apparently my clients and followers) at bay. If you don’t love it, need it, use it or are absolutely emotionally attached to it – get rid of it. I can sometimes be more ruthless than I’d like.

An organized whatever – desk/closet/home – is not only calming but efficient.

That’s also more of my mantra. It sounds a little snooty (or corny) … but it’s true. And, who doesn’t like calm and efficiency?

My thoughts wander as I sit in the chair … down-filled cushions slip-covered in a chintz of roses. Even in winter, when the snowflakes dance just beyond the windows behind me, this chair makes me happy. Live with what you love.

He was a craftsman. A chemist by education – a woodworker by passion. His hands could take the roughest materials and turn them into treasures as smooth as marble. He whittled as a boy – then moved on to carving decoys. As his skills progressed he found the treadle lathe to his liking … making candlesticks and table legs by the thousands. But his true love (aside from me) was carving wooden utensils … spoons, ladles, spreaders and the like. Thousands of those, too. I am so grateful that I can, without guilt or angst, continue to give them away. I have no worries of ever running out – there are so many.

The woods, back behind the house, supplied the materials for his pieces. He’d go for long walks and almost always bring home a windfall … poplar, maple, cherry … hardwoods were best – not too porous. The black walnut was his favorite – soft enough to carve, hard enough to last. And, if the branch had any nuts on it – bonus! We’d make ice cream.

“JD – I’ve found a tree. Come!”

Those words echo and swirl in my head and heart. How I loved him!

There are people who favor photographs to remember people by. I tend to organize items of sentiment and remembrance into display cases. Labeled, orderly, neat, tidy, safe. (Something like my life.) Nothing I’ve ever put into a case was a great artifact but each one was something cherished … something that touched someone’s soul. Select items that made their eyes glisten and childhood or special memories from eons ago seem like yesterday.

I love what I do. It is exhausting at times but it’s almost always rewarding.

But now there are these spoons. Boxes and boxes and shelves and shelves of spoons and ladles … pie servers and spreaders. I used to call them utensils (collectively) and he’d laugh and say, “No, they’re my-tensils. Get your own!” Silly things we remember. But I guess they are now my-tensils.

I plucked the acorn from my pocket and brought it up to my face. Looking over my glasses I studied its glossy casing and finely criss-crossed cap and sturdy stem. Not a worm hole in it. Its pointed end obligatory for planting itself firmly into the soil after falling from the mother tree. Absolute perfection. I wondered, not for the first time, what it would taste like if I were to eat it.

I opted not to find out and put it on the side table. Because of this perfect, little nut I knew what I needed to do – at least with some of his wares … and the workshop.

I began sketching out my ideas … one page after another. A bowl of soup and a glass of wine later, the sun having set behind me hours ago, I got up to stretch and wiggled out my stiff fingers. I felt at ease. Content with my progress. My heart ached but I know he’d approve.

Our love was one of absolutes and fairy tales. I was his princess and he was my prince. We were never cross with each other. There was never a mean word or hurt feeling between us. We were both so genuinely happy to be in each other’s company and orbit.

When he smiled – his eyes sparkled and little crinkles formed at their edges. His hair was as black as nut hulls – wavy and thick; the envy of many his age. We laughed. We sang songs – sometimes old, sometimes silly, sometimes both. We danced. We shared secrets and our innermost dreams, desires and reflections. He brought me gifts from the woods … a fallen nest, bits of lichen and moss, a length of bramble – heavy with fat, juicy berries, bittersweet, birch bark; things that no one else would consider finery. But I loved them all … and him for thinking of me and so sweetly.

It was late and too windy for my liking but I decided to go into the woodshop and nose around – get my bearings. It was nothing more than a room carved (so to speak) out of the old garage – but it was warm and cozy and filled with a variety of wood – in a variety of stages of work. Piles of branches in one corner – not yet touched since his gleaning. In another corner were boxes of finished spindles and table legs. In yet another, more of the same and then some. The shelves were lined with his carvings – latest and old – spoon upon spoon – spooning together for ages. Shavings piled under and around several work stations … some piles thick and curly while others were fine as dust; their size depending on what was going on above. It held that woodshop scent … clean, crisp, woodsy but also with a hint of oil and musk.

I looked around and my heart felt heavy. As a kid I had a guinea pig and how he loved his cedar shavings. And here I was – wishing I could be like him and burrow deep under the piles gathered on the floor and dream all this away.

This was his domain. This is where he turned ordinary into extraordinary … a chunky branch into a curved soup ladle. Another stick into a delicate demitasse spoon. He worked and caressed the wood like no one else and brought out its inner beauty. He was an artist, a romancer of wood; he was masterful in his doings.

I sat on a stool and fiddled with one of his micro tools … so tiny. A mass of them were strewn about on the workbench. That used to drive me crazy – the disarray. This was the one area I was forbidden to dig my hands into. Until now.

I now knew what I’d do once I started to work on this space. I’d organize the daylights out of it! I’d make display cases for some of his finest works … but then I’d turn to the drawers and shelves. I could see them pristine – all labeled and alphabetized – holding blades, chisels and grinders. Others for planers and sanders. The oils and towels would be in metal tins – tucked neatly beneath the labeled and contained carvings on the shelves. The branches would be stacked and sorted according to wood type. I had big plans for this place.

I moved through the space with critical eyes – refining my drawings and taking notes as I walked through the shavings … footsteps behind the mice who lived here. Live with what you love.

I was deep in thought and jumped half out of my skin when I heard the thud! on the roof and the soft swish-rustle and another thud as it hit the ground. I knew what had happened – a limb had fallen and hit the roof and then slid to the ground. I went outside into the inky night – the light from the woodshop spilling out to where I was standing.

I smiled through my tears as I dragged the limb into the middle of the work space. Once the leaves were off I’d put it in the corner where the other branches lay. I had a lot of work ahead of me. But not tonight. I grabbed a handful of what lay on the floor and turned off the lights and closed the door softly.

As I walked back to the house I called out to the heavens above, “Grandpa – I’ve found a tree. Come! I’m making ice cream.”

This is another blog post that, somehow, did not get published. So – a here’s a little something from late Summer.

August 23, 2019 – Friday

The days go by quickly …. the weeks and months more so and I wonder how can this be? Next week will be a year since my  dad passed. He is gone – yet life has and continues to go on. I seem to measure time in years by deaths … 1 since my dad, almost one by Gert, 13 since Tim. Shouldn’t we measure things by LIFE? 

Languid. We had a rain shower today – far from normal August weather for us – and the cool breezes that brought the little storm to us and that remained after it marched on eastward made me feel all snoozy and peaceful. Languid. Such a good word. I looked it up and there is actually a Sherwin Williams paint color with that name … it is a cross between a soft pale sea glass and a pale, dusty blue … not aqua or sky or navy … but somewhere in between. The color name was spot on. Perfectly perfect. 

We’ve had a string of lovely days … not wanting to press my luck, I’ll cross my fingers for more. We don’t get summer up on this NW island … more like a warm spring for a few weeks and then we slip into perpetual October weather – which I love but when it’s October. It was 71 last night at 10pm. It was glorious. That was warmer than most of our summer days. I hated coming into the house. I wanted so badly to sit on my steps and listen to the songs of the peepers and crickets but the peepers sing their songs in the spring … and we have no crickets here. 

I am reading a book that is so unbearably sad there are times while reading it that I don’t think I can continue doing so. The heartache is almost too much to bear. But I have to find out what happens so I will continue on … telling myself it is only fiction. But I know this girl. This character is now in my soul and she will forever be with me … and part of me. I’d love to have that impact! I need to let this author know how she has moved me.

The political scene is too difficult these days to watch/keep up with … too absurd, too disappointing, too atrocious. I am at a loss and feel so helpless and yet how can I stand idly by? I don’t know what to do and hate thinking that it wouldn’t matter anyway if I did something … but what would I do? Decency. What happened to common decency? 

We should all be so very grateful … nothing is given. Life and all that it entails is such a gift.  And with that I think … we (whomever is reading this) all have so much. Why would any of us act without civility or decency to each other? We are so fortunate – shouldn’t niceness and all that be inherent and just a normal way to live life? Why is there even room for nastiness, egotism/vanity, greed? For shame!

I am dogless. It’s an odd thing for me. No personal dogs and no guest dogs for another week. It’s been a few days here and there since Gert and Clara passed last fall that I’ve been solo. It’s amazing how much I sweep off my floor! I’m used to having a houseful … or at least a few … and it’s so lonely by myself. I have no one to share my dinner with. No one to clean up the floor by the stove. No one to fill a water dish for. I don’t like it. 

We must be sliding into fall because I’m ready for pumpkins. There was a day last week when the air felt different … it had a different scent and I knew … the seasons are changing. Fall is coming. I love this time of year … now until the end of November. I am a fall baby. I love every autumnal thing … even the shortening of the days. It signals that it’s time to start cozying in … it’s time to get ready for the quiet and rest of winter. We will be deep into autumn when I will find myself in the Carolinas. I am determined to find “my place”. I know it’s out there. I will find it. I need to find it.  

Summer’s ending and I find myself shifting … businesses, plans, wardrobe. We are always evolving … sometimes I’d like to not. Sometimes I wish I’d just get the journey behind me and be at my destination. Be my better self. Be where I’m supposed to be. Know that I’ve arrived. The laugh’s on me. 

I have favorite quotes taped to my wall/my lamp on my desk … they sit around me and share my space and for the most part – go unnoticed … until once in a while one flutters down and catches my attention. The one that caught my eye this week was “Accept what is, let go of what was, and have faith in your journey.”. These little nudges from the universe or loved souls are precious to me … reminders that I’m on the right path … I’m going in the right direction … I’ll get there. Be patient. Glean.

November 12, 2019 – Tuesday

35.9943° N, 79.9353° W

Those coordinates might not mean anything to anyone else … but to me they (hopefully) will mean HOME.

FINALLY! As in FINE-ALL-Y!

Yes!!!! After 9 years … umpteen “research” trips … thousands of towns … so many gross breakfasts … way too many charges on my credit cards and a million stories (including the crazy old lady and the frog in her basement) that will someday be in a book entitled Searching for Utopia While Living in the State of Confusion … I have found … IT!

35.9943° N, 79.9353° W … Jamestown, North Carolina

It is NOT the Jamestown of the first settlers who on May 14, 1607 (then known as the Virginia Company of England) established a settlement named Jamestown (Virginia) after sailing off and yonder. It’s importance is noted because it was the first successful, permanent colony in the New World by the British. This is not the same as the landing site of the Mayflower which landed thirteen years later, in Massachusetts, with my ancestors aboard.

It is NOT the Jamestown of the famous flood in Pennsylvania in 1889 that wiped out the entire town in less than 10 minutes killing 2209 people and countless cows and other livestock. That was Johnstown.

It is NOT the Jamestown where in 1978 more than 900 members of an American cult “drank the Kool-Aid” and perished in a mass suicide-murder in Guyana. That was Jonestown. And fyi – it was Flavor Aid not Kool-Aid that they drank.

So … what is so special about this place? This Jamestown? I can’t tell you … not exactly. I drove through on my last morning, on my way to the airport, and as I came upon this little town … I just knew. You know when people say that about their significant other … “I just knew.” … well, I just knew. It felt good. After so many places that felt wrong … this felt right.

It’s cute. It’s quaint. It’s 12-20 minutes from anything I’d ever need. 90 minutes from 2 airports and bigger cities. Perfectly located. Large lake. Beautiful parks. Tons of trees. Pastoral. Lovely. Affordable. It was GOOD.

https://www.jamestown-nc.gov/town-services/history

More to come … but the ball is rolling … and I’m very hopeful. And if I’m not to find a home at 35.9943° N, 79.9353° W … it’ll be pretty darn close! I’ll keep you posted!

October 17, 2019 – Thursday

(Somehow this didn’t post … so, here it is now!)

I roused myself from my warm bed long enough – to dash through the bedroom, avoid the slumbering dog on the floor, and grab my laptop from the hall counter where it was sucking up its nightly juice – before freezing.

I was thinking I’d have to sit in the dining room – letting the moonlight wash over me as the cold seeped into me – when I realized I could steal away BACK to my cozy bed and write. Oh, the luxury of wifi! 

I started this blog a few days ago but it didn’t feel quite right. I needed to let it settle – there has been turbulence within me, like a paper boat at sea, and I’ve been having a hard time figuring out what is going on.

Until tonight. 

Thoughts had been rolling around in my head and I knew I had to get up and write them down or they’d be gone – like the stars at daybreak – as I am a “one and done”creator.

I was toweling off from my shower when thoughts came speeding into and then out of my brain … like one of those emergency bulletins at the bottom of the TV screen warning you of impending thunderstorms or tornadic activity. Except whereas the TV keeps streaming those blurbs (how else did we midwesterners learn the names of our neighboring counties than by those repetitions?) what comes into and then goes out of my brain happens only once … and then is gone. Forever. I try to conjure up what those words were … wisps of thought flit through … jumbled and tumbled words and letters like some forgotten code or alphabet soup but nothing more. Sigh. Those words are gone. I need a magic wand to get them back. 

Alas, no magic wand. How many times have I wanted one of those in my lifetime? So, there I was wet-headed looking more like Ursula the Sea Witch from The Little Mermaid than I really cared to – trying to get what was in my head through these fingertips before the thoughts were gone. The little poodlette by my side was not helping as she was peeping every 3 minutes, like a live squeaky toy, and was driving me slowly insane. Well, not exactly insane … but significantly distracted.

Paris has been in my thoughts … everything Parisian has been swirling around for a while but moreso this past week. I had guests in from Paris – sailing through – and they were lovely. I wished I could have visited more with them. I wouldn’t even have had to have been in on their conversation … I could have just sat and listened and drenched myself in French.  Oh, that extraordinary language … lilt and musicality … it poises on the tongue and then floats out leaving mouths pouty and lips suggestive. I can almost see the words visible in the air … gilded and in sumptuous calligraphy like a formal wedding invitation. 

Ah, Paris. I long for it. How long has it been that I have been pining for a place I have only visited once – and so briefly? I long for it like a lost lover, a gone parent or childhood. The air is the same there as what I am breathing here but yet it is so vastly different. Love, light, and depth are infused into it somehow … amidst the gargoyles and baguettes, art, bridges and trumpeting buttresses … I imagine even in ash. Very few days go by when my soul doesn’t whisper to me … return! 

I just finished reading the book … The Little Paris Bookshop  – which oddly isn’t about a little Paris bookshop at all but of a gentleman’s life. He has a book barge and it is known as a Literary Apothecary. He knows exactly which books to offer people to heal their souls. An interesting concept. I borrowed it from a neighbor who borrowed it from her friend and so, one to another we share the threads of this book – this writing – that has shaken my soul.

This is what has been causing the turbulence. 

It is one of those books that I read and put down and picked up again a few days later – not my normal book devouring. This one was a difficult read and took me a while to realize why. When first reading, I thought I’d return it but was told to keep going  … so, I plodded on finding the main character so troubled and pathetic. I was impatient with him. Get a life! –I kept thinking. But the more I read, the more I found myself relating to him and his plight as it’s less about books and more about life’s journey and love and loss and grief and finding your light again. 

While reading I was bemused that my French wasn’t cutting it with my stuttered pronunciations of towns and words (wasn’t the 6 week class I took from the local junior college a million years ago enough?!). I am glad I was not reading it aloud as I butchered the language so well that Oscar Meyer would have been proud. 

As I got more into the book, however, I realized where my impatience stemmed from … that the difficulty in reading this story was that the main character was … me. He was me! The realization took hold last night and it’s with slow seepage that I’m letting it find a place in my being. I feel like I’m in public – naked and vulnerable – for all to see and witness. I don’t like it … but there it is … in black and white and well, French.  And I felt compelled to share the power of this writing – even if it exposed me.

In reading those words,  something has shifted … as the character was finding his way – so was I! An epiphany of sorts had occurred and it’s as if years of darkness have been cast aside and something has been sprinkled about me … the soothing lilt of French conversation, moonlight, glittering seas, knowing that grief takes time – and who is to say how much? Not so much demons but emptiness … hollowness and loneliness creep into the crevices of your soul when there is no light.

And suddenly … through Monsieur Perdu … there was light. I traveled his journey with him – at least part of it – and have stepped into the light of a million stars. I could say sunshine – but it is night that I love more … when the velvet sky wraps around us and the sky sparkles with a million diamonds. I’ve always been a glitter girl.  

It was sometime late last night, between when I put the book onto my nightstand and before I drifted off – just when I was thinking about the seal pup I saw on the beach and when I was marveling at the moonshine coming through my bedroom window – when I felt the shift … literary therapy had come full circle. Life imitating art. 

And so, in the pre-dawn hours I vowed not to continue on the path that I have walked for so long. The time of healing – the in-between time of having to say goodbye and choosing to say goodbye – the long (or short) period of grieving/of mourning – gives way to going forward with all that was as a new beginning. I don’t mean to sound so dramatic – but there was such clarity. Sadness takes up a lot of room in one’s heart. Great things are ahead – for anyone who is missing a loved one – if only we allow them!

Which brings me to my blind date.  In about a week I will be on my way to NC, again. My 4th/5th time?  I have a date (not in the traditional sense but perhaps with destiny?) and am hoping that this is IT! I know – been there/done that all before – and I know I’ve been saying (for a long, long time) that I have to get off this rock. But, I’m actually giddy! I’m apprehensive but excited … and something feels different this time around. So, I will go to the middle of the state and check out the Triad area (Winston-Salem/Greensboro/High Point) and amble, soak up the sights and smells and sounds … kick up some leaves … and figure this out. Once and for all. 

I know it’s there. It’s time. I’m ready. My future is before me. Life awaits. C’est la vie!

July 18, 2019 – Thursday

I have a problem.

And, it’s sitting in my driveway. My 24 year old Honda Odyssey van is on its last legs (so to speak). I shouldn’t be surprised … given its age and that it’s driven this family and others and stuff around the country all these years going a whopping 226K miles (and then some).

It started smoking last month. I thought someone was having a BBQ on my way home from being off the island. Imagine my surprise when I came to a stop and smoke started billowing out from under my hood! Not exactly a good sign.

I limped to the ferry line … had 3 over 75 year olds tell me what I needed to do (all told me something different) … limped home … smoking all the way. But, I made it!

Time to get a new/er car. Sigh.

I let it sit in the driveway for a few days – hoping that if I just let it sit there it would regenerate itself into working order. It didn’t happen. So, I got it towed to the local shop (I will not go as far as to say they are good or reputable but they are on the island). When the tow truck driver looked under the hood, he was the one to assess the problem.

I had a dead rat against my fan/lodged into it, actually, and before it died, it chewed my lines and drank my antifreeze … and then got twisted in my front fan … hence the over heating and billowing of smoke, etc. It cost me $511 to remove said rat.

Sam had a dead opossum in her furnace a few months back. That cost me a lot more. What is it with us and dead animals in places they should not be? How long were both of us breathing in dead rodent fumes? Ew!

So, while the shop was fixing the lines and getting the rat’s dead/toasted body out of the fan – it was determined that I also have a leaking distributor … along with a few other things … and a cracked axle (that I knew about before). So, yeah – REALLY time for a new/er car.

But … I’m on an island and without much here to 1) look at 2) sit in 3) compare 4) test drive … I needed to go off island to the car dealerships “overseas”. So, my first dog-free day I ventured out (using a loaner car/thank you neighbors!). I went to every car dealership in the north area … even the ones that looked like if I bought a car with a dead rat in it it would be the best car on the lot.

Absolutely NO luck with Makoto, Alex, Manny or Spencer. I didn’t get the names from others. I just wanted some Purell.

A few days ago, my next dog free day and now with my own car, I ventured across again to go in a different direction. After waiting 2 hours to get off the island and turning into the first decent looking place, I met up with Paul. He surely would have lost to a sloth or a turtle in any race. The man was as slow as molasses in January. In an igloo. SLOW. We finally got out to a car I wanted to see … and he had grabbed the wrong set of keys. OMG. Torture would have been nicer.

The 800 year old Asian grandpa was the salesman at the next dealership. And while faster than Paul – I had to hold him up while we walked the lot. As I left he grinned at me and said, “I may be slow, but I’m not an asshole.” Slow yes, asshole no.

Next I met up with Tommy. A nice young kid who met me at the door and said he’d help me. Great. Someone who could walk without a walker and quickly and had the right keys! He showed me one car and then disappeared. Someone else came out and said they’d help me as T. was with a customer. Excuse me? I went back into the office and told T. that if he didn’t have time for me, he shouldn’t have met me at the door.

I grumbled off. This was not going well.

Over the course of the next 3 hours I met Larry, Steve, Ismael, Morgan, Komal and Matt and a handful of others whom I told had lost a sale because they didn’t even have business cards. As I left I said, “Vista Print … $12 bucks! Order now!”

Kudos to Matt for not being ancient, slow, pushy, impatient or an asshole. However, he didn’t have anything I wanted.

The problem I’m having is that I’ve been driving the same car for nearly 25 years. Modern technology has advanced (as far as I’m concerned) at the speed of light and I sit in these new/er cars and the dashboard might as well be one of a 747 Boeing airplane. Scary. Intimidating. So high tech. So many buttons/dials/screens!

I want simple. I am intimidated by my washing machine! Simple cars/dashboards are (apparently) a thing of the past. And, I’m on the shorter side … I sit in these cars/mini suvs and I can barely see over the steering wheel/hump/back up camera/everything else that is now lodged on the dashboard … and never mind about trying to see behind me! It’s one of the criteria that I can see out of the vehicle if I’m considering purchasing it!

So, here I am – back on the island (after another 2 hour wait to get back the other night!) – doing online research. Again. Baby suv? Small hatchback? New or used? Cash or 0% APR for 60 months? Do I want to buy something new knowing that right now, at this moment, 25 years after purchasing my last car that my best/most affordable option is still fossil fuel reliant? I thought for sure we’d be in Jetson-like hover crafts by now! Electric is not an option where I am. Do I want to go hybrid? Or do I just “get something” so that I can retire the Mom Mobile and think this through a few years down the road when the hybrids become better/more reliable/more affordable? Do I really want to sink $X into ANY car?

I honestly, back in 1995, never thought I’d have this car still (who would?!) … it’s taken us 12,136 miles short of taking us to the moon. (The moon being 238,900 miles from Earth!) This is a big deal. It’s been a great car. My kids were 8 and 10 when we got this car! We went on countless trips to Chicago … drove to the east and west coasts and everywhere in between on family vacations … drove to WA on my last move. Both kids learned how to drive in this car. I listened to countless hours of giggling in “the way back” when they were pre-teens – like I was just a chauffeur or completely invisible (or deaf). (What? Did they think I couldn’t hear them?)

We had some great times in that van … and here I am, getting ready to say good-bye. I’ll donate it to some organization. Maybe someone can fix it up. Maybe they’ll dump it. I don’t really want to know.

In any case – I have to find a new/er car cuz there is a problem in my driveway and it’s not resolving itself even if I ignore it (as I have been). I am a bit optimistic in hoping a new hover craft vehicle, that car of the future, will be on the market in the next few weeks … how I’d love to zoom around above the 200 year olds driving on this island!

May 23, 2019 – Thursday

Last night I got BOMBED! No, not in the sense of an explosive incendiary device or that I was drunk as a skunk … I got BATH bombed. I filled the tub and put one of those bath salt/bath bomb things into it – you know, those ones that are to make your skin smooth as silk or chiffon pie. Or something like that.

I envisioned those TV commercials from when I was a kid … the mom up to her neck in steamy water, luxuriating in a tub full of bubbles, candles lit, jungle fronds and gardenias (somehow) swaying in the breeze of her bathroom. Calgon … take me away!

My experience was a bit different than that one … mostly due to no jungle fronds or gardenias but also because my tub is a reject from the Motel 6 variety of bathtubs. Anyone can sit in that tub … but recline? Submerge? Not even possible. I’m not sure a toddler could even lie down in that tub … it’s short, slanted and shallow. The trifecta of awfulness for a bathtub! If you sit in the tub, then the top part of you is cold … if you submerge, your legs rise out of the bubbles like the Sand Hills in Nebraska … minus the cranes.

During my 4 minute soak (as long as I could endure while the song Baby Shark kept looping through my brain) … I realized how much I like my bathroom. Now that sounds pretty weird, even to me … but it’s yellow and cheery with accents of black and brown, aqua and tan and when it’s sunny out (which is not often, especially in the fall/winter here in the NW), it’s the sunniest room in my house. I’ve even thought of setting up my tray table in the tub and working in the room … it’s cozy, quiet, warm, sunny and close to the commode, if needed! What more could I want? Simple pleasures.

I was thinking of my bathtub (again, weird) when I was crossing over the continent on my way home from the Carolinas earlier this month. I was thinking that the next place I move to will have to have a decent bathtub! And as I was thinking that we popped out of some cloud cover and I peered out my airplane window like some high flying bird – somewhere, 30 some thousand feet over some rugged terrain – and I was mesmerized by the green, jagged slopes of ??? I have no idea what as I had no idea where we were. No flight tracker on that airplane! I looked down and saw mostly green hills, jagged and lush, as far as I could see and every once in a while a building would come into view. A teeny tiny Monopoly house or barn or warehouse – in the middle of nowhere. Roads, vehicles, people and animals were diminished to ant-size but I could make out structures. And rivers. A LOT of rivers.

I watched as one started up north and meandered its way south past my view. It was an old river, horseshoeing its way through the land … snaking along in a sinuous ribbon of olive green. It was beautiful with its curves and oxbow lakes here and there. And then it was gone … we’d flown beyond my sight line. But it made me wonder how old that river was, where it was, and what it had seen?

Was it there when the herds of buffalo roamed the prairies? Who were the first people to drink from its waters? How many fish swam in those curves?

A few days after my return home, I was still wondering about that river … and how much water was in this country? And on this globe? And in us?

So, here are my findings … amazingly, 71% of the Earth’s surface is covered by water. Wow … I knew it was a lot but not THAT much! Good thing I know how to swim! And, nearly 97% of that water is oceanic in nature. Again, amazing … as well as a little terrifying!

The United States is roughly 7% water … less than I would have thought. And, (this I knew but thought it was higher) … 60% of the human body is water … and if you break it down even farther … the brain and heart are 73% water (I had NO idea!) … kidneys – 79% … lungs – 83% … skin – 64% and bones – 31%!

So, it’s sunny out but my wifi doesn’t carry to my deck and the rest of the house is in shadow – so, I think I’m going to set up my tray table in my tub, get a glass of water and get busy working while I enjoy the sunshine!

March 6, 2019 – Wednesday

One might say it’s a dreary day … the cloud cover is such that the sky is nearly white. The twigs and branches I see outside my living room window are brown … behind them the trunks in a stand of tall pines – their dark green tops out of sight – are all a light gray; my neighbor’s house, nestled amongst them, blends in with the surroundings and is faintly seen in its gray-brownness within nature’s camouflage. Earthy but yeah … drab, dull, dreary.

I am feeling the same.

Along with just about everyone else on this planet, I am winter weary. Enough already. Denver was 3 degrees the other night. Chicago has seen record cold. Tahoe will be digging out until August. Even Hawaii, LA and Las Vegas have had SNOW! Speaking of which … the NW had a very different winter … less rain, more cold, more snow. And, as I type, I am seeing yet again – SNOW FLAKES!

These are the teeny tiny dry flakes – not the big, wet, pretty snow globe ones that I don’t mind. These are nothing but mere nuisances … nuances of moisture … teasers to my too-early sprouting bulbs.

But, we did get those snow globe snowflakes a while back … 12 inches of them in my driveway … 2 FEET of them on my deck! Armed with my ever-ready broom and dust pan I shoveled my way out … a path about 3 feet long and then stopped before I broke my broom or my back! I stayed in for a week! My old van (233K miles – thank you, Honda) does go along the roads in snow – but only sideways – so, I decided in the interest of safety I’d stay off the roads until they were clear. And since we don’t really have snow removal capabilities here … it was a long week.

I want Spring. I know we are (calendar-wise) close. Spring solstice is a mere 2 weeks away … but I want it NOW. I’m ready. I’m past ready.

I shouldn’t really complain. I really shouldn’t. And yet I do. The snow is gone – the only remains from weeks ago are the softball sized lumps in a few yards here and there … remnants of snowmen with bamboo arms and goofy stone smiles … made by giddy adults (no kids in my ‘hood) as snow is such a rarity here. Our yards are green and a few vibrant eggplant-hued crocus have opened and are showing off their golden pollen – waiting for the first bees to feed. Those bees are elsewhere still – or wearing parkas and hiding out in their hives … it’s just been too chilly!

I should be grateful for those flowers … the first colors of seasonal change. I should be grateful that these few flakes are just flakes and not a blizzard or high winds whipping through those tall gray trunked pines causing power outages. And yet I’m having to push myself to seize the day.

Seize the day – Carpe Diem! What a wonderful saying. However, I’m feeling a little bit like Carpe Diem … Schmarpe Diem!

We had another death in our family. My niece’s husband – gone in an instant. He was 41. Who dies when they are 41? A friend of mine emailed me a week after telling me her 51 year old son had died in his sleep. Who dies when they are 51? Too young. Too soon. It happens far too often.

So, I’m trying to put all this loss into perspective … trying to find purpose, reasons, understanding. I am still processing my dad’s passing, the dogs, Jeremy, my friend’s son … it’s been a rough 5 months. It’s been draining and emotional and exhausting … and it’s made my heart hurt and feel a bit … dreary.

But there is that little flicker of … something … that burns deeply within me and whispers … “Seize the day! Do it. Life is short. Just do it! SEIZE THIS DAY!”

We never know when that proverbial bus will turn the corner and run us down. We need to capture these days and relish what is … regardless if they are gray and gross and cold and wet. That little flicker is like an elbow to the gut … “Be grateful.” it pokes. “Savor.” it nudges. “Seize the day.” it insists.

Those gray twigs and branches are readying and will soon be filled with birdsong and lush, green leaves fluttering in a soft spring breeze. The snowflakes are watering (what are now very dry) garden beds … giving sustenance to those budding bulbs and potential perennials. Wait. Watch. Weather the weather. If you don’t like what is – give it a day or two! It’s coming. Things are changing. Be patient.

My kids are out and about – again. Ted in Thailand, Sam in Hawaii. Life is rough. They work hard and play hard and know how to seize any (and each) day. The woeful weather and happenings of life can get me down … or seem to go on forever … and I need to remind myself to stop and smell the roses (even if they are from the store) … but the one thing that is always constant is that I am so truly grateful that my kids know how to live. They seize the moments. They squeeze out the last drop of every day. Good or bad – they experience it. They live! They are wondrous teachers. Carpe diem Ted and Sam!

The snow has turned into snow globe snow … thick, fat, slow-falling flakes. It is pretty outside with the gray branches and evergreens with a fine, white dusting. We probably won’t get snow again for a long time. Spring will be here soon enough. Enjoy the day. Relish what is.

Life is sometimes too short – even when it’s 90 some years long. Seasons are well … seasonal. Weather is constantly changing and usually not what we want – but this too shall pass. So, seize the season. Seize the day. And because life really is sometimes just too short – and because I got a really good deal at the grocery store – I’m having lobster tonight. Seize that!

Carpe lobster!

October 16, 2018 – Tuesday

I am coming up for air.

My dad has passed away. My heart hurts. Grief is weirdly different for everyone.

I know those things for sure … and yet, I don’t know what to do with that knowledge.  “Things” are slowly seeping in. After all, my parents live/d 2100 miles from where I am. Quite the distance … and it wasn’t like I saw Dad all the time … a few times a year at most. But his “presence” was strong and I knew he was around if I needed to call or email.

That is no longer and it is so weird. I don’t like the finality of death. Never have. After a little while I just want the person/animal back! I don’t like it.

We (the family) met up in Denver for his 90th last month. We had dinner and, quite unexpectedly, Dad passed the next day while taking a nap. My suspicions are that he read his directives wrong regarding his meds after a dental procedure and threw a clot. Quick and easy for him … devastating for those of us left behind. We were not ready to let him go.

I was unable to attend his memorial service so asked what is below to be read. This is an abridged version:

 We each have our own perception of people … we see different sides that others may not … my “take” on my Dad is different than that of my siblings, or my mom, my children or anyone else. We could all say something about him and we could all say something different. This is my take.

Some of my dad’s most memorable words come in this story …

Kermit and Miss Piggy want to buy some investment property together. So, they went to the bank to see Mr. Paddiwhack about getting some money. Paddiwhack told them they would need to provide the bank with collateral to secure a loan. So, Kermit and Miss Piggy spent the next few nights wracking their brains over what they could provide the bank that was of the utmost value to them. And finally Kermit figured it out. So, the next day he hopped on down to the bank and presented loan officer Paddiwhack with a tiny little statue. The loan officer looked at it and tried not to laugh. Kermit, not to be crushed, asked to speak with the manager. So, the manager came over and Paddiwhack explained that Kermit wanted to secure money for his land purchase using the statue for collateral. And the manager said, “Yes! That’s perfect.” And Paddiwhack, now astounded, said to the manager, “How can we use this as collateral? It has no value. What is it?” And the bank manager put his hand on the loan officer’s shoulder and said, “It’s a knick knack, Paddiwhack … give the frog a loan.”

Yeah, I know – pretty bad but my dad was full of these stories. He loved a good laugh. And this story has a moral to it … which is: what is important to one person may not be important to another. Treasure what is important to you. Hold onto your values and what is of value to you.

Whomever is reading this … whether you knew my dad or not … I want you to know that this man mattered and he was valued.

This was no ordinary life. This was a life well-lived and well-loved, and a life that will be deeply missed.

What you might know/not know about my dad:

Dad was frugal. If something could be fixed for the millionth time – he’d fix it. It might not look good, it might not run well … but it was fixed! NO need for a new … whatever!

What you might not know is that he was also very generous. Pretty much his entire life he gave of his time and talents, energy and funds to various organizations … he was proud of his affiliation and support with the Neighborhood Boys (and Girls) Club of Chicago. He was proactive with Little League from early on for years and years and for 17 years he worked tirelessly as a Commissioner and at times President of the Niles Park District. He was instrumental in acquiring land and properties (a golf course, various pools, playgrounds and parks around town) and initiating programs and income for the park system. During his 39 years at A.B. Dick Company, Dad was involved in TAPPI, Rotary, and sports teams. He was involved with this church and for the past 20 years he was Treasurer. He gave of himself to so many, so often, so quietly. He helped all of us kids get our first homes (and then some) … he paid for our educations and those of our children. And supported us along the way all these years.

Dad loved to bike. What you might not know is that for many summers he biked 1500 miles … mostly during May through September … in and around the Chicago area. The last time he was on his bike, it was early summer. He pedaled 8 miles wanting to check the flood level of the local river! I talked with him after he got back home and he said there was something wrong with the bike and that he wasn’t going to take it out again … it was all wobbly and didn’t go very fast! I agreed with him that the frame must have been bent and that to be on the safe side he probably shouldn’t ride it anymore. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that at 89 – it was his balance and strength and not the bike that made things wobbly and slow.

Dad was a walker. What you might not know is that he also walked 1000 miles those summers. As kids he’d take along one or two of us and a neighbor kid and walk from our house and walk for miles and miles across the onion fields, prairies and empty lots – where another town is now. Sundays we’d walk the forest preserves. I loved those outings with him.

For years and years he’d walk from the house in Park Ridge to downtown Chicago (16 miles) … many, many, many times each year. Sometimes he’d go down and walk Navy Pier or the river walk … and others he’d just go to the basement of Marshall Fields and get his free rootbeer and then take the “L” home again.

Dad liked to eat. What you might not know is that Dad had an iron gut. Seriously, the man could eat anything. He loved popcorn, caramel corn, licorice and pizza. Anything chocolate – especially turtles and malted milk balls. I’m pretty sure that while growing up he ate more of our Easter and Halloween candy than we all did – combined!  He was also a big fruit and salad bar fan. His last lunch was of a liver sausage sandwich. Gross to me (and most of us) but man he loved his liverwurst!

Dad loved to hum and whistle. What you might not know is that he knew every word to every Broadway musical. You might also know that he loved movies. What you might not know is that he was IN two movies … he was in Babe (about Babe Ruth not the singing pig) and he was an airport terminal extra in one of the Home Alone movies. His biggest claim to fame in the movie genre never really ever happened … though we all told our kids that it did! I think I started it but we told our kids that Dad was Conrad Birdie in Bye, Bye Birdie. When they’d say Conrad didn’t really LOOK like Grandpa – we just said that Grandpa was younger then. People change. The same story went for the guy in the green shirt, dancing at the carnival at the end of Grease. Dad loved those claims to movie fame!

Dad loved sports and fitness. What you might not know is while he cheered on all Chicago teams (well, maybe not the White Sox) – his heart belonged to the Cubs. We were all so thankful Dad got to see his Cubbies win the World Series! Dad, in earlier years, was a golfer; he played handball, softball,  and as a kid – football. For Christmas, one year as a kid, he got his first football. It was the first one he’d ever seen … and he didn’t know what it was! How we’d laugh when he told us he thought it was a big NUT! Dad was part of the Lunch Bunch Fitness Group at Lutheran General Hospital for 20 years. Always Mr. Fitness! Up until his trip to Denver, he’d go to “Fitness” 3x a week … and at 89 the man could still hold a one-minute plank! Amazing.

Dad was unusually brilliant. He beat the pants off of all of us when playing cards or games – his memory and strategy were astounding. He crunched numbers … he was a fantastically quick mathematician. He loved doling out brain teasers and playing with his grandkids and great grandkids. He could fix anything. He always won when playing ping pong. He loved to drive. He loved the view of a descending plain. He loved Chicago and Colorado. He could touch his tongue to his nose. (I wish I were at that service because I’m pretty sure people were trying to do that after this was read!)  He was funny and loyal and sometimes REALLY headstrong. He was kind and giving and always an advocate for kids and community. And he loved telling jokes and stories … the cornier the better. Even if we groaned because we heard them 400 times … I know we’ll all miss those!

Dad loved to garden. What you might not know is that Dad loved to grow tomatoes and that each summer he’d categorize them … tennis ball sized ones were “A”s … a little smaller were “B”s … and then smaller still were “C”s. He was very proud of his crops! Last year he grew 413 tomatoes!

One year he packed about 40 tomatoes, each separately in newspaper and bubble wrap, for us to take on our drive home to Colorado. By the time we reached Omaha, the tomatoes had cooked in the hot car and we had moldy, hot tomato soup in a cardboard box in the back seat! Thanks Dad!

Dad loved animals. What you might not know is that Dad loved turtles. He had a box turtle as a kid and then every time we found one on the side of the road, on one of our many family vacations, we’d bring it home! He also loved dogs and had a dachshund in his life for roughly 83 years. He started out with Blackie … and ended up with Lady. He made up a song about them. He wrote a story about them. He loved his dogs (and his granddogs.)

Dad loved his family … wife, 3 kids, 6 grandkids, 3 great grands. What you might not know is that while he loved all of us … he loved his grandchildren fiercely. When left in his charge, he’d make them sandwiches of peanut butter and bananas … Dad called it lunch from Jacques Fancy Restaurant. It wasn’t until later in life that Dad became a hugger. He wasn’t exactly an in-your-face with the emotions kind of guy. He was more like an m&m that was left in the sun … a bit hard shelled but gooey on the inside. He showed his love in different ways … with trips on the “L’ and  brain teasers and story problems … with the sharing of stories and corny jokes … with unheeded advice and criticism. It was his way. He loved that each of the grandkids were different but yet shared similar traits … brainy, athletic, sweet, quirky, driven, grounded.

He was a fair and decent human being. And, we will miss him terribly but we are all so fortunate we had him in our lives for so long and that his passing was quick and nothing but sweet slumber for him.

Thank you for letting me ramble on about this man – who meant so much to so many. I’m going to end with this story …

After his passing, I was cleaning out the desk drawers in his room. So much stuff. I mean, SO MUCH STUFF! A mish mash of black and white 60s photos of some work party, receipts from the dawn of time, current financials, a random ping pong ball, pens and old film containers (organization was not his forte!) … and as I pulled out this stack of stuff from one of the drawers … I heard the little tinkle of a bell. My arms full of papers and envelopes and pencils, I started taking things off the top of the stack … until I uncovered a teeny tiny little silver bell. My eyes welled up because I knew what it meant. One of Dad’s all time favorite movies was It’s a Wonderful Life … and at the end of the movie a bell tinkles and the character Zuzu says, “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.”

Atta boy, Dad … you got ’em.

 

August 10, 2018 – Friday

It is a beautiful and warm morning on the island (rare for us) … the sun is peeking over the mountains to the east … I’m still in pj’s eating breakfast (leftover chicken and noodles from last night’s dinner) – yum. I’m at my dining room table and am watching the hummingbirds flit and sip at the container of coral snap dragons on the deck as well as a fat, lazy fly trying to find its way outside through my window pane (try the door, honey – it’s open).

And that leads me to ask NOT, who let the dogs out? But … who the hell let them all in?

Apparently, it was ME cuz I’m the only one here. Want a dog? I’ve got several … today, this weekend, this week, this month, this SUMMER! If you’ve heard the saying The Dog Days of Summer … they are HERE! At MY house! In this yard! On this deck! In this house! IN MY BED!

I haven’t been sleeping well. And I wonder why? The poodle-doodlette sisters were here last week … they are big standard poodle-sized doodlettes. They doodle all day … as does, as of this week, the damn rooster who somehow came to live next door (in a ‘hood where roosters are a no-no). The guy has been doodling for HOURS each of the mornings this week  – starting around 5:30 am. Is he confused or over zealous? I’m not sure; but let’s just say I’m not a fan of the rooster. I’ve now given him the name I give all roosters … Sunday Dinner. (He is probably Sunday Dinner VI). We’ll see how this pans out (hopefully, with a nice gravy and mashed potatoes).

Back to the doodling … the dogs, not the rooster;  they insisted on sleeping on my bed. It’s bad enough to share a full-sized bed with Gert – the land manatee/pug – but add on 2 doodle dogs and the bed gets smaller by the minute. And, if you’ve never slept with a dog – somehow even the smallest one who is light and as airy as a cloud during the day turns into a 40# sack of cement once asleep on your bed. Truth. So, Gert was dismissed to her dog bed and the others were told – unsuccessfully – (1,400 times over the course of the night) to go to their (OWN) bed.

Now, it’s doable to sleep with doodles … even two of them … but then add in a possessive (but sweet) Border Collie and a playful (omg, so playful) King Charles Cavalier Spaniel puppy and the bed ends up being about a 4″ square slumber pad for moi.

Sleeping (or not sleeping) aside … it’s the quantity I somehow accumulated last week. And, as I write, I have learned my lesson (or not) – STOP SAYING YES!!

But they are dogs … they are sweet and cuddly and loving. (Well, most of them!) … how can I say NO?! I had the doodlettes, my two (Pug/Lab), another Lab, the Border Collie, the fox dog, and 2 itty bitty, teeny tiny Chihuahuas (who spent most of their time in my arms or in my room so no one would think they were snacks!). Yeah – count them up … 9 dogs! The following day the spaniel arrived along with a 13 week old (gorgeous) black Lab/Golden mix puppy. The doodles left that evening and the fox dog was a day-timer only … and thank god I had 2 puppies to wear each other out in constant, playful wrestling … but still … omg … LOTS OF critters!!!! And with those days behind me, today is a breeze … I’m “only” (ha ha … yeah, ONLY) at 6 (including my two) … all regulars … all know each other and all are “good dogs”.  (I only take GOOD dogs!) I tell them all to behave, and to be nice … and they do just that. We are family.

But, when you get past the quantity of 4  – as I’ve found out first-hand – the pack seems to expand exponentially! At times it seems like no one is here but me (dog snooze-fest) and other times it is a wild, blur of running, playing, barking craziness … not too far off from the stampede sequence in Jumanji! Heaven help the squirrel who isn’t fast enough!

The darling of the bunch is the Kind Charles Spaniel … as in DAR-LING!!!! So, so  damn sweet, cute, loving. But he is a puppy so he always wants to play … as in ALWAYS. CONSTANTLY. ALL THE TIME. ENDLESSLY. Except when he’s sleeping … which is about 12 minutes every hour. I’ve thrown his orange “bouncy thing” 14 million times in the last week. I’ve got a call now into the doctor for rotator problems and PT. (Seriously.) I love having him here but, this dog pees on his legs. He can’t help it – he’s a puppy – he’s still learning. But, he STINKS! And, I certainly don’t want him on my BED! So, when I’m not throwing the ball, a gutted and bedraggled Lambchop, the orange bouncy thing or kissing his face (which I do A LOT.) … I am giving him a bath … either in the shower with me or in the kitchen sink. He is “fixed” but somehow still likes a good  humping … so dog beds, pillows, throw rugs, and poor chewed up Lambchop and slow-moving Gert are targets of his lust. More than not he tends to sit on the chair next to me at the dining table – watching me as I type (waiting for me to throw something) – until his big, watery eyes get heavy with puppy drowsiness and he slumps down into peaceful doggy slumber. As just happened. I need to type faster as I’ve got 11 minutes before he wakes up!

There is a lab here who I have for the ENTIRE MONTH. I realized this morning (hence this post – I have to vent somehow!) that I have another 3 WEEKS of her here. She is old, she is sweet, she is deaf and stubborn and clueless and most notably … she is food aggressive and possessive. The first time I had her here she ate a dozen muffins I had in a basket on the dining table for my bnb guests … and an apple that was on the counter … and my sandwich which was also on the counter. So, yeah – she’s a counter surfer and if you’re not used to that, it takes a while to REMEMBER not to leave ANYTHING out on the counter. Not the fruit bowl, not fixings for lunch or dinner, not one little m&m … NOTHING. God have mercy if I even have a cherry pit or part of an eggshell in my sink … wild-eyed she stakes out her claim and will guard that part of the kitchen. Her turned- white masked face and wide eyes say it all … Stand away – THIS SINK IS MINE! Heaven forbid that there be a wayward piece of kibble on the kitchen floor from someone’s dish as she’ll find it … she’ll hone in on that morsel and will pretty much gut anyone in her way to sucking it up. Hence, Gert’s little tiff yesterday. (She’s fine.)

But, as sweet and old as she is … she is exhausting. I am always on alert! Vigilance is now a way of life. I’ve nicknamed her Duck Dog as she only eats raw, ground duck patties … hence the 86 frozen duck patties in my freezer! I might lose weight this month – there’s no room for ice cream!

Then there’s the Australian terrier who has so many issues … diabetes, neurological issues, an extra long tongue, doggy Parkinsons (if that’s a thing)  and dietary issues and timed feedings. His head seems to be attached by a spring and he is as akin to a bobble-head dog as any dog can be. He always dons a red vest over his little rust- colored, wiry terrier-furred, fox-like body … scruffy fur wisps escaping from under the vest in all directions cause a scraggly, disheveled look about him. In looks he is the dog version of Fagin from Oliver! His feet turn up and he dances/prances when he walks … reminding me of a marionette or jaunty Englishman or Scotsman going off to the pub (or coming home after one too many pints).

The Border Collie and I have a special relationship. He is one of my favs, my Sleepy Badger … sweet and lovely and my protector. We walk 2x a week and other days, I’m lucky enough to have him here with the clan. He’s outside now on deer and squirrel duty. He is easy and loving and he’s the one I give the most massages to as he seems to enjoy them more than anyone else – or at least he shows his gratitude the best. Perks of the job – for us both!

Gert is easy – she eats, takes her meds and bumbles along – thwarting unwanted advances and finding the best spot on the rug for a snooze. She is aging daily (aren’t we all?!) but is still going along. She is constantly underfoot and in the wrong place at the wrong time but it takes her so long to get there, that I just gently move her aside or jump over her. I’m glad she’s not taller as hurdles are not my thing! Clara is continuing on despite all of her issues … she is still not eating well (nothing now but hot dogs and/or chicken, hand fed) and one of these days the cancer (or one of the other issues) will take her … but for now she is the Alpha of the pack (one down from ME) and lets dogs know when she doesn’t want to be bothered (which is pretty much all the time). No biting, no fighting – just a snarly upturned lip that seems to get the message out of: DO NOT BOTHER ME – and it works! Everyone leaves her alone – even the pups, which I find so interesting!

My favorite dog arrives today for a week. This dog is the epitome of what a dog is … sweet, gentle and 90# of pure doggy love. She is a gorgeous, big golden and absolutely lovely. As long as I don’t have her out on a leash – she’s good! She’s the one who bolted (last year) from a dead stop after seeing a bunny and lifted me off my feet and dragged me down the road. Yeah -that was fun! My bent index finger will never be the same but she has given me thousands of kisses to make up for that mishap since! She can be sound asleep and then wake up, come over to me and plant a big, wet kiss on me and then go back and lie down for more nap time. She is pure joy. I can’t wait for her arrival … what’s one more furry body?

Everyone’s been fed and it’s now, apparently, mid-morning nap time. I was thinking this would be the perfect time to do something else, except the spaniel just woke up … so, I guess it’s time to give him a bath or throw something!

I love what I do … and I love my “Dog Days of Summer”.

 

 

July 16, 2018 – Monday

Okay, okay. No hysteria over 2 lobsters back-to-back.

And yes, as per yesterday’s post, Summer has arrived on the island. And … omg … this morning was glorious … a sublime 73 at 11am, a gentle breeze, wind chimes chiming, ducks and chickens and crows squawking and cawing (okay, maybe that part wasn’t so sublime – they’re just damn noisy!) and Summer really IS easy.

But Summer here isn’t easy all the time … unless I don’t go anywhere. If I want to sit on my deck and walk the ‘hood, I’m good. But if I want to drive anywhere or walk anywhere or go anywhere or eat anywhere or – Heaven forbid – go off island … then things become problematic!

And so, “Summertime and the living is easy” morphs into “Summertime and the living is FRUSTRATING”! Hell yeah.

I hate to say there is a “problem” with Summer. Who doesn’t love this season? Well, someone who likes warmth, hot days, humidity, fireflies, balmy evenings, bare skin, green grass, no wait lines (anywhere) and tank tops might find issues with the Summers of the NW (aka: me)!

Not to mention … we have to wait 10 months for a Summer that lasts a month or two with a few highs in the 80s, some high 70s but mostly low 70s and high 60s. Too cool in my book. No wonder there is no outdoor pool on the south end of this island. Who would go in it? Vacationing Polar Bears? It’s not warm enough to swim in a pool – unless you have your wetsuit on! The weather factor is a big issue here … frustrating at best when one wants to sit on the deck for dinner without having to don pants and a sweater. All last month we were light until 10:30 pm … but it was just too chilly to be out and enjoy it. I don’t want to have to wear a COAT when it’s June or July!  The NW weather is a lesson in frustration and patience.

The other thing that arrives when Summer does is the burn ban. It goes into effect the  minute it stops raining and it gets warm enough to want to sit out and chat at night around a fire. So, all the wood I’ve stacked for myself and my guests by my firepit will remain untouched until fall … when the ban is lifted and the rains start and it’s too wet to have a fire. So much for my vision of s’mores and fire-lit nights. I keep hoping for a different outcome but it’s been the same way the last four Summers!

Another issue is that it is dry here. As in DRY.  How can a place that has high humidity and be surrounded by water be dry???? It confounds me! Before I moved out here, I never thought that the NW was EVER dry. Wrong! The rains stop around July 4th and don’t start again for another 75 days and everything that was nice and green and lush and happy yesterday is brown, crispy, half-baked … or dead … today. It happens that quickly! And this year, the rains stopped sooner, meaning we were dryer a month earlier. I’m onto this, Mom Nature, and have been watering my hydrophobic soil (diligently) for the last two months and what do I have to show for it? A high water bill, that’s what!

My flowers look like I haven’t even pointed a hose in their direction. The annuals I planted have already been pulled out and thrown into the compost heap. The day lilies are parched, the lavender has seen better days and even the red hot pokers, daisies and moss roses (that grow on ROCKS and in the desert) are days away from a decent funeral. My grass is so crispy and brown it’s like a lawn made out of Rice Krispie Treats! And whatever flowers and fauna have weathered the weather … the deer have tasted or eaten and the slugs have finished off the rest. Who said gardening up here was fun? It’s not!

We have waited so long to have lovely weather … no soggy anything anymore … but we are not the only ones loving it. I drove into town the other day, delivering pies, and my first thought was something along the lines of  …”I’m so glad Summer has arrived. But I can’t wait for Autumn! OMG – THESE DAMN TOURISTS!” How can I so desperately want the season I’ve waited so long for to pass me by? I  know I live in a tourist town! People are idiots when on vacation. I know this. I am one of them! Tourism benefits my dog and bnb businesses and our town in general … but, people! Learn how to drive! Learn how to walk! Be a considerate visitor! I know you’re on vacation and rules no longer apply to you and yours … but please, for the love of god … watch where you are going! Driving in town until October will be brutal.

Extra bodies also mean extra traffic, extra dangers and extra wait times on the ferry (2 hours wait time in both directions this past week) … making any trip to even TARGET over 8 hours of just travel time before I include shopping time. Who does that?

Extra bodies also mean that the restaurants are crowded and we have to wait (okay, that’s fine) and that the grocery stores are busier … fine, too. I know this is all so incredibly good for the island community and economy … but it’s also frustrating. Be VERY careful in those parking lots. NO ONE is looking where they are walking or driving or parking!

Yesterday was our warmest day yet … 82 heavenly degrees … and I spent the better portion of that marvelously warm day power-washing my deck. I could have been on a picnic, or out riding my bike, or off doing 100 other more fun things … but, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from living on this island, it’s that you take advantage of the good days to do what you need to do outside – because you might never get the chance again! As in EV-ER. The forecast might say 80 degrees again – but nothing is ever for sure. It could just as well turn out to be a 65 degree day!

Power-washing is a lot more fun when you do it when it’s 80 degrees and sunny out as opposed to 65 degrees and cloudy! Been there – done that. Not fun. But, while my deck is now gorgeous and moss-free … and my hand is permanently shaped into a claw from holding the spray nozzle … I would rather have been doing something other than ridding my deck of the slimy moss that accumulated over the last 10 months. But, it’s now done.

But, it’s frustrating to know that one of a handful of days that we’ll get (over 80 degrees) was spent doing this stupid task.

So, yeah, it’s Summertime and the living is easy but it’s also frustrating (at times). But I live on an island and have learned to take the good with the not-so-good. These frustrations, nuances of living here, are to be expected … even if it not so pleasant. And, to help keep this all in perspective, I’ve had a few gut punches recently and while I can bitch and moan and be frustrated about a whole variety of things … I am not the friend who is dying of brain cancer … I am not the friend who had an unexpected hip replacement while on vacation … I am not the handful of family/friends of advanced ages who deal with failing health and bodies every day.

It’s Summertime on the island … and even if it’s for two weeks, I’m going to let go of all the frustrations and enjoy the hell out of it cuz I know – all too soon – it’s going to be 65 and cloudy again!