Crowz Nest

Surprises at my door ...

2011-10-15T23:26:00.010-04:00

When the knock came at the door around noontime, I had no idea who could have come knocking. When I got to the door, the post lady was already walking back to her truck, having left two packages on the step. Packages? I'd ordered a few essential things recently, but they'd already come. I couldn't imagine what these might be.

I brought them inside. One was a priority mail package, and the handwriting tipped me off. It was from a very special friend, and contained something I desperately needed, but for which I had not asked. It was another mark of our friendship, and of a connection that continues to amaze and move me. I stood there for a moment, grateful for the presence in my life of such a friend, of a relationship that has endured for more than 45 years, which gives me both a sense of continuity and continually renews and refreshes my heart.

The larger package, light for its size, came with a printed label, and no return address. It was clearly in a re-used box. I had no idea what it might hold as I carefully cut through the packing tape.

Inside was a note, which, while it shed some light on the source, still did not fully prepare me for the contents I would find beneath the wadded packing paper. When I first saw this item, it was in a preview of items being auctioned to benefit Friends of Pets in Anchorage, Ak. I fell in love with it, but declined to bid on it due to some financial pressures. But there it was on the preview page, and though I would not be bidding for it, I kept going back to look at it over and over again, enchanted by its whimsy, and, of course, delighted that it depicted a crow.

While I know who sent this to me, I don't know specifically everyone who was involved. I am the co-owner of a computer mailing list, and a bunch of the folks on the list saw my comment on this item on Facebook, and got together and made pledges toward the winning bid for it. I'm moved and amazed that they did this, and I love this little piece of folkart.

I sat at the kitchen table for a long time, with the contents of these two surprise packages in front of me. I felt stunned. And humbled. And, oddly, a little guilty, as I almost always do when someone gives me something. I kept touching the gifts. I picked them up, and put them back down. I stroked them and turned them over in my hands. I wondered what I had done to deserve such unexpected and generous demonstrations of friendship. Further, I wondered if, in fact, I did deserve them at all.

My tea grew cold as I sat there. And while I sat there, Crow came over to me and interrupted my thoughts by poking her head under my hand. I looked down at her and saw again the age on her dear face, right alongside the always-present, and ageless brightness in her eye. She was not, as one might expect, asking for me to pet her and bestow my affection upon her. She was, as I knew, asking me to take a moment to make space to allow her to give me hers - her regard, her friendship, her joy in our relationship. My hand remained resting on her head while I lowered my face to hers so she could, as was her desire, lick me. It would crush her to have me deny her this frequent ritual. I have learned, whether I am busy or not, to take that moment she's requesting, that it isn't about her wanting something from me, but instead, about what she wants to give to me. I never occurs to me to ask if I deserve it. I simply accept it. It is resident in our regard for one another. It is something that she wants to do, maybe even needs to do, and clearly something that pleases her in the doing.

Once again it is Crow who leads me to a deeper understanding. As I cleared away the packing materials, and picked up my lovely surprises to put them in a safer place, the gratitude I felt was clean. Instead of asking why, I simply bow my head and am grateful for the kindness in people, and for the wonderful, always slightly surprising, gift of friendship in my life.

It's been wet ...

2011-09-29T22:38:00.001-04:00

August brought us hurricane Irene, followed by tropical storm Lee, followed by the wettest September I can remember. Though I have nothing to complain about compared to what many suffered in the northeast, my backyard has been permanently recarved by water. I have a swale running through it, which became a stream, which remodeled my patio. The pictures are nowhere near as dramatic as it appeared in person, but whether you saw it in person or not, it's just water, water everywhere.
The plus side is that I haven't been able to mow the lawn without wrecking it permanently, so I haven't been mowing the lawn. In my life, having a legitimate excuse not to mow the lawn counts as a very good thing. You simply cannot run a lawnmower, let alone a garden tractor, over a lawn that looks like this. Yesiree, Bob, I am excused.

The downside is that stone retaining walls will only retain so much water. And probably won't stay standing too long if this keeps up.

The other downside is that I never had a problem with mosquitoes here, but I do now. And they're big. And hungry. Oh yeah. Very hungry.

The Crow's Thirteenth Birthday

2011-04-02T09:19:00.010-04:00

Sometime in the middle of the night last night, Crow crossed the line between 12 and 13. Thirteen years ago, in the wee hours of the morning, I sat on the phone with Suzanne and got the play-by-play report while Otter gave birth to her second litter.
I was waiting for my new male dog to be born. First pup - a female. Second pup - a female, quite small, very black. Third pup - a female. Fourth pup - a female. So far, an easy delivery, all four black and tan, three very similar, one smaller and darker, all girls. "Ok, maybe Otter's not done. I'll go to bed," I said, "let Otter rest, but call me when my little boy is born, please."

Taken in December, 2010, Crow looks good for an old girl.
First thing the next morning, the phone rang, and before Suzanne could speak, I said, "All girls, right? That's ok. I can live with a baby girl. I think the little dark one is my Crow." Until that moment, I hadn't considered a girl, and I hadn't really thought of naming a dog Crow.

Nine days later, we arrived at the farm to meet my little girl for the first time. The minute I put my hands on her, I knew I had my dog. It was a "never look back" moment. She's been the most challenging companion I've ever had. There were times when I didn't think I"d survive her activity level, and there were certainly times when I knew for sure I wouldn't survive her intelligence. I often wondered if I was good enough to clear the bar she set. But I have never for a second doubted that we belonged together. She's stretched me, and taught me more than any other dog ever has. She's always known exactly who I am and, seeing all my warts, has always fully accepted me and and been tolerant of my flaws. She's led me to compromises and shown me that there's always a way to see things from the other side. Together, always together, we worked things out. She was my second husband's first puppy, and she taught him everything he could learn about raising a dog. She loved her "dad." And when he and I split up, she missed him keenly, but let me know that she was mine and I was hers, and if we missed him at all, we'd do it together, as we did everything else. She is my best friend, and my right arm, and my mirror, my critic and my biggest fan.

She's 13 now, and though still doing very well (better, in fact, than she was doing last year) she is clearly my little old lady dog now. Sometimes she sleeps so soundly, I have to put my hands on her to wake her. Though I can feel her heart beating and I can feel her breathing and know she's all right, the depth of her sleep grants me an unwelcome glimpse into some of the things that lay ahead for us as we travel the final years of her time here together. Then she wakes, and blinks, and sees the concern on my face, and looks at me like "What's the matter with you? What do you want? I was just sleeping!" And I tell her, "You're 13 now, and in all the years I've shared with dogs, of the German Shepherds, only Annie lived longer than you have, and then only by a couple of years, and you just don't understand. I want you with me for another 100 years. Or until one minute after I die. Whichever comes first."

And Crow stretches and yawns and says, "It is what it is, and we have what we have, and today is today. Now open the door."

Happy birthday, Baby Girl. I have never had a friend like you before. Today is today, you're right. Thank you for being with me. I love you with all my heart.

The Land of Flying Cows

2010-12-31T01:51:00.008-05:00

I'm home again, from the land of flying cows,

where old dogs become young again,

where the sun is gold,

the mornings cold,
and where everything slows for me. It was a quick visit, just two nights and two full days. It's late now, and I'm finally ready to go to sleep. But I came home replenished, and able to count my blessings properly again. That's no small thing. It is, in fact, huge. It's what I've poking and picking at for most of this year. I needed to stop watching the clock of my life as the hands moved inexorably over the face of the year, to move into the moment and stay firmly rooted. She knows. And now I do, too. It was a good rest. I listened. When I do, Crow never leads me wrong.

FB Thoughts

2010-12-04T09:35:00.010-05:00

I never thought I'd like sites like Facebook. Yet, when I stop to think about the friendships I've formed through the years through the evolution of the Internet, I really shouldn't be surprised that I have forged new relationships and rekindled old ones through Facebook. I signed on a few years ago because my friend Betsy at work said I should, casually shrugging and indicating because "it's fun." And initially, that's all it was, and I used it primarily to "poke" colleagues at work, and post oddly cryptic status lines that let others know I was there, alive and kicking. I tried to avoid blatant bids for sympathy if I was in a cranky mood, or venting too much aggravation - keeping in mind my own reaction to the status lines posted by others. And it was. Fun.

Like any other social networking tool, Facebook is just what you make it. I've found Tweeting to be something that doesn't really work well for me. MySpace felt like the Commons, a break room in my high school where kids gathered to snipe at one another or bury their noses in their own concerns. Neither of those spaces worked for me. Yet, as I reflect on my life as this moment, at who is in it, who is on my mind, the things I am doing with my time and energy, I find that Facebook has replaced the old Bitnet Relay in my life. It keeps me in touch with a wide number of peripheral acquaintances and casual friends. And it has allowed me to deepen friendships where I wish to, and make new ones when they resonate.

I am sitting here right now, sipping a last cup of coffee. It's snowing lightly outside - just flurries. And in a few minutes, I will rouse myself to get moving and get out of the house to make my way into NYC, where I will meet my real-life friend and possible cousin, Carolina. Carolina is from Guatemala. We may be related, or not. Who knows? We share a surname. I met Carolina when her sister, who shares my name (or at least a portion of it), Virginia Servent Palmieri, friended me during the early days of my having joined Facebook. Slowly, the net grew, and I added many of the Palmieris who live in Guatemala to my Friend List. I discovered a kindred soul in one of Carolina's cousins, Carmen, who also lives in Guatemala. Our life stories are eerily similar and our instant understanding of one another was stunning. And when I met Carolina in person for the first time last January, even though there are years between our ages, continents between our lives, and vast cultural differences, I made a real-life friend. The connection was instant and has only been deepened each time we have been together.

Me and Carolina, friends and presumed cousins, moments after first meeting in NYC
in January, 2010
I have some friends who malign things like Facebook and say they have no use for them. Interestingly, they have never so much as stopped by these sites to see what they're like, but believe they know what they're all about. They criticize me, and think I'm crazy for using it. I just shrug, knowing that I have also heard them criticize people who have strong opinions about them and their work without having taken the time to familiarize themselves with it. They are right: you can't judge a book by its cover. Just like the Internet itself, Facebook can be a door to misuse, as can anything else in life. It can also be a very pleasant place to stop by for a quick visit. Some people use it to play games. Others use it to broadcast news to a large number of people at one time. But for me? I use it, instead, to update myself on the comings and goings of a large number of people I care about. I've heard people say that they don't have time for it. Oddly, I use it as a time saver. I can tell in a moment if something important is going on with one of my friends, and then I am free to follow up on them with an e-mail or a phone call, or simply to wait for another update from them so I know what's happening. In an age when none of us have enough time to do all the things we'd like to do, when few of us can afford to travel the globe, where most of us can't (or don't) even make time to pick up a pen and drop a card in the mail to a friend in need, Facebook has served in an amazing capacity. It has broadened my horizons and expanded the scope of my world.

I have recently had lunch with a woman who was my best friend in kindergarten. I hadn't seen her in 40 years, and wasn't close friends with her after our earliest elementary years together, but I thoroughly enjoyed seeing her again, and was instantly aware of what drew us into friendship when we were 5 years old. Right now, I realize I haven't seen any activity from her since before Thanksgiving and I'm about to contact her to make sure everything's all right. Without Facebook, we would not likely have reconnected.

As I get ready to go have lunch with Carolina again, all I can say is, "Thanks, Bets. You're right. Facebook is fun."

Uncle Angelo

2010-06-01T22:40:00.018-04:00

Angelo Salvatore Palmieri
January 29, 1924 - May 31, 2010
When I was a little girl, a very little girl, I was afraid of 2 things - dogs and men. Ok. Are you done laughing? It's true. A collie named Prince who lived down the street cured my fear of dogs. My fear of men, a fear I might have done well to keep to a greater degree than I have, simply faded with time. Exposure. Overkill. Growing up sandwiched between two brothers, one a year older, the other a year younger, probably helped. But at the beginning, men scared me. Except for my father. And his brother. From the very start, my Uncle Angelo was one of my favorite people.

My memories of him from when I was a very young girl are vignettes, as such memories from childhood tend to be. But they have stayed with me powerfully all my life. And even though he moved his family from NJ to Tennessee when I was 8 or 9 years old, he always remained a very solid figure in my life.

I remember one time I went somewhere in the car with only my father and my uncle. It was the 50s. No one had seat belts. Little children were not restricted to the back seat. My dad was driving. I rode in the front seat, a bench seat, nestled between my two favorite men, smelling the sweet, rich aroma of my uncle's pipe smoke, and feeling his arm around me. I don't remember where we were going, or why I was the only one with them - I must have been less than 3 at the time. I only remember feeling safe, crawling into Uncle Ange's lap, smelling his pipe tobacco and asking him to sing a silly little ditty which I believed to have been written just for him - "Angelina, Angelone-uh, 50 cents a water melone-uh." I was 3. It made me giggle. When you were around my dad and his brother, you giggled a lot if you were a little girl. If you were an adult, you were regularly reduced to laughter so hard that it made you hiccup. No one else stood a chance. They were impossibly funny together.

My uncle Angelo died Monday night. My father's brother, the man who held me on a short car ride when I was a toddler, who also held me and cried with me at the bedside when my father died is gone from this life. The only one left now from that generation is his wife, my Aunt Adele. I can barely conceive of the breadth of her loss. She has lost her best friend, and her partner. In 2006, I attended their 60th anniversary party. How do I even begin to get my mind around that?

This afternoon, I'll drop the dogs off at the kennel for a three night stay. Tomorrow morning, I'll head over to my brother's house. We'll fly down together to be with our aunt, our cousins and their children. We'll be at the visitation on Thursday night, and at the service on Friday morning. And by Friday night, I'll be home in my own bed again, looking forward to picking up the dogs on Saturday morning. All the ritual and ceremony that surrounds death will be done with. And we who are left to grieve will go on with the rest of our lives. I know they are always with us, those to whom we've had to say goodbye. Each of us builds a matrix of emotional constructs to understand it. For me these things will always be true - that a lilting descant will recall my mother; that I can never repair anything around my house without feeling my father's hand guiding me; that a steak sizzling on the grill will bring my friend Mike's booming voice to mind so clearly I will hear him; and that catching the scent of someone's pipe will forever, as it has always, make me feel safe in my uncle's arms.

I'm glad your struggles are done. Rest now. Mark and I will be with your children tomorrow, and we will all celebrate your life. I love you, Uncle Angelo. That's always been, and it will always be so.

My Funny Old Girl

2010-05-30T09:40:00.011-04:00

When Crow was a puppy, she kept us moving. She had endless energy and creativity when it came to playtime. She carried far more fuel in her energy tanks than I could fit in mine, and at the end of a long day's work, when my tanks were empty, she was still running on full.

We had to compromise. As my husband at the time was wont to say I "don't do tired well." My patience and tolerance for constant motion were the biggest problems for me - not only forcing myself into motion beyond when I wanted to be, but dealing with the visual input of a constantly moving puppy were sure ways to push my buttons. At the end of the day, when I needed to sit with a book, with my knitting, with some television before bed, after Crow had been run with the older dogs, and had as much real, hard playtime as I could provide between getting home at 3:30 and the pre-bed wind-down time at 9:00 or 9:30 p.m., I would try to grab a little bit of quiet relaxation, and Crow would try to convince me that really, truly, honestly, she hadn't had enough to do, and she was going to implode if she didn't get more playtime. I would stand firm in my position that we were done for the day, because I felt really done and I really needed to be done.

Crow wasn't buying it. But she would accept that the big games were over. Still, she'd pace and pick things up and look for something we could do together that would be acceptable to me, too. Crow wasn't a puppy who could easily amuse herself. Once we got Hudson, I quickly identified the difference in the challenge of raising the two of them. Crow was all about "Will you play with this with me? Play with me!" Hudson's approach, much easier on my nerves, was "Can I play with this? Give me something I can play with."

So, at the end of the day, when I'd said I was done playing, Crow would accept that there'd be no more chasing the ball (a game she could play for hours.) But, she'd look around the room for something to do, and eventually, she'd bring me a tiny piece of plastic that she'd chewed off of a plastic water bottle, or an almond shell she'd stolen from the bottom of the parrot's cage, or even a scrap of paper she'd filched from the trash. She'd roll it around in her mouth and drop it on my knee. I quickly learned that yes, I could read, I could knit, I could even follow a movie if I just flicked the tiny piece of offering off my knee. She'd run and retrieve it, roll it around in her mouth, chew it a little more, break it up a bit, and select a successively smaller and smaller piece with which to continue the game. It was our compromise. It worked. And she was so cute, rolling those tiny pieces around in her mouth, finding them with her tongue so she could spit them out into my hand or ono my knee, that she often succeeded in truly engaging me once again in the game.

Well, Crow is now 12 years old. And we've long since found the levels of activity that work perfectly for both of us. It's Sunday morning. The sun is out. Hudson's out lying in it. He can see us through the screen door, and we can see him. It's his version of a perfect morning. They've been fed. I've had my Sunday breakfast. And I'm having my second mug of coffee while I watch the news and go through e-mail. And The Crow was curled up at my feet, since long ago, we discovered that the best part about living together is simply being together. She is always at my side, and always wants to be on the same side of the door where I am.

Just a few minutes ago, a dog nose poked my hand, and I looked up to see Crow, still so lovely to me, meeting my eyes, and clearly rolling something small around in her mouth. She dropped it onto my knee - an almond shell she brought down from the parrots' room yesterday afternoon. Her incomparable eyes were shining, asking me if I remembered the game. So I flicked it across the room for her, and she came back and dropped it into my hand so I could set it up on my knee and launch it for her once again.

Every now and then, the smallest thing reveals that it can hold the whole of something else within it - the scent of someone grilling meat on a late spring afternoon can recall in its entirety a day spent in the backyard of my childhood with extended family, aunts, uncles, cousins there; the feel of icy air on the skin can bring back the taste of hot chocolate in front of the fire, after an evening of ice-skating, and so on. Little snippets that hold people and places and things in place in my heart can unexpectedly open the whole vista of my life to me. And just now, nothing more than the feel of the end of Crow's muzzle in my cupped hand as I waited to receive the wet and ever-smaller bit of her chosen toy recalled her entire life for me.

My funny old girl. Sometimes you have driven me to distraction. Sometimes you've exhausted me and all of my resources. Initially, you often made me wonder if you were in the right home. But ultimately, you've always patiently worked until you found the compromise that would work for us. Maybe that should have been my job, but you turned out to be better at it than I was. That gentle muzzle-nuzzle that said this was your part, could I do mine? My funny old girl. We've been perfect together.

Mike

2010-05-20T08:24:00.005-04:00

I lost a friend on Tuesday night. He was too young to die. Brain cancer. The final 16 months of his time here were spent in a fierce battle against this awful disease. I lost my father, at just about the same age, 19 years ago to the same illness. In some ways, as hard as that was, this is harder. I think we know throughout our lives that we will one day have to face losing our parents. I don't think I ever fully acknowledged that I would one day have to lose my friends.

Mike was a large man. So were his heart and his spirit. He adored his wife and daughter. As a husband and a father, he was the gold standard. As a friend, he was unfailingly kind and generous. He spoke loudly, laughed easily, and lived largely. His presence was like a bear hug. Just knowing that he was your friend fortified your sense of safety in the world.

His absence, while not unexpected, still feels starkly sudden. I'm grateful to have known him, better for having had his friendship, and stunned by this loss. My dear friend, I am grateful for your rest now. When the sharpness of this death has eased, I know that the kind presence of your spirit will be carried forward in all of our lives.

A Lapful of Sublime

2010-05-20T07:54:00.015-04:00

I was up at the farm again last weekend. I worked kitchen duty with two other ladies for a seminar weekend. It was, as usual, a very worthwhile seminar, with an unusually good group of folks in attendance. Crow & Hudson and I shared The Den with Heather & Tar, a human and a dog both of whom are uniquely easy to get along with. I suppose a weekend like this would not be what many consider a good time, but it's the bread and butter of my peace and grounding to be there, whether we're there solely for R&R, or there to work and learn.

This trip, however, was made more enjoyable by the presence of the latest litter. Spider produced a litter of 6 beautiful pups back in April. They were just three weeks old last Friday. We arrived Thursday evening, after having put in a full day's work and battling heavy traffic on the NY Thruway. I was exhausted when we got there around 9:30, but perked up when I found my friends in The Den. I took the time to install Crow and Hudson, and let them stretch their legs in the yard while I unpacked the car and stowed my stuff. Then I went up to the house with Suzanne. Spider greeted me happily and proudly led me to the box, where her plump little brood was contentedly grunting, groaning, and kicking with full bullies in activated sleep.

I'll let the pictures tell you what happens to the physical stress of a 5 hour drive in heavy traffic, and the emotional and psychological load from a rough week at work when you're in the presence of these babies. Seriously. You find the words for this.

My breathing changes. My muscles loosen. My eye softens. Memories of all the dogs who have shared my life course through me, and I feel all the potential and promise and love that each of these young lives hold.

I'll be back in June. Twice. The puppies will be older, larger, more opinionated and able. More fun? Absolutely. Yet, I think they arrive with all the power of what they will be, and it may never be more apparent and rich than it is at the start, when they lie in your open hand, trusting and confident that you will hold them safely. These are the luckiest. For them, there is little chance that this trust will ever be betrayed.

Mother's Day

2010-05-09T11:54:00.017-04:00

(Thoughts on the first Mother's Day following my mother's death: Eleanor VanSplinter Palmieri, Feb. 15, 1926-September 21, 2009)

I didn't think this would happen. It's seems really stupid and schmaltzy. I'm not given to noting anniversaries of losses, and have always thought that rather a strange response. Someone is just as dead every other day as they are on the anniversary of their death, and when I've lost someone, that loss is folded into me, becomes a part of me, and is noted and acknowledged with every beat of my heart. But it seems like Mother's Day is the kick off for the acute part of grieving the loss of my mother.

I've been paralyzed all morning. Every time I start to try to do something, a wave of grief so powerful and palpable that it has the ability to sweep the breath out of my body hits me. I've spent the morning alternately trying to rally myself and just giving in to tears. I'd been wondering when the "good cry" would come. I didn't cry much at the time of Mom's death, nor have I since. Well, ironically and unexpectedly, it's hit me like a tsunami on Mother's Day, a day which never warranted more than a bunch of flowers and a card from me in the past.

I am fighting a feeling of being so alone in the world that I can't
see that there is any life on it at all. I don't believe I have ever felt
as alone and abandoned as I do right now.

I miss my mother every day. In that sense, today is no different from any day since she died - or even more accurately, from any day since she retreated into the inside of her mind. At times, it felt hard or impossible to connect with her. My love didn't seem to penetrate the wall behind which she'd retreated. She was there with her mother and father, her brother, my father, and his parents, and everyone she loved who's already died. It felt, at times, like the love I so palely and feebly offered didn't matter at all. That is, sadly, a feeling I've come to know too well, but one which has no power to stop me from offering it. It's all I have. It's all I could give her. If it did or didn't matter to her didn't matter, because ultimately, it mattered to me. No other gift, no thing of this world could reach her. No flowers, no jewelry, no perfume, no clothes. There were no gifts I could offer that could be received. All I could do was sit by her side and, as the song says, let my love flow. And I did that every week for three years, while she took her time letting go. And hope it reached her. Now, after so much time of being able to do nothing more than that, it seems that I can't even do that. Yet it remains, more now than ever before, the only thing that I can do, even with her no longer by my side.

So, for a few moments, I give in to tears, and I miss my mother with the sort of physical, organic need that an infant feels when it's first laid aside and separated from its mother. The world feels hard and cold and foreign, frightening and hostile. And then, I rally a bit and go find something to do for a little while that contains this, and walls it off. But, it's a dam insufficient to the task, and the waters build up behind it quickly, and breach it soon enough. I guess this is grief. But just when it's got me good and threatens to drown me, I find a sort of native buoyancy, and I swim easily enough to the top. I can't get out of these waters just yet, but I can float where they take me. And I'm forced to acknowledge that just maybe what holds me up is that same love that was and is all I have to offer. Who knows? Maybe it's powerful enough that it is her hand that nudges me up from the depths, that love still flows both ways and has power. Maybe that is, as we see with the whales who nudge their newborns to the surface for that all important first gulp of air, what love is - that thing that keeps raising us up for the next breath.

The Best Part of Lawn Mowing

2010-04-20T19:11:00.018-04:00

It's begun. It's that time of year again. From now until the end of August, every week the lawn will require mowing. Mowing the back yard isn't hard. Except for detailing in the corners and a couple of other places into which I can't get the lawn tractor, it's just a question of firing up the tractor and figuring out the best route around the garden beds. I know the mines back there, the rocks and roots that can shatter the blades. I know the boggy parts that are best avoided if there's been any rain. The first time I mowed back there 5 years ago, it took me over an hour to do. Now, I can get it done in less than 30 minutes. The remaining detailing, which has to be done with the push mower takes about the same. And then it's done. For another 5 days to a week.

The front yard is harder. It has to be done with the push mower. The areas are small and difficult to manoeuver in. The mower is heavy for me, and there are steep berms the mower needs to be dropped down and then pulled back up. More than once, my feet have slipped out from under me while pulling the mower back up. And all summer long, when it's hot, I invariably get seriously overheated when mowing the front.

Right now, though, we are at the end of a perfect spring day. It never hit 60 here. The sun was out most of the day. The daffodils, hyacinths, and forsythia have died off, but the lilacs and some of the lilies are starting. The plenaria are in bloom, and though they are wild and invasive, I love them. Every year, there are new and different wild flowers -- some might call them weeds, but I welcome them and will think of them as wild flowers. Last year, a low growing pretty plant started to grow up the side of a big stump. It has a small blue flower, and while it stays low, it climbs up and around rocks and stumps and even the fence. It's not a vine. It grows low and full, but it seems to climb and fill in spaces that beg for a flower. I have no idea what it is. If you know, let me know.This year, there's much more of it than there was last year, and I'm going to try and transplant some of it and move it out front. Because my friend Kevin has promised to solve the problem of mowing the berms for me. He's turning that part of the front yard into a rock garden. Whatever these things are, with the way they hug rocks and stumps, I think they'll look really pretty in a rock garden.

While that work has yet to be fully begun, he's dug out and around some of my land mines out back and created a pretty little rock garden there, too, which will be easy to mow around. And in the back, where there are large beds that have finally been cleared of the awful, invasive wild rose, he's planted some blueberries for me.

I think it will all look very pretty when he's done, And it'll certainly be welcome to have the mowing out front made easier, and the detailing around the land mines out back eliminated, or at least reduced. The work's not done. There's still planting to be done, and mulch to be put down. But the idea is there, and I love it.

I can already see that these improvements are going to make shorter work of mowing. And that is a very good thing. Because the very best part of mowing the lawn is being done with it. It's the time when I most enjoy walking around or sitting in the yard. The added enjoyment this evening was that it was cool enough to sit out there with a book, a cup of tea, and the dogs. Crow and Hudson both seem to enjoy rolling around in the grass after its been mown. Tonight, I further enriched the experience for them by digging around in the freezer for a couple of shank bones I knew I had in there. They enjoyed them al fresco while I enjoyed my book.

It's not a bad way to finish a day, reading, sipping tea, enjoying the mixed fragrance of freshly mown grass and blooming lilacs. No. In fact, it's a very good way to end the day.

Last morning of my mini-vacation

2010-04-11T11:28:00.002-04:00

I'm sitting in the trailer at the farm, warming up with a cup of coffee, enjoying the final moments on the farm before I hit the road for home. Suzanne's gone down state to teach today and won't be home till late this evening. I've got the sheets and towels I used during my visit washed and in the dryer, the kitchen floor swept and scrubbed, the countertops scoured, and I've just come back from helping Wendy feed the barn. It's not all that cold, but it's really windy out, and it feels good to be out of it for a bit, with a nice cup of hot coffee in my hands.

Crow and Hudson have had a good time. There's been a fair share of excitement for them this time, as one group of cows keeps getting out of their pasture. They spend the day in the field behind our house, and at breakfast and dinner time, they saunter down the drive, about 30 feet away from the fenced yard where my guys are. It's funny to watch them, because they are more than willing to stare the dogs down, and the dogs respect it. They do bark at them, but it has a different timbre to it than when they bark at deer or other dogs at home. It's a far less excited, aroused bark, almost a greeting. There are young calves right now, and that amps up the willingness of the whole herd to be protective. Needless to say, this visit, I have not left the dogs out in the yard while I'm up at the barn. The cows are a sensible lot, and quite accustomed to dogs, but the fence is only those metal stakes and welded wire. It would be like paper under an onslaught of the weight of one of those girls if she took it into her head that the dogs were a threat to one of the babies. So, sadly, unless I knew exactly where the cows were, Crow and Hudson had to wait inside if I wasn't there.

I've got to say, there is probably nothing in the whole world cuter than a baby Highlander. They are just cuteness personified on the hoof, all round eyes and fluffy red coats, and softness. They make it hard to peel yourself away from the fields and out of the barn, despite the 30 mph winds in 30 degree temperatures. In fact, you don't even notice that you're cold, you're having so much fun with the animals, until you finally come inside and realize how much you want a hot cup of coffee.

I've enjoyed my stay. It's wonderful to visit with my friend, and with all of the dogs and the other animals here. I don't even mind the drive to get here, though the same can't be said about the drive home and the prospect of work again in the morning. Somehow, whatever's waiting on the other end seems to flavor the trip. There are no words for being in a place where you belong. This place makes things real for me. I have yet to identify why or how, but the smallest of interactions with any facet of life here brings me back to my center, and back into balance.

Old friends

2010-04-07T10:22:00.036-04:00

It's Wednesday. I'm glad I've arranged to take Friday off this week. I'll be packing Crow and Hudson into the car after work on Thursday, and taking off for the farm. It can't come soon enough for me. I've had a very hard couple of weeks, for many reasons. Though I have dealt fairly well with the blows, they came fast and furiously, and I'm tired from dodging, darting, and dealing. I want to sit, to knit, to read, and to move among all my many old friends at the farm. Caring, sharing, touching my many friends - the many dogs, the cats, the horses, and donkeys, and cows, the very trees themselves - recharges and rejuvenates me in ways not available to me in my office. No matter how productive or rewarding my day at work may be, it never plugs me in to the things that truly matter the way time at the farm does.

Picture me there, with my good friend, Suzanne, surrounded by all my old friends, walking in the woods with Crow and Hudson, currying Joseph, the 34 year old Thoroughbred gelding, sharing those awful, orange-yellow circus peanut candies with the cows and the pigs. It's a wonder they don't start to glow in the dark!

As I walk up to the barn, I remember all the old friends who wait for me there; some are memories, warm and comforting; some still with us, with their bodies still youthful; all of them offering their own form of welcome and friendship.

There have been so many through the years, even though the barn itself is new, the aisles seem to echo with them. Jeremy, the black bull, whose bellow I could feel through my back as I lay on the earth that first Easter visit to the farm in 1998. Awake early, long before my husband and my friends, I had walked to the edge of the cow pasture and sat myself down on the dewy grass. After watching the cows peacefully grazing, I'd lain down next to the fence, watching the sky above, and the birds flying over, when I suddenly became aware that I could feel the cows' footfalls faintly in my body, the ground carrying the vibration, sharing it with me. Cool,I thought. But when Jeremy extended his neck and let out a deep bellow that echoed over the hills, and I realized I could actually feel this bellow transmitted through the earth, resonating through me, I was transported. Jeepers, the cranky paint, who might welcome you in one instant and take a swipe at you the next. Carson, grandma dog and matriarch, who slowly became my dear friend through the years, who honored me once with her trust when she chose to stay in my home while Suzanne went out, yet again, for another book signing. This was no small thing, for Carson to tell Suzanne to go on without her, and that she would be comfortable and safe, waiting at home with me and her grandkids.

And, perhaps most of all, Otter, mama to both Crow and Hudson, and then grandma dog, great-grandma dog, and even great great grandma before she chose to go, whose friendship came to mean so very much to me that I mourned her passing as deeply as I have ever mourned. Vali, and Grizzly, Banni and Chili, Bee, and so many more, too many to name, whose friendship once touched our lives so profoundly while they walked with us, whose spirits now blanket the farm with an abiding connection, caring, and love.

And every year, there is new life. Right now, one of the dogs is expecting a litter. Last year's calves are growing out, and new calves will come. Maybe this is why this place restores me like no other, because nowhere else that I spend time is the cycle of life so apparent, so steady, such an enveloping stream that lets me ship my oars and simply travel where life intends to take me.

We're BACK...

2010-04-04T09:38:00.007-04:00

It's been a long while. I apologize. In September, my mother's death sort of brought some things to a full stop, and sent other things, deeply internal and personal things that were not Blog-fodder, into motion.

So, from August to April, what has been happening will largely remain un-blogged. Two seasons passed, fall and winter. Appropriately, they are the fallow seasons. And as Spring begins, we'll try to begin again, while we spare you photographs of every intrepid daffodil as it pushes through last fall's unraked leaves.

Two days ago, Crow had her 12th birthday. Three weeks ago, she experienced an episode of essential vestibular syndrome. Glimpsing her mortality was not a lot of fun, but the episode, as sobering as it was, reminded me that this girl has never been sick a day in her life. For an EPI dog, this is quite remarkable. Once we got her stabilized after she was diagnosed at the age of 2, she simply blasted her way through life joyfully, without missing a step. There are no words for how much this girl means to me. As she lies at my feet at this very moment, gnawing on the remnants of a buffalo shin bone, she looks like forever to me, and reminds me to stay in the moment. The loss of her older brothers within 6 months of each other just over a year ago, and the sudden death of her litter sister in December had already reminded me that we can only ever be sure of the moment we're in. It does me no harm to remember that every time I look into her remarkable eyes, nor to remember to thank her every day for the very special openness and connection she offers to me without fail. Happy Birthday, Crow.

Hudson, of course, cannot be left out. My boy is 9 now, approaching his 10th birthday in June. He has become an amazing companion in his own right. He still has that big-boy-dog energy and sweetness, the sum total of which is a "Goober" quality that makes me laugh every single day. He has never lost the "huh?" factor, but as he's matured he's slowly revealed his own brand of intelligence and insight. Crow walks by my side; Hudson stumbles on ahead, and circles around and amazes us both with his non-stop ability to be amazed himself, by the simplest things in life.

And so, we roll along. Perhaps, just as Hudson reveals his innate smarts, we'll slowly reveal some of the things that occurred between August and April. Many socks were knit. Both figuratively and literally, there is always something on the needles. Seasons and time passed. And we're all still here, and promise to blog more faithfully.

In honor of Panda

2009-08-03T20:55:00.003-04:00

In memory of Panda, of Grizzly, of Doc, and Beckett, and all the many, dearly loved dogs I have personally known, and the hundreds and thousands I haven't who have died of hemangiosarcoma, please visit my friend Wendy's page and contribute to her effort to help raise money for research to help find an effective treatment or cure for this unforgiving, horrible disease.

I posted about Panda's death back in January. Panda was Crow's full brother, from their mother Otter's first litter. Otter was an amazing dog, fun and engaging, funny and opinionated, who lived a good, full life, passing her 15th birthday in mid-March. She passed away peacefully in her sleep on July 30th. I was fortunate enough to have been her friend, and to have seen her as recently as the weekend of July 4th. She was still herself, still certain of what she wanted and where she was going, and still perfectly capable of getting herself there. Much as I miss her now and will miss her always, I am profoundly grateful that she died on the same terms as she lived - sure of where she was going, and perfectly capable of getting herself there.

Those of us who are blessed with the presence of her children in our lives have perhaps lulled ourselves into believing that each of them would live as long and die as well as Grandma Otter. Yet, in the last year, two of her sons, only 12 - and I say "only" because neither of them were old or doddering 12 year old German Shepherds, but rather vital and strong and powerful presences until their ends - died of hemangio.

I could eulogize Grizzly and Panda here, but I won't. Like Otter, they weren't my dogs to eulogize, though I knew both of them well and loved them both. I have two of Otter's children. They are my family, and they are my friends. To have witnessed what Panda and Wendy shared, and what Grizzly and Suzanne had between them is enough of a eulogy for me. I need look no further than to the dogs who share my life with me to know what's been lost in their untimely deaths, and, maybe more importantly, what can never be lost from their having lived.

I have made my own small contribution to Wendy's cause, in Panda's memory. It is my eulogy to a great soul, my elegy, every bit as much as a mournful howl, to the losses that stay with me forever - to Doc, to Beckett, to Vali, Grizzly, and all the rest. My life has been so deeply touched and changed through the willing sharing and love given by these animals, it is the least I can do.

Stopping time

2009-06-23T08:39:00.007-04:00

From this ...

... to this.

Happy birthday, Hudson. Nine years flew by, and so much has happened in my life. Your unfailingly cheery outlook, and your ever-ready, open, trusting heart remain my retreat.

I am now officially stopping the clock....

Looking out my back door

2009-06-09T17:55:00.011-04:00

When I moved into my house four years ago, my life was pretty much in tatters. I was among the walking wounded, for a number of reasons. I found the little (don't forget "cute and quaint") house in which I live, with a yard that was sufficient for my dogs, insufficient for my horse (despite my dreams to the contrary) and just about as much as I could handle on my own. It didn't seem perfect, but it was what I could afford, and as the farm where I lived was going to be closed on out-from-under me, I didn't have a lot of time to look further. I was tired, terrified, and on my own for the first time in my life.

I settled in. I coped. With the help of friends, I learned how to do things I'd never been required to do before in my life, ranging from dealing with "the system," navigating my way through the legalities and financial decisions of buying a home, learning how to fix whatever went wrong (even if that occasionally required hiring someone who knew how,) to getting down on my hands and knees in the dirt to weed, to plant. I'd grown up with brothers, and I'd married young, so there had always been men around to shovel the snow, to rake the leaves, to mow the lawn. Some of them did these things well; others not so well, but either way, my involvement with these activities was always voluntary, auxiliary, and nothing I ever had to do. And certainly, I'd never had to rely upon myself to get it all done. I told myself to grow up, and I did what had to be done. Sometimes I enjoyed it. Other times I resented it. Most of the time, I just did it without thinking.

There are times when the floors need to be scrubbed; other times when the birds' cages could be cleaner; days when the laundry should already have been done, when the dogs' nails might have been trimmed, their coats brushed; there are certainly times when the weeding gets ahead of me, and when the weather won't allow me to get the lawns mowed when they're already a tad shaggy - but overall, I get it all done, and I don't do such a bad job of any of it. I may not have the cleanest house in town, my yard may not be the best kept, and my garden is certainly not a showcase, but it all gets done.

The first year or so, the demands of doing all of the day to day things were balanced by a certain pride in conquering some of my fears and learning so many new things. Sometimes the pride was solely in being able to keep up, but other times, it was in being able to stand back and admire a job truly well-done. Soon, however, the glowing pride faded, and it just became my life. Out of the depths of grief, sorrow and trauma, I had truly emerged, but I found myself on very level ground, just getting through the days, and doing what needed to be done. Not many highs, but not many lows. Day to day, it was all okay.

Recently, something's happened in my life that's made me realize that I really love my little (quaint and cute) house, and that, with my animals (my family,) what we've done is quite wonderful. We have built a life, in a wonderful, sweet little home, and that all I have to do to realize what I have here is just open my back door.

Today was a dark, stormy, rainy day, with one thunder storm after another, high winds, teeming rain, and black, black skies. As the afternoon went on, though, the ceiling lifted, and though the sun is still not out, the light has softened to a gentle grey. Colors are saturated and deep, the earth smells sated and full, and the air in my back yard is scented with the gentle perfume of peonies and primrose.

Look out my back door -
- there are parklike vistas ...

- there are peonies in the pink ...

- and just look at my Crow and the way she looks at me when I come home. Everything I need is right outside my back door. And now that I have noticed, I am, finally, home.

Luna magic

2009-06-06T00:14:00.017-04:00

I have a couple of other blog entries dancing around in my brain that I just haven't gotten around to writing. There was that special morning at the foo-foo spa, a luxury I afforded myself while my car was being worked on and there was nothing else to do while I waited. And a wonderful birthday I've completely elided over, not because it wasn't the completely wonderful day that it was, but I mean really, do we still have to count every single year? And there was the great day at Citifield with my brother, marred by a stinky performance by our team, but marked by a most unlikely encounter with an acquaintance of his. Some of this was sublime, some of it ridiculous, but I simply haven't had the time to chronicle every single event of the spring.

The last two nights an unexpected visitor outside my back door has slowed me down, and begs mention here. Every night, as I prepare to go to bed, I let the dogs out for "last outs" while I ready the house for the night. I go down and make sure the outside light is turned off, and that the kitchen door is locked. I check to be certain that Duncan, my rat, has food and water for his nocturnal bumping-in-the-night. I go up and check on my birds, making sure that Dover, my cockatiel, isn't in a draft, that Kiwi and Ziggy are tucked in, and that everyone has fresh water. I wash my face and brush my teeth, set out clothes for the morning and put on my pajamas. And then I return to the living room and open the back door to call the dogs back in.

Last night, when I opened the back door, something fairly large hit the screen, bounced off, and flew away in a swooping circle. I could hear its wings, quite audible and papery as it flew. It arced around, and returned to the door, and then it hit the light and fluttered to the ground just as the dogs came cantering up. Hudson came inside without noticing it, but it rose into the air about a yard, making a tight spiral, the flapping of its wings quite loud, just as Crow arrived. She moved to investigate it, but as it fluttered back to the ground, I asked her to leave it alone and she came inside. I stepped out and bent to take a closer look at our visitor, and as I did so, once again it rose into the air, heading toward the spotlight.

It bumped up against the light quite hard a couple of times, knocking itself back, flying a drunken route around it. Then, it circled my head, and finally, surprisingly, came to a landing on my right forearm. Spectacular. It had long, fuzzy feelers up front, and two long tails behind, which scissored slightly when it landed. Its little feet tickled as it walked down my arm toward my hand. It was easily half again as wide as my hand, it's wing span more than 4 inches across. Its wings, which had appeared to be highly translucent and nearly white while it was in flight, seemed to solidify before my eyes, and were actually a delicate shade of green. It sported two eye spots high on its shoulders and two others, more pronounced on its lower wings.

I was enthralled as it examined the back of my hand and then took off once more, landing at my feet. I didn't have my camera, as I generally don't carry it in my pj's. So, I thanked it for the visit, and came in to bed. When I woke hours later to the sound of a steady, soaking rain, after a brief moment of consciously loving the coziness of being warm and dry in bed, snuggled deeply between my two wonderful dogs while listening to it fall outside my window, my thoughts quickly turned to my visitor. How could its parchment wings survive such a downpour? Indeed, how long do such fragile and ephemeral beings come to stay at all?

It rained all night, and most of today, sometimes a lovely soft, misty rain, but at other times quite heavily. Often, I found myself thinking about my visitor, wondering how it could possibly survive. So you can imagine my delight when I went to call the dogs in a little while ago, and found my visitor once again fluttering around the spotlight. This time, I did grab the camera and stuck it in my pocket before I went out. I spent a little time with her, and offered her a drink from a leaf, which she took with her amazing tongue. She is a luna moth, as a brief search of the internet revealed to me. "Just" a moth. And just like the tiny hummingbird moth who visited the phlox in my garden a couple of summers ago, she has managed to stop time for me, quietly slowing my step, and forcing me, however briefly, to step back into the deep stillness of wonder.

Old Soul, Young Soul

2009-05-28T11:59:00.000-04:00

Tommy and Sally - one an old soul, one a young soul (you might be surprised which one is which) - enjoy a moment together.

It's Never Dull

2009-05-25T10:35:00.006-04:00

Did you hear what I said?

I said, "Did you hear what I said??

Pretty funny, huh? Gotcha!!!

Hudson says, "She cracks me up."

Eleven Years with The Crow

2009-04-02T21:36:00.013-04:00

Eleven years ago this evening, I was on the phone with Suzanne as Otter gave birth to her second litter. I was waiting to hear of the arrival of Hudson, the male puppy I'd already named and for whom I was anxiously waiting. Otter had other plans. I would have to wait another 2 years for Hudson, as this time she gave birth to four healthy, beautiful daughters (immediately dubbed "Otter dotters.") There was, I was told, one very small, very dark one, and even as I quickly switched gears and allowed that "I could take a girl," I knew that that little one would be my Crow. And so it was, and so it is. Happy birthday, Crow. You are, indeed, my Crow. And yes, you are, without question, the cutest German Shepherd I have ever seen. (She made me say that publicly.)

Photograph by Suzanne Clothier

The Soul's Joy

2009-01-09T16:21:00.015-05:00

Larger than life, Crow's two brothers, both now gone, live on in our hearts and memories. To have known them both from birth was a joy and a privilege.

Hawks Hunt's Artful Dodger 12/17/96- 1/8/09 - Panda

This Soul's Joy

It was this soul's joy
for this mote of time
to choose blood and bone
sinew and flesh and fur
To fall beneath your warm gaze
And your gentle hand

To confine the far reaches
of this soul's infinity
for this brief while
in this chosen vessel
to sail through field and wood
powering this confinement
with the winds of my own breath,
with singing muscle and strong bone

Now I stand at the edge
of the open field of being
and race the reaches of time
to dance around the stars
with you as surely as
a walk among the hemlocks
until I find the turn-around star
For this is this soul's joy.
vrp - 1/9/09

Hawks Hunt's Bah Humbug 12/17/96-8/2/08 - Grizzly

Get moving!

2008-12-20T14:38:00.003-05:00

That's the living room. It's only up five steps from here, where I sit with my coffee and my lack of motivation. It's reasonably clean. It just needs me to drag out the Christmas decorations and get at it.

I think I'm going to go to the grocery store. I really don't feel like doing anything right now. But I really ought to go out and get at least milk, eggs, bread ... stuff like that. We're due for more snow over night, and I will probably feel even less like doing anything tomorrow.

Time to get ready for Christmas

2008-12-10T22:36:00.006-05:00

Jury duty was pretty much a non-event. In this county, you're on call for a week, from Monday through Thursday, or for one trial if you're selected. Each night, you call or check a web site to see what you need to do the next day. Monday was the only day I had to even report to the court house. Thankfully. Small room. Overheated. Lots of coughing and sneezing going on. It wasn't bad, though, and the ride to the county seat, a little town called Belvedere, is pretty. I am glad, though, to have my time back, just in terms of knowing where I had to be.

Psychologically, I had to get past this week before I felt free to plan for Christmas. I guess I really ought to start making some lists now. This will be the year of the home-made knits, but it is critical that I pre-determine who is sock-worthy. There's nothing as nice, in a knitter's eyes, as a pair of hand knit socks. It is, however, critical to a knitter's self-esteem and self-image, to be certain to gift the socks to sock-worthy recipients. Nothing bruises a knitter's ego worse than giving hand-knit socks to someone who would not realize how much is put into each and every stitch. In truth, I already have 6 pairs of socks done, and had a good idea, due to inherent sock-worthiness, of to whom each pair would go and for whom each specific pair was being made.

Of course, there were those other 10 pairs that ended up in my own drawer, because, oh the yarn was so yummy, or the colorway was gorgeously unright for the intended recipient, or, oh! I really bunged up that gusset, didn't I? Just can't give these away (and I love them sooo much!,) they're not gift-worthy.

But there must be more to Christmas than socks, and felted mittens, and felted clogs. There must be. I must make my lists and check them twice before it is clear to me what that "more" is.

Now that jury duty, which loomed ever-so-much larger than it turned out to be, is over, I can move on.

Right now, though, I'm too tired to get up and go to bed. Am I the only one this happens to?

A big rat and jury duty

2008-12-08T20:27:00.005-05:00

Duncan's now about 6 months old. He's a big boy. Right at this very moment, Crow's asleep on the couch, Hudson's asleep on the floor by my feet, and Duncan's sound asleep under my sweater. When Duncan was new, the dogs were really excited by him, and all of the energy was a little bit scary. Now, just three months since Duncan arrived, he's old news, and I love it that I can sit with him this way. Little things make me happy.

Jury duty today - day one of four was easy. Reported. Got logged in. Sat. Waited. Knit a sock. Watched an instructional video. Waited for further instructions. Got a bathroom break. And ultimately, we were let go early because the defendant in the pending trial entered a guilty plea and a jury would not be needed. Day two will be even easier. My "services are not needed," and I can go to work, although I will need to check the court website tomorrow night to see if I have to report to court on Wednesday, and again on Wednesday night, to see if I'm required on Thursday. And that's it then, for three years. In this county, you can't be called more often than once every three years, and since the population in this county isn't sufficient to support "one day, one trial," you're on call for one week, Monday through Thursday. We were told today that there didn't appear to be any more trials pending, and that if we had any plans this week, we could probably count on keeping them, although we still have to check each evening regarding the next day's service. Without making any promises, though, the jury coordinator told us it looked like we were off the hook.

As I said, little things make me happy.

P.S. When I saw this photo, I realized I needed to take some weight off Duncan. I have, which is more than I've done for myself.

The many ways by which to waste time

2008-12-06T12:01:00.002-05:00

All in the name of accomplishing things, of course, I have discovered even more ways to waste time. For instance, one can spend as much time searching through knitting patterns as one can spend knitting. Or searching through menu plans as one can spend shopping or cooking. Even the dogs present opportunities, as it is possible to spend over an hour comparison shopping for the best price on a Furminator, which, of course, is time that could have been spent raking out the dogs with the tools I already own.

Can't write more now. Must knit, and shop, and cook, and groom. I can't figure out how it's gotten to be so late.

Jiggetty jig ...

2008-11-30T13:26:00.010-05:00

I'm home again, home again. Wonderful. I had a marvelous time while I was away, both at the farm and up in Vermont. My week was filled with people I love, animals I adore, good food, new acquaintances, and plenty of time to just sit and read or knit while I chatted with dear old friends.

I am, however, also grateful to be home again, with my good dogs, who are my immediate family, with my enchanting little rat, and with my parrots, who could not be more joyful at my return than I am myself. I just don't stand on tip toes, and spread my wings wide and shriek my joy from my core. Gotta wonder why we gave up that sort of display as a species. Our closest relatives certainly indulge.

Here they are, my precious babies, back where they belong.

I never sleep as well without them as I do with them, and from the amount of deep sleep they've been doing today, I'd say the same must be true for them. We all slept soundly last night - when I woke up and glanced at the clock at 5:00 a.m., we were all in the same positions we were in when we went to bed.
Tomorrow at 5:00 a.m., our routine resumes. Right now, I'm trying to convince myself that I absolutely have to go out and run some errands. I'm losing the argument.

I am thankful for friends whom I love and who make me feel loved in return. I'm thankful for a new hope that I feel in all of us, that we can now put our shoulders to the wheel and begin to work on finding solutions to our collective troubles. I'm thankful for my job, and for this cozy little house I found three years ago, for having enough to share with others. Most of all, I am thankful for the gifts I receive from these two who teach me so much every single day, simply in their patience and trust and love. You know you are home when you settle in and pull the very air around you like a blanket and wonder why you'd ever want to leave.

Almost heaven ...

2008-11-22T22:38:00.004-05:00

I'm sitting in the living room at the farm. In the room with me are Otter (Crow and Hudson's mother), Bee (Crow's litter sister), Stone (one of their nephews) and Spider (the newest member of the Hawk's Hunt crew, daughter of Rain, grand-daughter of Bee, great grand-daughter of Otter.) In the next room, there's Bird (Hudson's litter sister) and Badger. In the room next to that, are Cash, Rain, and Lark. And upstairs, Ruby and Monk are asleep in the bedroom. As you can see, I've given up trying to untangle the family relationships in my brain. However, with the exception of the Chabrador, Badger, all the dogs here are related, more or less closely, to Crow and Hud.

Additional house animals include the two parrots, the two tortoises, a kitten named Marco, and a couple of parakeets. I've already visited with the four horses and the two donkeys. Tomorrow morning, after I feed the dogs, I'll go up to the barn and visit with them again, as well as with the animals I haven't seen yet.

It wasn't the best trip up. First, I missed my exit off of route 80, and was zipping past the next exit, the last one at which I could turn around for miles, before I realized it. Instead of coming up 287, I ended up opting to go all the way to the Garden State Parkway, well east of where I needed to be, and taking that up to the NY Thruway. I probably lost less than a half an hour, but it felt like a lot. Then, when I stopped at a rest stop on the Thruway to get a cup of coffee, I came out to find a huge hole in my bumper. Bummer. No one had seen anything, and there was no point hanging around trying to get a report on record. I'll eat it, or I'll submit a collision claim. Not the way I wanted to start my vacation. And somehow, by going a steady 9 mph over the speed limit all the way, I managed to make up the time I'd lost missing the exit and got here in 4.5 hours.

When I got here, I met up with Wendy, who had been taking care of the tribe until my arrival. We went up to the barn and finished up a couple of chores and then went out to dinner. So, it wasn't until we returned from eating that I got to see all of the dogs.

I have a special relationship with Otter, but found her pissy and annoyed that Mom and Dad had gone off. She didn't want to eat the food with her meds in it, and she wasn't all that impressed that I was here when I first got here. When I got back from dinner, she had adjusted to the current reality, and she ate her meal for me. And then I started rotating through the groups of dogs, giving everyone their last potty trip and their bedtime snack.

When I got to Stone, all of the day was washed away - missed exits and bashed bumpers didn't matter any more at all. Stone cried and whimpered and sang. He pushed himself through my legs and arched his back, lifting me off my feet. He rubbed his head all over me and then he did it again. And he sang. And sang. And sang. And he gazed happily at me and sang again.

Needless to say, he defined my bed-buddy group.

The stars are bright. The air is icy cold. There's a frigid wind that stops the breath in your throat. We'll be in single digits tonight. But it's clean and sweet air, and right now, I can hear the coyotes singing, and Cash and Rain calling back their replies. Once in a while, I can hear a cow lowing. And all around me, the contented sighs and groans of happy, tired dogs.

Tomorrow will be busy for me, with long, brisk walks in the hemlock woods with four different groups of dogs. Shrimp, the donkey, will need to have her boots pulled off, and her legs brushed before the boots are replaced. Joey, the 32 year old thoroughbred, looks like he could stand a brushing. Sultan, the barn cat, will require a certain amount of affection, and I'll be forced to play with Marco, the kitten. I brought Smarties to treat the horses, donkeys, and the hogs. I'll be forced to be sure that they each get their share.

And will I mind? Mind this? No, for me this is almost heaven.

This is just not right...

2008-11-01T19:44:00.006-04:00

October 29, 2008 - it took me an hour to drive the last 10 miles over the mountain. We were in peak foliage when 10-12" of snow caught us off guard.

Trees were down all over the place. The mountain between here and Long Valley was closed for the next four days, and it was just as long before power was restored to most of the region.

I got lucky.I never lost power. I lost some branches from my old lilac, and had some damage to some shrubs, but other than that, I had nothing to complain about except for snow falling once more, as it had last year, before I got the leaves raked.

The next morning, I couldn't find a detour that didn't loop me back to where I'd started, so after 90 minutes of chasing myself around the mountain, I came home, and called work and told them I'd be there as soon as rush hour was over and I could get there on the highways.

It's all gone now. It was beautiful and treacherous and unexpected. It was weather, which will be what it will be.

It only took 31 years

2008-10-19T23:26:00.007-04:00

... A.C. needed one point to finish. Two weeks ago, I called Sue to make reservations at the kennel for Crow and Hudson. As it always does when we talk, the subject of A.C.'s remaining point came up, and Sue explained why she hadn't entered him in any of the shows that are local to us in late August and early September. And then, rather idly, said, "I guess I could put him in Gloucester if the entries aren't closed." We agreed that that wasn't a bad idea, but then I didn't hear whether or not she got him in the shows. Until Thursday. And that was the first I heard he was entered Friday, Saturday, and Sunday - too late for me to arrange to take Friday off.

I got home Friday to find a brief phone message from Sue. "Call me."

Introducing Champion Markenhaus Dirty Deed. Took me 31 years, and Sue's kindness and generosity. And of course, I wasn't there to experience the moment. I went to the Saturday and Sunday shows, though, to watch him specialed for the first (and probably last) two times. He'll come home soon, if Crow and Hudson give the plan the thumbs up, figuratively speaking, of course since the fact that they have no opposable thumbs remains my sole advantage in this family.

Photograph from his major win in Harrisburg in August - when I get the New Champion photograph, I'll replace this one.

An autumn day

2008-10-15T16:35:00.013-04:00

I drove to work this morning at 6:00 a.m. under the milky light of a setting full moon. It was just incredible. The deer thought so, too, and the first half of my drive was a dodgy game of missing deer while dealing with people driving too closely behind me - something about which I'm a tad sensitive since my accident in March.
Call me crazy, but if I can't see your headlights, I'm thinking if I have to brake suddenly, you're either going to be in my back seat or end up chewing on your engine parts. Point proven on March 14th - my car's damage, though considerable, was not visible to the eye. The car which rear-ended me looked like it had hit an IED, and a very effective one at that. So go figure why folks want to drive like that in the pre-dawn hours on deer-ridden roads.

At lunchtime, I walked over to the ticket office with a couple of colleagues, only to discover that tickets to the forum appearance of Maureen Dowd are already sold out. Not surprising. At least the walk gave me an excuse to be out on this amazingly bright and colorful Indian summer day.

As I left the library at 2:30, my friend Beth wished me a safe drive home and said "Enjoy it. It's gorgeous out there." And you know? It is. As of earlier this week, I was thinking that fall is late, or not coming, or going to be not such a pretty one this year. As of today, it's here, and it's splendid. I no longer have to look to my knitting project for the best example of fall colors (though it's pretty yarn, isn't it?) These definitely turned out to be "fall" socks.

I arrived home and took the dogs out, as I always do, and discovered that on a clear Indian Summer afternoon, there's not much difference between my back yard and a cathedral filled with magnificent stained glass windows. Here are some shots from my back yard.

This is the ancient maple tree right outside my back door.

Whoops. Time to clean the gutters soon.

Hudson loves leaves. I think I have a photograph of him in the autumn leaves from every year of his life. Here's the latest. What a guy! I think he just gets more handsome with age.

The downside of the rat

2008-10-09T21:08:00.016-04:00

So, you thought perhaps this would be political? Nah ... I've had more of that than I can stomach. And those are rats with serious personality problems. At least some of them are. This is just more about Duncan, who fascinates me and intrigues me and amuses me and pleases me, and so far hasn't lied once.

Seriously, who could resist this cuteness? And seriously, any and all of these shots are worth clicking to enlarge if you love cute.

Or, perhaps you prefer this side?

Or this?

Or maybe a seriously roly poly cute belly floats your boat?

Now, if you are a true animal lover, even if you don't particularly love rats, you probably are all focused on those little button eyes, that curious expression, those utterly amazing whiskers, and you haven't even noticed the detail that would have driven my Mrs. Clean mother right up one wall and down the other, and would have had Duncan banned to the garage (where my hamsters ultimately ended up when I was in 7th grade, due to the "smell.") Duncan, by the way, is in my kitchen, and that's where he'll stay. Sorry, Mom. I was a really good kid and gave you little trouble. But I'm post-menopausal now, and I'll do what I want.

Duncan loves his hammock, even though it's billed as a "ferret" accessory, and even though the only one I could find for him was pink. The first couple of days it was in his cage, he would leave his ~~fat butt~~ pleasingly plump posterior sitting on the upper shelf of his cage, and would only put his front end in the hammock. But once he determined it was "good," he went in and he hasn't come out.

Hmmph ... I thought he was at least coming out to pee.Apparently not. He's been annoyed when the hammock's removed for laundering, so I guess I'll stop on the way home tomorrow and get him another, so I can swap them out when one is in the laundry.

He's cute. He's funny. He's fun and loving and smart. And yes, before you go out and get one, there is a downside to a rat. More laundry.

R-O-U-S-es

2008-10-04T18:54:00.010-04:00

Just appreciating the progress being made by my Rodent of Unusual Size. Duncan's sociability was tested today when my friend Lauren visited. He was most interested in being held by a new person. He's come such a long way from the scared little feeder tank baby I brought home. He was calm, and curious, and gentle while visiting with Lauren. I was very proud of him, indeed. But seeing him in someone else's hands gave me the chance to see how BIG he's gotten to be, something I really don't have a chance to get any perspective on when I'm holding him myself. He's a big rat. I guess it's official. I have an R-O-U-S. (Oh, and I kissed him for Pnatalie - not the first time I've kissed a rat, and probably won't be the last - just sayin'...)

Portrait of Happiness

2008-10-02T20:18:00.002-04:00

Summer's over. I come to life now.

Of rats and old women

2008-10-02T09:37:00.021-04:00

I worry a lot about whether or not I'm giving Duncan enough. Rats are highly intelligent, highly social beings, and generally don't do well alone. Now, don't get me wrong. Duncan isn't languishing or depressed. He's alert, affectionate and increasingly ~~insanely bold~~ curious about his surroundings. He recently threw himself off his cage and adhered to my chest like a little ~~crazed velcro rodent~~ barnacle, earning himself the nickname "bat rat." He's grown, and is fat and glossy, and appears to be thriving on the vast array of foods I offer him. He gets beans, both cooked and dried, cooked pasta, corn (his favorite), peas, green beans (which he likes only cooked,) baby carrots, barley, broccoli, oatmeal, nuts in the shell, raisins, and a daily little marble of the raw meat/pumpkin/organ/vegetable concoction which I feed to the dogs, all in addition to his scientifically balanced nutritional lab block and rat feed. He appears to be doing quite well, both emotionally and physically. Yet, I worry. Is he getting enough of my time? Is he getting enough time out of the cage? Is he getting enough mental stimulation? Is his cage getting cramped for him now that he's grown (and now that it's crowded with enrichment items?), even though all the cage calculators say that this cage is big enough for 2? I am, after all, all he has, and I worry about whether or not I'm meeting his needs.

So, that's it. I obsess about my animals. Not only do I have a rat for whom I ask these questions every day. I have Crow and Hudson. I have Kiwi and Ziggy, and I have Dover. For each of them, I try. I do my best, and I go to bed every night fairly certain that, though there's always "better" to be considered, they're all doing fairly well.

Two weeks ago, on Sunday afternoon, I did what I've done nearly every Sunday afternoon for the last three years. I hauled my knitting (sometimes it's a book,) and I got into the car, and I drove the hour of highway driving it takes to go be with my mother. This week, as I do so many, I found my brother, Mark, already in the room, sitting in the chair by the window. I appreciate these opportunities to visit with my brother, because, sadly, these visits are no longer active visits with my mother. She is rarely conscious during them, and aside from the kiss and the greeting, and the kiss and the goodbye, there is little chance to interact with her. Oh, if I'm alone with her, I talk to her and tell her the bits and pieces of my life, of our shared lives, that any daughter would share with her mother. News from friends and family. Plans. No longer troubles - the days when she might offer input, insight or advice are long past. On the chance that some bit of someone else's happiness might get through and brighten her existence, I talk, but the days of having a real visit, and a real conversation are gone.

This particular visit, since Mark was already seated on the far side of the bed, I took the chair with its back to the doorway. I took out my knitting, as my brother and I talked. He paused at one point, and I glanced up from my knitting to see why, and he gestured toward the door. "Looks like we have a visitor." I looked over my shoulder, just as a soft rap sounded at the door, to see a beautiful, white haired woman in a wheel chair, tentatively steering herself into the room.

Please understand, this was not a friend of Mom's. Mom is essentially never conscious. She is bedridden, fed in her bed, moved to her wheel chair only to be taken to the room where she is bathed. She occasionally responds to certain people and definitely hears it when Mark becomes animated about a topic, but can no longer really participate in or enjoy social interactions.

So, Helen, as I found out her name is later, was a stray. She silently wheeled herself in and positioned herself behind me, inching closer and closer. Mark somewhat hesitantly picked up the conversation where he'd been, and we talked. I spoke to him, and also to Helen, who, at first, did not reply.

"I'm knitting socks," I told her, holding up my two-at-a-time, magic loop project, which admittedly looks sort of confusing if you don't know what it is. "Aren't they going to be pretty?" And then I heard her whispered reply. "Beautiful," she rasped.

I was surprised. Helen had appeared, with her blue, staring eyes, and her hesitant entry into this room where she knew none of the occupants, with her gnarled hands twisting at her waistband, and her queer peering at her own reflection in the mirror, to have been far, far, far on the other side of Alzheimer's or some other form of dementia. In short, I had assumed there was no one at home.

Instead, with that one, thin, raspy whispered word, that one "beautiful" reply, I realized that there was someone in there. I looked more closely at her face, into her eyes, and she smiled at me. "Do you knit?" I asked. There was a slight nod - more, there was a steady gaze holding mine that spoke volumes. "Did you make socks?"
Another slight nod, and still, those eyes never left my face. She appeared to be trying to figure out if she knew me. All I could offer in return was my smile.

Shortly, Helen decided to leave. She slowly backed her wheel chair out of the narrow passageway and through the door, bumping into the walls a couple of times, and carefully pulling forward to right her course. Mark and I laughed about it. It had been very odd, and sort of funny, this silent woman we did not know, intruding on our weekly ritualized visit with Mom. As far as Mark knew, Helen had never spoken. It had all just been an odd pantomime from his position across the room, I'm sure. But I had been held by Helen's eyes. I had noticed that this human relic had once been a startlingly beautiful woman, and still, in her aged way, was.

I have thought about Helen a lot over these last two weeks. Does anyone worry about Helen the way I worry about Duncan? I know she is getting the basics. She's fed. She's kept clean. She's dressed. But, is she getting what she needs? Is she warm enough, interested enough? Does she know what she's looking for? Is she treated with friendship and respect? Does anyone care who she loved, where she went, what she knows? Or is she sad, and truly alone?

When I went back last Sunday, I looked for Helen. I found her rolling herself slowly and silently through the hallways, no one paying any attention to her, separate from the rooms filled with wheelchairs, filled with people, oriented toward one happy helper trying to give them something fun to pay attention to, trying to lead them in songs from their youth. I crouched down in front of her and said, "Hello, Helen. How are you today?" She peered at me, and those light blue, apparently vacant eyes, slowly found mine. She frowned. Then something in those eyes seemed to change, and she whispered something. I couldn't understand, so I said, "I'm sorry. What did you say?" She slowly and carefully, but no more loudly or clearly, repeated what she'd said. And this time I understood.

Just then, an aide came along, and grabbed the handles of Helen's wheelchair, "C'mon, Helen," she said, "That's not your daughter. You shouldn't be bothering people. Let's go back to your room." She pulled the wheelchair backwards, and smiled an apologetic "Sorry" at me as she took Helen away.

I stood and continued on the way to my mother's room, trying to fit Helen's words into my head and my heart. In that thin, barely audible whisper, Helen had given me much to ponder.

"Beautiful socks" will echo for a very long time while I tend to those in my care. I will think about rats and old women. And I'll continue to talk to my mother.

Just like my Mets ...

2008-09-26T23:06:00.017-04:00

Just like my Mets, it's always a question of trying to catch up, and usually falling just a little short. Has it really been since June that I've blogged? I have no real reason, except that I've been busy (not really any busier than usual,) and tired (true, I've been more tired than usual, but I don't know why,) and depressed (have you WATCHED the Mets? I mean, have you really sat and watched every pitch with a score card in your lap, night after night after night? And have you done that after having told yourself that, no matter how crappy everything else is, at least your team is flirting with first place? No? Then go look at tomorrow sport's page and don't comment on my mood - I'm just sayin'.)

In all actuality, when I look back over the last two thirds of the summer, I really did manage to keep myself busier than usual, and with things that made me more tired than usual. And I actually did do some blog worthy things. And, in the interests of catching up, I really will blog about them. I may even trick you into thinking you missed my entries by back-dating them and confusing the Hell of you. And, to double your pleasure, I'll even give you a summary of what's been happening since last I blogged (another new verb - googling, surfing, texting, blogging - all new, and I'm getting old.)

So, essentially, I missed blogging for July, August, and most of September (I'm here now, right?) I really will go back and post pictures and more complete accounts, but here's the summary - in July, not much happened. I managed to get to a Mets game with my brother, Mark. I managed to get to a training seminar that Suzanne gave. Sid, my little friend the white rat, died, but not before setting a series of connections in motion to get me involved in making sure that her loving owner soon had another precious rat in her hands.

Then the last weekend of July, A.C., my German Shepherd, picked up his 9th point. The following weekend, he was entered out in Pennsylvania on August 3, 4, and 5 in three shows. I couldn't figure out how to get someone in to take care of the dogs, and I couldn't afford to board them, so I made day trips out to Harrisburg three days in a row. This, I told myself, had better be worth it. That Friday, he picked up his 10th point.

Then, at the Saturday show, he surprised us by picking up his second major, a 4 point win, and coming within 1 point of finishing his championship. As I thought, it was too much to hope that he would finish at Sunday's show. He won the Bred By class, but then walked out of the ring, for the first time not going at least Reserve. So, we sit with 14 points, and since I leave these things up to Sue, his co-owner, breeder and handler, I'll hear when he's been entered for a shot at finishing his championship. And all that driving, which somehow makes me feel all grown up and independent, turned out to also have been worth it.

But, let's harken back to Sid and the plans she made for her owner.
I was brought into a discussion about a little "black and white" rat who was looking for a home and about whom Jane, Sid's owner, had had a dream the night after Sid died. The very next day, she received an e-mail from an old friend, someone who had known Sid, but was unaware that Sid had died. She was asking if Jane would be interested in a little black and white rat who was looking for a new home. Well, after having had that dream, Jane had no choice but to move forward with this, although if you'd asked her, she would have said she wasn't ready to invite a new rat into her life. Sid, apparently, had other plans.

I got involved because someone said perhaps I could bring the rat up to Jane, since plans had already been in place for me to go up to an upcoming seminar, specifically to be there to see Sid. Then, Sid had passed away, and I hadn't really made up my mind about whether or not I'd attend anyway. Almost immediately, these e-mails started, and it seemed that maybe the new rat was nearby, and since everyone thought I was going anyway, maybe I could bring her up to Jane. Turned out, not only was the rat nearby, she was located only about 10 minutes away from me. Her name is Charm, and she is aptly named. As I had with Sid back in April, I spent the two days of the seminar with Charm sleeping down my shirt or visiting with other people from her perch on my shoulder.

I hadn't really been aware of the seed planted by Sid and Charm, or perhaps first planted by Morgan and Morpheus, the two rats I owned back in the 1990s. Or, maybe I had. Within the last couple of months, I'd started purchasing my parrot food and dog food at a little pet shop in Hackettstown. Originally, I'd parked out front on Main St., and hadn't realized that they had rats. But then I discovered it was more convenient to pull into the back lot from the side street, and enter through the back entrance...an entrance which, of course, leads right past the rat tanks. Right past the rat tanks after you walk through the reptile room. 1 + 1 = 2. Feeder tanks. Oy. The seed began to germinate. Early in August, I saw a lovely gold male who was there one week, and I thought, "Hmmm, maybe I should have a rat again." He was there in my mind a lot, and I thought I might pick him up the next time I stopped in. Well, the next time I stopped in, he was gone. And I knew where he'd most likely gone. And the seed grew a little more.

And then one day, late in August, I needed more Evo for the dogs. And the new baby rats had just arrived. And the store lady was right there. So, I asked, "May I see the rats?" She simply flipped the lid off the tank and, nodding, walked away. I put my hand into the tank and focused my thoughts. "Anyone in here want to be with me?" I wondered. Most of the babies scooted into the corners. One or two stayed put. And one, a pretty blue with a white streak across his forehead, stood on his hind legs, and daintily touched my hand with his front paws while he craned his neck to sniff my fingers. Uh oh. I picked him up. He was so scared that he defensively pooped, but he also wriggled his whiskers and sniffed my face, and held steady in my hands. So brave.

I put him back. No, I told myself. You don't need one more thing to take care of. Silly me. I hadn't remembered I needed parrot food, too, so guess where I found myself the next day. And guess which rat came forward a second time. And still I walked away, but this time telling myself that if he was still there the next time I came in, I'd seriously have to consider taking him.

Now, realize I rarely go to this store more than once a month. How could I have forgotten parrot food AND Nutriberries at the same time? I went back the next day to get those pesky Nutriberries, and he was still there, although the population in the feeder tank had ominously thinned. So, the following day, I purchased a travel cage downtown at lunchtime and had it in hand when I stopped in, this time with no cover story, to get my buddy.

Duncan came home. Crow could speak to Duncan about how hard it is to get me to listen sometimes. She's right. Sometimes, they have to shout.

So, here he is. And here he'll stay. Duncan Potter the Small, who's taken a large, rat-sized bite out of my heart.

More to come on catch up. You'll have to settle for the tale of the rat for now.

"Hi. Whatcha bring me? Oatmeal? Is there anything else?"

I've been tagged....

2008-06-28T18:17:00.004-04:00

What was I doing 10 years ago?

When was that? 10 years ago. I was in my third year of marriage to Bas, and at this time of the year, I was still grieving over Annie's death in March, and had just gotten Crow. So, 10 years ago today, I was playing with a puppy. Doc was still alive. Beckett was still alive. Angel was still alive. I was still training dog classes. Doing animal communication. Working at the same day job.

5 snacks I enjoy:

cheese
olives
walnuts
carrots
cheese - all five could be cheese, but I stretched it.

5 things on my to-do list today:

I was supposed to do 5 things today? I took my tire to be repaired, had breakfast with Cindy, went to a garage sale with Cindy, treated Hudson's boo-boos, and reconnoitered yard work, but then it rained. So I'm watching the Mets/Yankees game, which was the only thing on my to-do list that I cared about. And that's 6.

5 things I would do if I were a billionaire:

travel
buy a small farm
buy horses
buy goats
buy cows

5 jobs I have had:

inventory clerk for Agfa Gaevart
kennel worker
assistant to a professional dog handler
library cataloging assistant
library technology coordinator

5 of my bad habits:

procrastination
spending too much time knitting
spending too much time reading
not caring enough about money
letting the laundry pile up

5 places I have lived:

Wyckoff, NJ
Madison, NJ
York Haven, Pa.
Long Valley, NJ
Port Murray, NJ

5 people who I'd like to get to know better (this means you're tagged!):

You
That's way more than 5 because there are way more than 5 of you.

5 random things:

I take a long time to get moving, but once started, I can keep going and going and going.

I hate heat.

I love baseball.

If I'm not reading, I'm knitting. If I'm not knitting, I'm reading.

I am shy, psychic, and often lonely.

The Patchwork Puppy

2008-06-27T22:02:00.007-04:00

Hudson had two tumors removed yesterday. After the cousins left, I had a day off. Then, yesterday, I had to go to work for a meeting. I dropped Hudson off on my way in, and picked him up at 3:00. We've been given Fridays off this summer, so I've been able to spend today tending to Hudson's boo-boos, the worst part of which is the razor burn. Poor guy. They shave so much coat off, he looks like a patchwork puppy.

Poor boy. Look how much of his glorious coat's gone!

Hudson's handsome enough to sport this as a sort of jaunty look, don't you think?

This is what's bothering him most. It must burn like crazy. I'm putting cold pressed aloe on it, fresh from the fridge, and it seems to help soothe it. At least, he stops scratching at it and running from it as soon as I apply it.

Everything will grow back. I await biopsy results from both sites early next week. Not anticipating any problems. The growth on his head appeared to be a benign tumor of an oil gland. The site on his shoulder was a sebaceous cyst which I opted to have removed because it opened last August, but never healed up. It was oozy and ugly, and an open path for infection. So it's gone now.

Hudson, Crow and I slept a good portion of this afternoon away. It's been a long, busy week. The dogs' schedule has been topsy turvy since Monday. As much fun as we had, returning to routine is always welcome in its own way. New visitors, old friends, and an operation - that's all alot for a Goober Dog to deal with.

A Gaggle of Rebels (or the Tennessee 8)

2008-06-27T12:45:00.013-04:00

After months of e-mail exchanges and communications, and weeks of building excitement and anticipation, my cousin Alan and his whole family landed at Newark Airport on Monday morning. I'd sweet-talked my brother, Mark, into going with me to pick them up. They were coming in on Continental, so we blithely steered our way into terminal C, where Continental flights have been arriving for decades, and hoofed our way through the ever growing expanses of the terminal to find an arrivals board - only to discover that the only flight listed as coming in from Knoxville was a. already landed, and b. at a gate in terminal A. Ooops. Continental EXPRESS flights arrive at terminal A.
We flew back to the car, and corkscrewed our way through the airport to daily parking for terminal A, and got out butts inside. We located the gate, and checked the baggage area, but didn't see any of them standing around, so we made our way back up to the exit from the appropriate gate and prepared to wait. My cell phone rang. Using voice and eyes, my cousin Alan managed to spot us before I spotted him. Very soon, hugs were had all around, and Mark was reacquainted with Alan, and introduced again to Rhea, and to the next two generations for the first time. We headed for the air-rail, and made our way over to Avis, where we picked up the van and were on our way.
Monday was, I'm sure, quite tiring for all of the Tennessee gang. After dropping my car and Mark back at Mark's house, where the day would end hours later with a family reunion party, I hit the road with the cuzzins. I drove up to Wayne, so Alan could see the house in which he spent his early years, and to Wyckoff, where he took pictures of the house in which my family lived, which my dad built. Alan's dad, my father's brother, helped him on more than one occasion. Then we drove back over this way, had lunch in Hackettstown (pizza and mussels in hot sauce, at Alan's specific request.) Hackettstown is the next town over from where I live, and coincidentally, had been where Alan's Uncle Jules and Aunt Betty lived in the 1960s. Alan had spent the summer there when he was 16, and already living down in Tennessee. He seemed to recognize it, though it has changed substantially since then.

We then headed over to my house, so I could feed and exercise the dogs before we headed back over to my brother's town. I dropped them off at the motel at around 4:00 p.m., so they could finally rest and freshen up, and then picked them up at 6:30 for the party.

Bless my sister-in-law, Joan, and my brother, Mark, for volunteering to host this. It was a tremendous amount of work, and they did a spectacular job. Fortunately, the oppressive heat and humidity lifted, the air cleared, and we were able to have the party outside, around the pool. Cousins from the area arrived, and everyone seemed to have a really great time.

Here we are - it wasn't all of us, but most. Front: Leslie (Derek Nash's daughter), Georgeanne (Tommy & Jean's daughter), Rhea (Alan's wife), Patty (Alan's daughter), me, my little buddy, Shelby (Patty's daughter), and Camille, being strangled by Thomas (Tommy & Jean's son.) Back: Alan, my brother Mark, Tommy, my brother Steve (directly behind Tommy), Michael (Alan's son), Jesse(Steve's son - directly behind Michael), and Aaron (Patty's son.)

This was a perfectly composed gathering on the steps. All I had to do was call their names, and I got this shot. From front center, clockwise, Shelby (Alan's granddaughter,) Michael (Alan's son,) David (Michael's partner,) and my two beautiful nieces, Genny and Alison.

My lit-up brother, Mark and Shelby.

The Baby Boomer Boys: Steve, Alan, Tommy and Mark.

The Baby Boomer girls: Georgeanne (ok, she's not a boomer), Camille, me, Eileen (Gracie's daughter) and Leslie (Derek's daughter.)

On Tuesday morning, the Tennessee 8, Mark, and Joan and I had breakfast at Mark's and then headed to NYC for the day. We left the van at the Liberty Park park & ride, and caught the light rail to the ferry in Jersey City. Mark works there, but I'd not been there in years, and certainly not since 9-11-2001. They've done a very moving job with a couple of very small, but very powerful memorials on the waterfront. On that terrible day, of course, this waterfront had a front row seat, witnessing the awful disaster playing out across the river. It is sobering and powerful to see, and to realize what happened there.

Shelby, sitting next to the Firemen's Memorial at the Jersey City waterfront.

Rhea examining the plaque at the Firemen's Memorial, with Joannie and Mark in the background.

Scott, Shelby, Patty and Aaron, in front of a twisted iron beam from the World Trade Center. Lower Manhattan in the background gives you an idea of the view of the tragedy one had from this site.

Aaron reading one of the memorials.

We did a lot of walking and saw a lot of things that were on their list. We started at the Winter Garden Atrium, which affords a good view down into Ground Zero. Next, we went to Trinity Church, the little Revolutionary era church which survived the 9-11 terrorist strike, which you can see across Ground Zero from the Atrium. It's one of the nice stories of survival from that day. By all rights, the church should have been destroyed. It wasn't touched. A 100 year old Sycamore tree, which burned from the heat, protected the church. Not a single window was broken. Inside, rescuers and workers rested and were fed and treated. There are several memorials, largely impromptu and put in place by visitors, inside. It is a powerful and affecting apace.

Patty and Shelby in the Winter Garden Atrium, overlooking Ground Zero. If you look over Patty's shoulder, you can see a small copse of trees. Out of the center of it, the steeple of the Trinity Church can just be seen.

From the church we walked over to Canal Street, and through Chinatown, into Little Italy, where we had lunch. Then we took a subway to the Empire State Building, and then one over to Times Square. From there, we walked to Rockefeller Plaza, and finally caught the E-train back down to the World Financial Center and caught the ferry back to Jersey City. It may not sound like much, but it was a lot of walking, and a full day. Everyone seemed to see what they'd come to see, and a number of things they never expected.

One of the experiences the kids wanted was to ride on the subways. Here's some of the group at the end of the day, riding the E train back down to the World Financial Center, on our way back to catch the ferry home. This is what happy, tired Palmieris look like. Too bad pictures don't show pain, 'cause there's a bunch of very sore feet in this picture. This is Michael, Shelby, Mark, Joan, and David, all looking a tad worse for wear.

More than anything else, we all just really enjoyed one another's company, and the pleasure of discovering the kinship that underlies "family." When my father was alive, he was the one who kept in touch with everyone. He was the "glue" to a large extent, that kept everyone close. I kept thinking throughout these few days how thrilled he would be if he could know that we all were together. Maybe he does. It was nice to think he did.

Alan and his family got up early on Wednesday morning to make their way down to Atlantic City.By now, on Friday afternoon, they are back in Tennessee. I hope that the rest of their stay in the North was as satisfying and enjoyable for them as their time with us was for us.

Ya'll come back now, y'hear?

More finished objects

2008-06-20T00:31:00.008-04:00

Lauren once commented to me that I must knit fast. At the time, I think I responded along the lines that it wasn't so much a matter of how fast I could knit as it was a question of how long I could knit.

I'm making two-at-a-time socks now, as I posted a couple of days ago, in a self-striping yarn. When I sat down this evening and picked up my knitting, I had finished the gussets and finished about an inch on the instep. Around 9:00, I had about an inch to go before it was time to begin the toe decreases.

Well, they're done. Because I knit on the back needle whenever I work on circulars, I worked the socks this way, too. So, when I got to the directions for the Kitchener stitch, I screwed it up on the first sock, by working the graft on the wrong side. Taking a page from the Navajos, I left the error in place. Um ... ok, I left it in place because I'd done a great job of weaving in the end and it wasn't worth picking apart the yarn to undo it. They're mine. I don't care about the error. I love these socks. Even though I hate how my left foot and ankle swell by the end of the day (a result of an accident four years ago when the steps to my deck collapsed beneath me as I was coming down them, and I speared straight into the ground, catching all of my weight on my left foot) I love these socks enough to show you a picture of them even with my ugly, swollen left foot and ankle (gotta look into acupuncture for that!)

I think it's the way socks look so perfect when they're done that makes me like making them. Like baking bread, or making a slip cover, there's something incredibly gratifying about making something that looks so perfect when it's done. For me, that's always been one of the beauties of knitting - the results can be so surprisingly perfect. And, it's not really how fast I knit that gets me to the finish line. It's how curious I am to see the final product that keeps me going, stitch after stitch, round after round, hour after hour, so that the instep that was under my fingers at 9:00 p.m. becomes the sock that is on my foot at midnight. (And like an artist, I'm going to recommend you click on the photo so you can see the ~~brush strokes~~ stitches.)

Peonies popping

2008-06-20T00:11:00.006-04:00

I think everyone who grows them knows: there's a tremendous design flaw to peonies. The flowers are too heavy for the stems. They smell heavenly, they're dramatic and exuberant blooms. But they seem to need the help of a million ants crawling on the buds in order to open properly, and they always seem to pop open about three hours before the heavy rains that beat them and batter them down to the ground.

This is the third year I've been in this house, and it's the first that saw more than a few buds on the peonies. There were dozens of buds promising a magnificent display.

So, I waited. And sure enough, I came home from work one afternoon with the skies heavily ominous, and the warning of severe thunder storms in the news. When I opened the door and went out with the dogs, I could immediately smell the perfume of the peonies in the air, and I knew that they had opened.

It got dark as night, and began to drizzle, so I ran inside to get my camera to capture the beauty.

By the next morning, the storm had destroyed the display, and by the next afternoon, 90% of the petals were on the ground, about to be mowed over by my tractor. I'm so glad I captured these few shots. I brought some of the petals inside, thinking that they might release some of the scent of peonies in a potpourri, but that didn't work.

They sure were pretty while they lasted, but someone's got to breed a variety with a stem that can hold up the flower! Anyway, I had some pink and some white. The white had a lovely pinkish blush in the center, and smelled heavenly. The pinks didn't have as much fragrance, but they had a deep, saturated color that was breathtaking while it lasted. And they did both look beautiful against the wet bushes in the glowering light before the storm hit.

Family reunion

2008-06-06T17:16:00.009-04:00

In two weeks, my cousin, Alan, is coming up from Tennessee, with his whole family in tow - three generations of them. We'll be getting together with family up here who haven't seen him since this visit:

Oh my gosh, I just realized I'm wearing my hair that way again - minus the silly, over-sized barrette.

This was probably either 1967 or 1968.

So there we were - back row is cousin Susan, my brother Mark, and my cousin Brian. Front row is cousin Camille, my brother Steve, my sister, Cathy, me, my cousin Tommy, and cousin Alan.

Objects, finished and begun

2008-06-03T08:51:00.012-04:00

The knitting goes on. Years ago, it used to be constant, too, but then I got the Shih Tzus in 1995, and for the first time, I had a dog who found yarn irresistible. I took the path of least resistance, and put things away. That turned out to be, more or less, for about a decade. And when I picked it up again, I rediscovered the zen of knitting.

Now, I twitch if there isn't a project on the needles. This year, apparently, is the year of the sock. I finally tried some self-patterning yarn. After working with wool and silk blend this past winter, I couldn't believe how icky acrylic felt in my hands. But, as with the book ethic (you start it, you finish it) I forced myself through. I wasn't in love with this yarn. But the colors are bright, and the patterns were sort of fun to watch emerge, and these will make a nice enough gift for someone as "house socks. I even have someone in mind.

While the acrylic socks were on the needle, I placed another order with KnitPicks for some more fingering weight sock yarn. I got some of the self-striping merino, and some more of the Essential tweed, this time in a black tweed, which should be really pretty worked up. While I was at it, out of curiosity, I ordered a book on doing two socks at once in the magic loop method, and a 47" inch size 0 circular needle.

Ok, I'm thoroughly in love with these colors, and these are going to be really fun socks. And they're going to be mine! This is inside-out, which is the way they're worked, so you're just seeing the backside of the left-twist faux cabling here, which just looks like ribbing. Aren't these going to be fun to wear? The merino is soft and bouncy. The socks are going to be nice and light weight, but warm. And bright - just the perfect counter for my Goth outfits, right?

Here they are, turned right-side out. It's a simple pattern, with just a little something to amuse your hands every third row. Before they're done, there will be more yarn to order and more socks to look forward to. I'm not sure if I love this technique - I've never been a big fan of playing with multiple balls of yarn at one time, and even though this only involves 2, that does mean a bit of untwisting to tend to, plus an awful lot of arranging cables and socks before beginning each round - and after steaming through a sock every two nights, I'm not sure that this is actually going to deliver me to a complete pair of socks any faster than doing them one at a time, but when I'm done, I'll be done, and I'll have a new pair of socks to put on. I have to say, it's a kick to work with the self-striping stuff, and I can't wait to wear these. Just another reason to hate summer!

Of flowers and pigs

2008-05-27T20:21:00.038-04:00

Last week, it was my birthday. I got flowers from my brother, Mark, and his wife, Joannie. And from my sweet friend, Stephanie, who shares my birthday, and always sends me something to make my day special. We never made a big thing about birthdays when I was growing up, but you'd think I could at least remember that my own is coming, and that it's Steph's birthday, too. But every year, she surprises me by remembering our day, and every year, I'm a dolt, and forget it's coming. So, right now, I've got flowers everywhere but in my hair (with apologies to the Cowslips.)

Here are the flowers inside.

And another view.

And yet another.

Yup. Before we even get out the door to my garden, it's a veritable riot of flowers.

The nice thing about having a birthday in May is that even if no one were to send you flowers, you've got flowers. As I was surveying my garden this evening to see what yet has to be done (a LOT of weeding yet to go, mulch not yet down, edging, annuals, etc., etc.) it had just rained lightly, and everything looked so beautiful. I am continually surprised and delighted by my garden.

Irises are among my favorite flowers. They looked so pretty covered with rain drops as the sun came out again.

They make such a dramatic statement, don't they?

This year, these little white star flowers have come up in the most amazingly perfect places, kneeling around the bases of stumps, peeking through other ground cover, and popping out among the hostas.

I don't know if they were intentionally planted, or if they are wildflowers. I didn't get here until August in 2005, but I didn't see these little flowers last year or the year before. They're just here this year, little white stealth stars. I like them. Maybe I ought to buy myself a field guide to wildflowers, eh?

And ye, verily, on the seed packet it said that in the third year, the clematis would learn to climb, and fulfill your expectations. Three years ago, I planted these from seed. The first year, I thought they'd died. The second year, I was thrilled to see them come back, and over the moon when they each put out a couple of blossoms. And now, in their third year, behold the promise!

Aren't they pretty? And doesn't the arbor gate need a coat of paint? I hear ya. I'll get to it, but now it's got to wait till fall.

And because every garden needs a pig, my friend Cindy (Hi, Cin! The least you can do is comment now that I've mentioned you!) bought me this little guy at a barn sale at which we'd stopped a couple of Saturdays ago. He's very cute, and has a charming little curly tail. He's proven to be the perfect companion for my little metal garden crow. (And just look at that creeping sedum creep, would you?)

Two of my teachers

2008-05-27T18:34:00.009-04:00

Two of my dearest teachers are getting older. Both of them are models of grace and dignity as they navigate the later years of their lives. Both of them just continue to live, to do, to learn, and, for me, they continue to teach. Neither of them live with me. I've been fortunate to have them move into my life through the random bisection of my life with others' lives.

This is Grandma Otter. You've met her here before, and you know I think she is a grand old lady. She was, as a youngster, a uniquely funny, charming, and appealing girl. She retains those traits in her older years. Through Otter, I have Crow and Hudson in my life, two of her children, and they are the richest and most rewarding piece of my life. But Otter has given me so much more than this. The greatest lesson Otter has taught me is that if you stand with open heart and open hands, and wait, sometimes someone wonderful sees you and cares enough to place their heart and their hand in yours, freely and unexpectedly. It has been an important and humbling lesson. I hold Otter's friendship and love as one of the greatest gifts in my life.

This is Sid. Sid recently had extensive surgery. I had worked with her owner, Jane, just prior to the procedure, holding open a window through which Jane could see past her worry and her concern what it was that Sid wanted and needed. I anxiously awaited word to see if Sid had fared well in the surgery, and was relieved to learn she had. Later that week, I attended a seminar and learned that Sid was likely to be there with Jane. When I met Jane, though, Sid had been left home because Jane was concerned that she, one of the primary players in the seminar, would be unable to properly tend to Sid's needs, and that the day would be too tiring for Sid. I said I'd be happy to tend to Sid, and the next day, I looked for Jane as soon as I arrived, eager to meet Sid in person. When Jane placed Sid into my hands, tiny, tired, impossibly frail following the surgery, I realized how much faith and trust Jane was placing in me. She was placing her precious friend into my care.

Sid and I spent the next two days together. The first day, we were getting to know each other, but slowly, as the hours passed, I could feel Sid relaxing. Finally, she voluntarily crawled under my shirt, and placing her incised belly up against mine, I felt her give over her trust completely as she fell soundly asleep. I held her gently, and concentrated on giving her as much energy as she would take from me. The most amazing thing was the moment when I could feel her begin taking it. By the end of the weekend, I had lost my heart completely to Sid, who taught me, in less than 2 days, how much you receive when freely giving. I'm told that Sid benefitted greatly from our time together. I'm glad for that. I just wish there were some way to express the scope of what Sid did for me.

These are two of the many animals who have graced my life with their wisdom. These are two of the teachers for whom I am so grateful. These are two animals who have spent their lives with other people, who love and are devoted to others, but who have freely and openly let me into their hearts. I am thankful.

Always pay attention to the strange light...

2008-05-19T07:48:00.012-04:00

I got up early yesterday and got an early start on the (piles off) laundry, made myself a weekend breakfast, and went out back with the dogs to admire the yard work I'd done on Saturday (and well, yeah, ok - for pooper scooper duty.) It started out as a glorious morning, with bright sunlight, blue, cloudless sky, and cool temperatures. By 9:00, it was becoming a little overcast, and an e-mail from a local friend saying that she was about to go walk her dogs before it rained prompted me to do the same.

When I got back, I put the dogs out back, grabbed my garden gloves, the shovel, the bag of potting soil, and the bag of peat moss, and headed out front to plant the plants I'd bought at Wellsweep on Saturday. I got a small flat of basil, a lupine of some sort, some cat mint, and a silver edged lavender. I planted them along the front path, where I hope their fragrance will welcome me every time I come home. By the time I was done, the rain had started softly pattering down. Perfect. I told myself I'd get out the watering can later if there wasn't enough rain for the new plantings, but that turned out to be unnecessary. A soft, steady rain fell the rest of the day.

I should have gone to see my mother, which is what I do every Sunday afternoon, but after I'd showered and had lunch, I decided to lie down for a little while. You probably know how that went. I woke up 2 hours later, and the headache and accompanying grogginess convinced me to give myself a week off from visiting my mom. Sadly, she'd not know if I were there or not.

So, I spent a grey, dark day inside, puttering around the house - cleaning bird cages, rearranging my closet, dusting, putting things away. There was even time to finish reading the book at hand, and adding a few rows to a pair of socks I was knitting.

After having fed the dogs their evening meal and fixing myself a real dinner (for a change,) I sat down with my lap top, waiting for game 2 of the subway series to start at 8:00. At about 7:45, I got up to take the dogs out and settle them before the game started. An odd quality to the light had been nibbling around the edges of my attention for a little while, but it wasn't until I was out with the dogs that I looked up to see why.Out front... see the second one on the outside?

And out back.

It was worth watching it fade away and I didn't even miss the first pitch.

Generations

2008-05-16T08:31:00.007-04:00

I told you I had tons of catch up to do. In keeping with the post about Crow and Hudson's glorious half-sister, Raven, here's a post about generations. I visited Hawk's Hunt earlier this month. Rain, who is the daughter of Crow's litter sister, Bee, has a lovely litter of 7 (or 8, if you count Izip, one puppy with two names, depending on which way you looked at him.)

So, poor me. I spent the weekend with 7 four week old puppies (little APEs, actually, as they were extraordinarily ADVANCED, PRECOCIOUS, EXCELLENT puppies) crawling all over me. Time spent with Suzanne (who cooked a fabulous dinner, worthy of a five star restaurant!) and John is always time I look forward to. And all my wonderful GSD friends - four generations, all wonderful individuals, and all reminders and reflections of those who went before - Chili and Banni, Vali and Carson - fill me up. Visiting the barn animals, and just the farm itself, all adds up, and I was in heaven. A trip to the farm recharges me as little else does.

Perhaps the most sublime and joyful moment for me was the sweet greeting I got from Otter. Great grandmother to the pups, mother to Raven, Crow, Hudson, Bee, Grizzly, Panda, and many other extraordinary souls, Otter has always been a favorite of mine. At 13, she is in wonderful shape. Though her hearing may not be what it was, and she may have lost a step or two off her pace, she is still sound and fully aware. It took her all of half a minute to recognize me when I stepped into the entry hall, and as I put my bag down, she laid her head against my thigh and pressed into me. From Otter, I accept this as high praise indeed. The dear, old soul brings tears to my eyes.

And she is still a grand baby-sitter, and extraordinary teacher for each generation as it comes along. I love you, Otter, old friend, as much as I love your kids, who give every day of my life meaning and focus.

Raven Lunatic

2008-05-15T16:46:00.015-04:00

Crow's sad little secret is that she lives with a human who has allowed her to be an underachiever. Now, Crow doesn't complain about this at all, mind you, but the sad fact is that to her name she has only a couple of ribbons, and those were won back in our 4H days. She has a CGC, handled to it by one of the 4H kids. And a blue ribbon for graduating, again handled by a 4H'er, at the head of her class. But have I done anything with her? Nope. I've allowed her to be a yard-guard, and a gardening assistant. I've allowed her to play on agility equipment, and I've thrown tennis balls with a Chuck-It about 3/4ths of a football field (but her daddy, when she had one, could throw it even further than that.) And I've watched her blazing speed as she's torn after it and caught it before it hit the ground. But that's about it.

Now, this wouldn't matter, except that her half-sister Raven (who looks a tad like her, don't you think?) is an inveterate overachiever.

Here is Ravens current list of titles - for at least the next two weeks
anyway (because if her owner, Tammi, has her way, they will add at least one more:)Hawks Hunt's Raven Lunatic, aka Raven CGC, HIC, RN, CL3-R, CL3-F, TN-N, O-NAC, O-NGC, NJC, TG-N, SR, SS, SSA, AD, MX, MXJ, PS3, PJ3, PG2, PK3, PD3 ~USDAA Performance Top Ten 2006~

Impressed? Here are a couple of shots of the beautiful, blazing, Raven in action.

I think she's beautiful (and not just because she looks so much like Crow, but boy, doesn't she ever?)

Raven has a younger brother, who, oddly, looks an awful lot like Hudson. Gryffin was in the litter of 12 puppies who were at the farm last year when I farm sat, so I got to know him (he was "Mac" then) fairly well. We'll have to get a recent photograph of Gryffin.

While I don't know Raven and Gryffin now as adults, I do know this family of dogs, and I am in awe of what Tammi has accomplished. Hard work, dedication, incredible teamwork, and a whole lot of love go into achievements of this sort. Way to go, guys. We're so proud of you!

Raven with her proud human, Tammi.

Oh, and Raven? Crow says she loves your attitude! Yes, they can all kiss your butt!!

With thanks to Tammi Potts for sharing Raven's journey in stories and pictures all along the way.
Raven is from the Feb 2, 2001 litter out of Otter by Cim vom Gotzweiher.

A ton of catch up ...

2008-05-15T09:48:00.008-04:00

that will still have to wait ... there have been seminars, weddings, trips to the farm, all of which I need to catch up with. But since I'm busy, I'll just hold the spot with these more recent photographs of Crow and Hudson.

First, in honor of Crow's first decade (she will, of course, have many more) here is a recent picture of her to show what she really looks like at 10 years of age.

Second, a shot of my big goober boy, Hudson, who has achieved a modicum of dignity, accidentally, I'm sure, as he nears his 8th birthday.

And lastly, as a place holder, my beautiful niece, Alison, and her new husband, Matthew.

I'll be back with more!

A decade of Crow

2008-04-02T18:44:00.013-04:00

It is Crow's birthday. Today. She's 10. I won't go over the past decade, not for you, and not for me, not for anybody. There's too much pain in the recounting. Besides, I've always had a very strange relationship with time and its passage. But I can and will say that Crow has been the single most constant, most loving bright spot in my life since the moment she arrived.

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl. I still remember the first time I picked you up. I think you were 9 days old. I can still feel the strength of your tiny muscles and smell your warm, milky breath as I held you to my face and you, with eyes still sealed, and ears still folded shut, with your tiny tail held straight out, wagging a mile a minute, kissed my face as enthusiastically as you still do every night in our ritual farewells until morning. I felt an instant connection with you the first time I saw you, and that has never left us.

I still see it in your beautiful, dark eyes. You've stretched me in so many ways. So happy birthday, Baby Girl. You're challenging, and demanding, and a huge pain in the butt. You hold a mirror up to me into which I don't always wish to gaze. But you're a gift in my heart, and the best gift I've ever received.

My little Highlander ... the Phoenix

2008-03-20T16:38:00.002-04:00

It's just a little boo-boo after all. Actually, it's not. The actual estimate makes every hair on my head spin in its socket. But my insurance adjustor deemed the value of the car sufficient to warrant repair. I'm gonna have my little car back!

A visit to the chiropractor yesterday has me feeling much better physically, too, so all in all, things are looking a lot brighter than they did 6 days ago. Bad news about my chiropractor's wife's health - she is a lovely woman, exactly my age, beautiful, trim , fit, and apparently healthy until her diagnosis last September - reminds me that stuff is just stuff.

Much as I love my car, it is only a car. Things can be replaced. Paperwork gets done. Taxes get paid. Problems get solved. But the people who mean so much to us along the way are what matter. I have dealt with many people in my life who either never "got" that or lost it along the way. I often make a pledge to myself that I never will. Every now and then something comes along and makes me reaffirm that vow to myself. Stuff is just stuff. Things are just things. While I welcome back my little Highlander, I recognize that this is simply the straightest path to solving this particular situation, and in the end, it doesn't even show up on the scope of "What Really Matters."

My little Highlander ...

2008-03-17T17:23:00.002-04:00

Goodbye, little car. I hardly knew you. I've never had a car for such a short period of time.

I just got off the phone with the service station. My car is totalled.

Next step ...

Not amused.

2008-03-14T17:42:00.005-04:00

This morning at 6:15, in the dark, on the road to work, I came over a hill to discover a herd of deer standing in the road, maybe 50 feet ahead (but who knows? I'm really bad a estimating distances.) I wasn't going that fast, having just left a 25 mph zone and entered a 40 mph zone, and my anti-lock brakes didn't even have to engage. Just as I realized I wouldn't hit the deer, just as they began to clear off the road, I got hit from behind. HARD. I must have had my foot off the brake, because the car was simply launched forward, and my sole task was to hold the wheel straight and stay on the road.

I traveled maybe 20 yards before I could pull over. I took a quick inventory of my body parts, and started breathing again. I grabbed my cell phone and got out of the car while dialling 911. I walked back to the car that hit me, and that's when the shock hit. The guy had TOTALLED his car - the hood was crumpled back to the windshield, and there was smoke and dust and car parts all over. He confronted me - "Why did you slam on your brakes?" I said "There were deer standing in the street." He said, "Welll, you should have seen them while they were on the side of the road." I didn't counter. They were right in the middle of the street as I crested the hill. I just asked him if he was ok, he said he thought so, and I went back to sit in my truck and practice deep breathing until the cops came.

My poor car. :( I thought I'd head to work, but when I tried to drive away, my car protested loudly. The cops looked it over, and among them decided that if I didn't blow the engine from back pressure caused by the kink in my exhaust system, I'd be lucky. So one of them escorted me home. Forty minutes later my phone calls to my insurance company were done, and ten minutes after that, the wrecker arrived and towed my car to my favorite garage.

I have a Kia mini-van rental. And a pile of paper work a'comin', I'm sure. But I'm ok, and the dogs weren't in the car, thank you God - the tail gate was sufficiently damaged that the crate that was folded up in the back of the car was damaged and my Crowie would have been back there if they'd been with me. I'm sore and stiff, but haven't felt the need to go to the ER for it. Inconvenience and annoyance. Just stuff. My Toyota and my angels protected me today, I think. And now, a dear friend is bringing me dinner - just 'cause. So, while I'm not amused, I'm thankful. Things could have been much worse.

Another log cabin, complete

2008-03-12T22:31:00.014-04:00

I finished the blanket for Sally tonight. I'm really very pleased with it. For this blanket, I used softer pastels than I'd used for the first one I made. This isn't my favorite palette, but I'm actually very pleased with the result. I did the same thing this time - using cool colors for one half of the blanket and warm colors on the other side.

I edged it with applied i-cord, which I'd never tried before. I-cord rocks! I love the very finished effect the edging gives the piece, and I'm impressed with how neat it is.

I reversed the cool/warm pattern on the edging, using pink againt the blues and greens, and blue against the pinks and corals. I think it turned out pretty well.

It is, of course, not quite done. The downside of the log cabin technique is its backside (come to think of it, my backside is my downside, too.) This many ends to weave in is not something for the faint of heart. Oh well - this is the least of ways in which my life has required that I prove I am not faint of heart. I should be able to weave in all those ends in time to get the blanket in the mail to Sarah and Larry this weekend, and hopefully, Sally will be able to use it before it's summer and time to put away the wool blankets until next fall.

Welcome, Sally

2008-03-06T22:05:00.002-05:00

Welcome to the world, Sally Isabelle.

A nice, long shower ...

2008-03-01T22:11:00.006-05:00

I spent the day doing what I generally dislike ... attending a wedding shower ... and I had a great time. My beautiful niece, Genny, hosted the shower for her sister, my other beautiful niece, Alison. It was a really nice affair, held at a catering facility over in Lyndhurst. Though I generally get lost in areas like that, it was easy to find the San Carlo. I got there in plenty of time, and was relaxed and finally, after having lost February to the flu, feeling almost human. Almost. I have to admit, I sort of planted myself at a table, and just sat. I sometimes have to settle for being less than scintillating company.

It was a buffet lunch. The food was fabulous, and - glory! - they put a POT of coffee on each table at the beginning of lunch. I loved this place! For once, I wasn't twitching with caffeine withdrawal waiting for my fix, only to have it arrive in tiny portions (in admittedly lovely little delicate cups) with refills nowhere in sight. And I'm still having dreams about the asparagus that had been sauteed with jalopenos. And the roasted eggplant. Yum!

Ali and Matthew sure hauled in the goods. It took Mark's RAV stuffed to the roof, my Highlander, stuffed to the roof, and Matt's mother's Murano, stuffed to the roof to get the booty back to Mark's.
Once there, though, I'd maxed capacity on my recuperation and I just sank into inertia and stayed till 9:30 or so. We had a nice dinner of heated leftovers from the San Carlo, I enjoyed the unhurried visit with my brother and sister-in-law, and it was great to see so much of both of my beautiful nieces in one day. It's been literally years since I had that singular pleasure. So, yeah, I probably overstayed my welcome, and yeah, I had to sit in a traffic jam on route 80 on the way home while an accident blocked all 3 westbound lanes for the better part of an hour. But I had had a great day. It was a really nice shower. And sometimes, there's just nothing like a nice, long shower.

Alison and Genny - each so different and both so lovely.

Revisiting puppy envy

2008-02-27T13:11:00.020-05:00

He was the cutest puppy, maybe ever, and he's grown into one of the most impressive, magnificent animals I've ever known. Stone's one of those rare dogs who makes you feel his intelligence and dignity simply through the power of his presence. I love this dog.
He sort of likes me, too, which, quite honestly, blows me away.

This one's worth clicking on so you can see that wonderful face.

Now that you've been referred back to the original Puppy Envy post from Dec. 2005, here are a couple more photographs updating you on the growth and progress of two other puppies featured in that post. First, here is Tiercel, the Whippet who stole my heart as a puppy. He and his sister stayed with their breeder, so while I haven't managed to make my way to Seattle yet to meet them, it remains a possibility.

And here's Tiercel's sister, Lark. This is a candid taken in the ring, just before the judge pointed to her for a 5 point major. That softness and sweetness of expression, and the promised elegance seen in her as a puppy are still apparent. I love the marriage of power and elegance in this breed. I think she's beautiful, and quite frankly, one of the nicest Whippets I've ever seen.

So, it's official - yup - I've still got Puppy Envy.

One of a kind, or half a pair

2008-02-26T22:09:00.006-05:00

Here's half the newest pair of socks. Getting faster, as I started this on Saturday and put it on my foot tonight. I don't know what it beats, one of a kind, half a pair, but I suppose I just beat my personal best. I like the color, which is more of a dark maroon than a brown. Lauren wants me to branch out into crazy colors, but I will probably stick with socks in colors I'm likely to wear.

I'd better get back to the blanket, which is slowly coming along, too. I can't get a good picture of it until I bind off the strip I'm working on, but it's coming along...

Still recovering

2008-02-24T17:58:00.014-05:00

The flu yet lingers. We had a surprise three day weekend, due to a snow storm closing the university on Friday. I took full advantage of it and rested. But I still feel under the weather. I did manage to make it up to visit my mom today, and visited with my brother, Mark, for a bit, too. We often run into one another there. He told me I looked "rode hard and put away wet." Splendid. I warned him I'm quite fragile, and that was still the best he could do. And sadly, it's not a bad description of the way I feel.

Sue called me yesterday morning to tell me that she, too, has come down with the flu, which we have officially dubbed "Travisitis," since he was patient A in this particular outbreak. I packed myself into the car to go down and see if there was anything I could do to help her. I couldn't imagine having to take care of an entire kennel by myself when I was so sick. I had planned to pick up some hot chicken soup at the diner around the corner from them, but when I called on the way down, Sue said that her husband was on his way home from the Rockland show, and she suggested we'd all have lunch together. So, I managed to sit up long enough to visit. We got lunch from the local pizza place and played with the cats, the 2 papillons and the chihuahua. I realized how much I miss having "littles" around my house. Unbelievably, Angel's been gone a year on the 19th. I also got to collect the photograph of A.C.'s Sunday win at the Boardwalk cluster, and to actually feel marginally human for a little while, just getting out and visiting friends.

I've started another pair of socks, so I now officially have two projects going simultaneously, since the baby blanket is not yet done. This is not a luxury I allow myself when it comes to reading books - the first must be finished before a waiting book can be begun. I have to say, having lived with this self-imposed law for so long with regard to reading, it feels like a delicious sin to indulge in this with knitting. I took pictures of the progress on the blanket, and of the new Essential Tweed Russet socks, but I'm assuming you're all bored with my boring obsession, and I still feel too weak to be bothered with loading them from the camera. So, for now, since I'm content to stare at my pretty dog, you have to be, too. And I knit away.

Several pairs of socks later

2008-02-19T14:04:00.020-05:00

I'll remember this winter as the winter of the flu and of socks flying off needles with remarkable speed. It takes me a week to knit a pair of socks, unless I take my time and put them aside for a few nights - something which my carpal tunnels occasionally scream at me to do.

These are done in Essential Tweed Inca Gold. It worked up into a nice, snug sock with a lot of stretch.

As for the flu, it's still with me two weeks later, and has me down again today. I can knit or I can sleep. As far as anything else is concerned, it's sort of a toss up as to whether or not I'll get through it. I actually abandoned a full cart in the grocery store the other evening, as the edges of my vision began to go dark, and the room started to spin. Maybe I have pneumonia. Who knows? Mostly the dogs believe I've become really, really boring. From what I can tell, they're right.

On another note, here is one of the promised pictures from A.C.'s Boardwalk Kennel Club weekend. Travis knows how to smile, something which he did rather broadly when he won Best of Winners for us. Apparently, there is a rule that 13 year old boys must not smile in pictures. This was Saturday's win. We still don't have the photograph from Sunday.

My knitting's now moved on to a baby blanket for Sarah's second, due any minute now. I'm doing another log cabin blanket, this time in softer pastel tones. It'll be nice, but I don't like it as much as I liked the deeper, tapestry tones from last year's blanket for Jen's baby. I have to say, it's a relief to be back on size 8 needles after all those hours and hours on size 0, making socks. This blanket feels like it's flying along! This will change, I presume, when it comes to the applied I-cord edging (scroll to the Feb. 12 post.) I must thank my dear friend, Janie, for sending me piles and piles of color hanks of tapestry wool for these blankets. They're just perfect, with the subtle tone shifts in hue, and the small hanks make it easy to work up the strips.

Flu stew

2008-02-09T09:32:00.000-05:00

The week started out well enough. I went to the Boardwalk Kennel Club dog shows with Sue, Mike, and Travis. They were taking a small string of dogs, including A.C., and I took the opportunity to do what I love best (who knew one can be born to scoop poop so contentedly, and find such satisfaction in catering to the needs a bunch of dogs?), and went along to help. I had no expectations for A.C., but he surprised all of us, going Winner's Dog and Best of Winners on Saturday, and Winner's Dog, Best of Winners, and Best of Opposite (over specials) on Sunday. On Sunday, he was handled both to the point, and to the BOW and BOS by Travis, who is 13. He's got a lot of talent, but he's also got a lot to learn. A.C. carried the kid, and clearly won the point that day on merit. I was thrilled, and surprised to find I was mostly thrilled for Travis, who whupped up on both his mom and his dad with that win. Photographs of A.C.'s wins have not yet arrived, so for now, revel in his haul.
More rosettes in one weekend than I'd previously accumulated in more than 30 years of showing dogs.

I got home in time for the Super Bowl, and the Giants' incredible late come back. It was one of the best played Super Bowl games I can remember, and it capped with a victory an already victorious weekend.

Travis had been coming down with something all weekend. I went to work on Monday feeling like maybe there was something brewing in the back of my throat. Then, Monday evening while I was doing my consultations, the chills hit. I've never experienced such chills. They would hit, and my body would arch and spasm. I felt like I was doing a bad imitation of Linda Blair in the Exorcist, and I've never been so glad not to have Phone-A-Vision.

By Tuesday morning, the misery had hit. I didn't get much done all week. It was muddy outside, and I was too weak to even wipe off the dogs when they came in. There are still muddy footprints all over the house. I spent the week on the couch. All I was able to do when I got up in the morning was get up, make the bed, throw on my bathrobe, grope my way to the kitchen, and shiver and shake and tremble through making the dogs' breakfast. I did try to go back to bed. But, when I went back to it, it was unmade and occupied.

Entreaties to get him to move were successful by inches. I was too weak to resist that face, and he knew it. He won. I took to the couch. That's ok. My couch and I are one.

The boo-boo on his nose is from the frozen, gnawed
leather cover on the soccer ball. Poor baby. I can't resist him.

I slept all day Tuesday and Wednesday. Mail stacked up in the mailbox. Newspapers piled up on the doorstep. The bird feeders went unfilled (the wild birds, not the parrots - I made my weak, feeble way up to the parrot garret on my butt, too unsteady to navigate the winder steps any other way. I'm sure they'll say that I neglected them. They can, after all, speak - but shut up! I fed you, didn't I? Patience and a fever do not travel together well.)

Then, on Thursday, I was able to sit up some, and realize that I was still alive, foggy and gummy, but the fever of 103 had broken, and there might still be hope for my recovery. I was mind-numbed and bored, but my head still crashed enough that I couldn't read, and I could not really see the lap top screen for more than a few minutes at a time. Fortunately, KnitPicks to the Rescue!! One of the packages that had accumulated on my front step was my KnitPicks order. So, I finished up the last cocoa Gloss sock in a hurry (for future reference, 2 pair easily from 150 grams.) Now I am sitting looking at some yummy, yummy balls of embryonic socks in Essential Tweed tones of Inca Gold and Russet. The gold is already on the needle. Long live Magic Loop.

And finally, I paid my bills this morning (ok, about a week late, but I consider this last week as the Lost Week From Hell,) and our awful, springlike, unseasonable, horrible, icky too warm-weather has passed, we've hit the freezing point, and when I went to call in the dogs, they came - first Hudson at a canter, and then Crow at a trot in these pictures - running through the first flurries we've had since December. I want my winter back (can you tell I'm fully convinced that this weather is responsible for my flu? And it must be my commitment to fight global warming that's got me suddenly, unexpectedly, and quite diligently praying for snow.)
Ok, that's it, a sort of stew of thoughts from the Lost Week, just in the interests of keeping this blog fed. Oh, and I highly recommend the flu as a great kick start for rapid weight loss. Five days - 7 lbs. That's ok. I needed that.

Christmas in January

2008-01-25T20:25:00.000-05:00

When I got home today, there was a slip in my mailbox saying that an insured package was waiting for me at the post office. I knew who it was from (Suzanne,) and I knew it was my Christmas present, but I didn't know what it was. And, since I was dying of curiosity, I rushed the dogs through their exercise so I could run back out to the post office before it closed and collect this package.

I can't describe what it's like to open a box and find a likeness of someone you love staring up at you from a completely unfamiliar medium, and yet instantly to recognize them. It happened to me once before, when Beth and Deb sent me a memorial stone with Beckett's image in stained glass inlaid into concrete.

I brought the box inside and laid it on the table. Crow and Hudson's noses were glued to it. They knew it had come from Suzanne, clearly, and were gulping great volumes of information about their relatives from the outside of the box. They were almost as curious as I was, so I hurried to find my knife and cut the box open.

As soon as I opened it, I saw that there were German Shepherd plaques of some sort inside, wrapped individually in bubble wrap, and securely taped. The first one I pulled out of the box was Hudson. As I pulled off the wrapping, I instantly knew it was him. The impact of the beauty of this thing was so powerful that I had to sit down as I ran my fingers over the grains.

Then, in a rush, I realized that the remaining piece in the box had to be Crow. I felt such an urgency to see it that my fingers fumbled with the tape secured around the bubble wrap. The harder I tried to unwrap it, the more I fumbled. I finally took the exacto blade, slowed myself down, and carefully cut the last bit of tape away. And there she was; just as surely as the first piece had been Hudson, the second was my beautiful Crow.

Suzanne had these commissioned. They were done by an artist out in Wisconsin named Sue Lienau. I think these are stunning. They're much more impressive in person than they are in the pictures. It's worth clicking on the photographs for a larger image. They're done in wood, of course, and each piece is individually shaped and polished. They're substantially sized, about 16 inches tall. There's something so indescribably alive about them, I just sit and run the tips of my fingers over them,

Now I just have to figure out where to hang them. Right now, they're sitting on the mantle in the living room and I've barely been able to take my eyes off of them all evening. Thank you, Suzanne, and thank you, Sue. What an amazing gift, and what amazing talent!

It's a matter of comfort

2008-01-23T23:42:00.000-05:00

Knitting is a thing of comfort, a quiet, repetitive motion, one that requires little thought or focus once you learn the pattern, one that lulls you and soothes you while at the same time creating something useful and, hopefully, beautiful.

This past weekend, I stayed three nights at a friends house so that there would be a responsible adult present with their 13 year old son. Though I didn't have my own bed, I had my dogs with me, and my knitting. The room I was in was dark and warmed by a small gas fireplace. I was comfortable.

My friend had left food. I had macaroni and cheese for the first time in years. Imagine that. Macaroni and cheese. What an indulgence! And in a very surprising way that, too, was comfortable.

The first night home I was looking forward not only to sleeping in my own bed, but to an evening of relaxing in familiar surroundings, in my own place, with everything I need right at hand. It was cold out, and chilly in a house that had been vacant for the weekend. I'd turned the heat down on the main floor, and left only enough running upstairs to keep the parrots warm. I pulled on a sweater Joe gave me to lounge in - a Scottish wool thing that is so long on me I could wear it out as a dress - and a loose fitting pair of jeans. The heavy wool socks Kaitlynn made for me were on my feet, but I still felt chilled, and I wanted something hot to drink.

I was just about coffee'd out, though, and my tea supply, believe it or not, had been depleted by a very industrious mouse. So, I stood, cupboard door in hand, looking at the nearly empty shelves, and wondering what I could fix for myself when my eye fell on an untouched can of Nestle's Cocoa, purchased at some point late in my marriage to Bas, probably so he could bake brownies (one of the things he loved about America!)There it was, way up on the top shelf, unopened and forgotten ... comfort in a can. It had been through at least two house moves, and probably barely escaped being thrown out each time. Has this packaging ever changed in my lifetime?
Hmm ... cocoa. And I actually had a jug of milk in the fridge, something I don't usually keep on hand. And vanilla extract. And even some Splenda. Like macaroni and cheese, I hadn't had a cup of cocoa in years. But I had everything I needed, didn't I? I made myself a steaming mug of hot cocoa. I took it upstairs and picked up the socks I was knitting in a wonderful wool and silk blend, in a wonderful warm, brown color that was labelled, coincidentally, "Cocoa."

Put your feet up in cocoa colored socks that you made for yourself,
sit back, relax. You're home.

Sitting there with my dogs oh-so-comfortable to be back home, with nowhere to go, and nothing to do but knit, and sip hot cocoa, nestled in Joe's big old sweater, with my feet up on the furniture I grew up with, and this house that I own warming up around me - well, it was, just a wonderful confluence of the smallest things coming together. It was, quite simply, a matter of comfort.

Hair of the dog

2008-01-08T22:02:00.000-05:00

Now that Christmas has come and gone, I can safely blog about the thing that was my huge excitement this season. In October, I attended the NY State Sheep and Wool Festival with Lauren. Lauren and I met on Canine-l. So, we already knew we shared a love for German Shepherds in particular and dogs in general. Slowly, we became aware of another shared passion - for knitting. But Lauren goes beyond knitting. She spins. She is also, as I understand it, determined that I am going to become a spinner as well, and has generously loaned me a wheel to practice on. I'm not very good at it, and I've been knitting so much recently that there hasn't been much time to practice it. The festival gave me a glimpse into a world as broad and deep as the dog world is. It was a feast of fiber, which translates into an eye-appealing sea of colors, and an orgasmic tactile orgy of textures - softness, bounce, drape, warmth. It was seductive on so many sensory levels, and clearly a world into which I will venture further as time goes on. It has already, in ways both subtle and pronounced, altered forever my love affair with knitting.

I've always loved knitting, and I love making gifts for people. A long time ago, I discovered the magic connection in knitting; I never feel any closer to anyone than I do when I'm knitting a gift for them. When I'm knitting for a baby not yet born, by the time they've arrived, I feel very much a part of their new, fresh life. And when I'm knitting for someone I love, it makes me feel as if I'm wrapped around them as surely as the garment will be. I love knitting as a dynamic, creative act of love.

I was already making my sister a shawl for Christmas, and my increased focus on knitting had already made me determined to make as many Christmas presents as I could. A pair of handmade socks I received as a gift last year reminded me how special it can be to be given something so simple, but so thoughtful and full of love. So, I had this notion of what to give my friend, Suzanne, for Christmas. Suzanne has one of everything, I think, and little room among the many animals in her household to put even one more knick-knack. She's someone I love very dearly. She also bred Crow and Hudson. I wanted to give her something special, unique. I always do, but sometimes just come up really dry, and can't come up with an idea that really seems to hit the right note.

All of these things started to gel in my mind early in the fall. My increased interest in fiber and yarn, my new interest in spinning converged with my search for an idea for a Christmas gift for Suzanne, and finally, I got it. I asked Lauren if she'd be willing to spin fur I'd brushed out of Crow and Hudson into yarn for me. She agreed to do it. When we were at the NY show, I looked for fiber to blend the dog hair with, and found some wool that was a good color match. I bought a batt, and sent it home, along with a bag of German Shepherd hair, with Lauren. Lauren would transform these ingredients into the raw material I needed to make Suzanne a gift that was from all of us, and hopefully, would show her how much she meant to us.

A few weeks later, I received a box of doghair yarn (along with goodies for the dogs and me - don't you just love a friend who does you a favor and then sends you gifts on top of it? Lauren's the best!) There was a little 2 ply, a little more 3 ply, and even more 4 ply. There wasn't enough of any of them to make a big project, but there was plenty for something small - a hat, a scarf, maybe a cowl, mittens, or gloves - something meaningful, something warm, something useful, something, ultimately, symbolic.

I finally settled on a hat and some fingerless gloves.

I had some beautiful grey heathery alplaca from my friend Janie's son's animal. With that in hand, there was more than enough doghair yarn for these items. (Nothing worse than getting halfway through something only to realize with a sinking feeling that you're never going to have enough yarn to finish!) The result was more than gratifying. After I made the gifts for Suzanne, I couldn't bear to part with them. So, though they were done well before Christmas, I wasn't able to make myself put them in the mail. I couldn't force myself to send them off, and I finally realized that part of the reason for that was that I needed to make myself something with the yarn I had left. Once I figured that out, they were packed up and on their way. I altered the pattern slightly for my own hat, so that Suzanne and I would each still have something unique, but I'm so glad that I, too, have something made from the very first yarn that was spun from Crow and Hudson.
Here I am, wearing the hat which was made for Suzanne. Don't I look like something from the Blair Witch Project?
I haven't had so much fun getting ready for Christmas in a very long time. I'd write more about it, but my knitting marathon (making these gifts ignited a wildfire of knitting beyond description. I was a mad woman, churning out pair after pair after pair of Fetching gloves, one pair per evening over the entire holiday break!) brought on an acute case of repetitive stress injury to my hands, and I shouldn't even be on the keyboard!

Thanksgiving in Vermont

2007-11-24T19:07:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving was lovely again this year. I spent it with Deb and Ed and Hannah up in Vermont again. It's so beautiful up there. It was cold and snowy, but the area is just gorgeous, and I think, somehow, it's supposed to snow in Vermont. This was the view outside the dining room on Thanksgiving day. We had a visit from a young buck, barely visible through the constant, gentle snowfall.

Deb and Ed have a beautiful home there. It's cozy and warm. When we were home, I spent most of the time sitting in front of the fire, knitting the shawl I was making for my sister for Christmas, and chatting with Hannah.

Hannah carves. She's an amazingly talented wood carver. She made me two incredible little bird carvings. I didn't see Kaitlynn this year because she was out in Montana, training for cross country skiing. Both of my god daughters are amazing people, with so much talent and drive they humble me.

Here's the indigo bunting Hannah made for me, which I've put in a knothole in my maple tree. Nobody passes it without jumping, and thinking it's real.

The other carving Hannah did was a Pine Grossbeak. It's mounted on a piece of driftwood, and it now sits on the mantle in my bedroom.

Friday morning, Deb told me about a friend of hers, who is a barn manager, and who is dedicated to the preservation of the Colonial Spanish pony. She asked me if I would like to go visit. Well, of course I wanted to go meet Stephanie and her horses! One of the horses there was Oscar.Oscar was one of several horses who played Hidalgo in the movie, Hidalgo.I loved this horse. What a wonderful character!

It was cold, and I didn't realize that Hannah had put on a jacket that was far too light for the weather, nor that neither she nor Deb are particularly interested in or comfortable with horses. I, on the other hand, was in heaven. It was cold and there were constant snow showers, but bless them, they indulged my happiness and stayed there as long as I wanted to. Stephanie took me around and introduced me to all of the horses. They were magnificent. You can read about Stephanie and her work at the Red Road Farm website, and more about Stephanie and her work with the Colonial Spanish horse preservation project.

I loved the horses, and I really enjoyed talking with Stephanie about her work. People with a passion for something are always interesting to me. When their passion is animals, of course, I'm genuinely fascinated. And speaking of passion: this was the best kiss I've had in a very, very long time.

Fun in Central New York - yeah, really!

2007-11-19T18:44:00.000-05:00

I co-own a young male German Shepherd Dog with his breeder, who happens to be the woman who handled my dogs in conformation dog shows many years ago. Sue and I became good friends over the years, and back in the mid-80's through the early 90's, I spent a lot of time traveling to dog shows with her, helping her with the work of showing dogs, and having the time of my life. I always thought I should get back to that, and in 2005, she offered me this co-ownership, and I thought, "why not?"

A.C., our dog, had not been out since last year for the Central New York K.C. and the Susque-Nango K.C. shows. He did pretty well last year, with a Reserve the first day, and going Winner's Dog for one point on the second. He'd earned a point in his first show as a 6 month old puppy, and it was nice to know that he was growing up well. We weren't ready to really get him out and start campaigning him yet, so it was a really nice surprise.
This year, I decided to take a vacation, and go up with Sue and her husband to the shows. On Saturday, at the Central NY K.C., A.C. backed away from the judge, and refused to go up to him. He was excused from the ring. I spent the rest of the day walking him around, getting him used to being out in the big world. I let people meet him, and greet him, and made sure there was plenty of liver to reward him for accepting people. He really is a nice boy, but he hadn't been out of the kennel for a year, and he had just been a bit overwhelmed with all of the sights and sounds. The longer we were out and about, the more relaxed he became. I also brought him back to the motel with me Saturday night, and let him sleep on my bed with me.

Sunday, A.C. stayed out with me until ring time. He won the Bred By Class (only entry,) and I kept him outside the ring with me until Winner's class. The major had held, and I really didn't expect A.C. to do anything. Our goal for the day was for A.C. to get some experience and to learn to enjoy dog shows. You could have knocked me over with a feather. Look what he did!I really do like dog shows. We had 11 dogs with us. While I was helping Sue exercise them, standing by the stinky X-pens, scooping the poop from a dog that wasn't even mine, wearing saw dust halfway up my calves, and busting my hump running dogs to and from crates, I realized that I'm rarely more relaxed, more within the moment, or more completely myself than I am when I'm at a dog show. Oh, yeah. Winning's nice, too, but I learned this weekend that winning unexpectedly - going for the sake of going, doing my best for the dogs, really just enjoying myself, and then coming away with a win on top of it all - is really more fun than going with winning as the goal. It's really nice to be back.

The new man in our lives

2007-11-01T18:12:00.000-04:00

Back on Labor Day, when his dad came over to fix my lawn mower, we finally met the little boy across the street. When we first moved in, I wasn't so sure about him. He would bark at the dogs, unless he was outside by himself, in which case, he would normally go inside when he saw the dogs. I wasn't sure we weren't going to have problems.

His dad came across the street to help me when my other neighbor told him that I was having trouble with my mulching mower. Turns out, Alan used to work for the local tractor shop and is a crackerjack mechanic. When he came across the street, I let him and his son into the yard. I was introduced to Noah, and introduced him to the dogs. As his dad and I discussed the mower, Noah and Hudson took off across the yard together as if they had been playing together all their lives.
Since then, Noah's become a fixture over here. He's over all the time. He and Hudson, after a little incident in their first couple of days together (geez, 7 year old boys are FAST! I saw it coming, but there was no way to stop Noah from impaling his leg on Hudson's teeth as he timed his drop kick of the soccer ball very badly) have become the very best of friends.
I get up at 5:00 a.m. I drive an hour to get to work. I work a 7 hour day. Then I drive an hour and more to get home. And Noah's bus pulls up at approximately the very minute when I'm pulling into the driveway. There are days when I'd really like an hour or so to decompress before I had to deal with the energy of a 7 year old boy. But,Hudson adores him. And Crow clearly likes him, too. I can't very well break up a set, now, can I?

Even though I learned early on that I couldn't leave them alone together unsupervised (which makes the visits tiring and limits what I can get done,) we find ways to work together. Noah's an ace with a rake. In fact, he begs to be allowed to do this. Honest.

On the days when Noah doesn't come over, and Hudson sits forlornly at the fence staring at Noah's house across the street, I have to confess that I, too, miss our little buddy. We're going to miss him a lot when he's gone. Noah and his family are due to move as soon as they can find a place. Who'd have thought someone else's kid could take up such permanent residence in our hearts?

Sometimes, you punt ...

2007-10-18T20:58:00.000-04:00

It had been a long time since I'd tried to get some really nice pictures of the dogs. I decided that I'd try for some nice seasonal shots this afternoon, even though our autumn color has barely started yet (very, very late, after a very disappointing year in my garden - not much color around here this year at all.)

The dogs, when I went out with camera in hand, had already struck an amazing pose, sitting side by side, looking in opposite directions. The shutter on this old digital camera is very slow. When I framed this shot, it was perfect. By the time the shutter responded, Crow had shifted her position and spoiled the shot. Almost a good shot, but not what I wanted.

The dogs were happy enough to hang out on the patio, so I thought I'd see what I could get shooting from the other side. My yard is sloped, and the patio is terraced, so I thought this approach might afford me some interesting angles. I forgot, however, about the clutter in the background - wind chimes, patio furniture, and worst of all the covered grill, sitting like a great black mound in the center. Still it seemed worth it to me. I was interested in what I might get. (And there is always PhotoShop to fix things if you haven't screwed up too badly.) Apparently, Crow did not agree with me, and found the entire exercise immensely boring. (One really needs to click on this photo to get the full effect of just HOW bored Crow was.)

The second attempt produced marginally better results, but that background is what it is. And this time Hudson had turned, ruining the effect I was looking for.

I really liked being on eye-level with the dogs, but the background wasn't working for me. So I zoomed in to try to eliminate it.

Like I said. Sometimes, you just have to punt. Or take down the windchimes before you start a photo session. Or head off to PhotoShop.

All I wanted was a BLT

2007-10-09T18:52:00.000-04:00

Ordering lunch used to be a fairly uneventful process. We've recently switched food services where I work. With the change came a rash of new employees. Some of them appear to have been put on the front lines without sufficient training. What follows is what actually happened when I recently ordered a BLT.

I walk up to the sandwich counter and finally make eye contact with a young woman who clearly would have preferred to have been elsewhere. Nevertheless, I stood there bravely until she acknowledged me. Once smiles had been exchanged, I thought the worst was over. Oh, but no. Here's how it went:

I order a BLT on rye, untoasted.

She pulls out the rye bread and asks me if I want it toasted.

I say, no. Untoasted.

Then she lays the bread out on the board, in front of the fixings bar, and stands over it staring at me.

"What want you on this?"

I blink. "A BLT, please," I repeat, thinking, after the toast-no-toast confusion that perhaps she hadn't heard me. Or, at least, never heard anything but "rye."

She blinks in return. "Yes, yes. What want you on it?"

Now she has my attention. "Bacon," I say. "Lettuce, and tomato," I say, and then think to add the answer to the only remaining question that might need to be asked. "And mayo on the side, please."

With staggering indecision, she reaches for bacon, picks up one strip and holds it out to me for approval. "Yes," I say, seeing that we're about to get somewhere. "That's bacon. That'll do."

So, she folds the one strip of bacon in half and lays it on one slice of the rye bread. And looks at me, waiting. "Excuse me," I say, "I've asked for a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich. Could you put a little more bacon on that?" Clearly, I've broken a rule, as she glances furtively over her shoulder for the presence of her supervisor, and puts one more slice on the bread. "May I have one more?" I ask. Reluctantly she complies. The bacon is now on my sandwich. And her hands are back on the sandwich board as she once more stares blankly at me.

"Yes?" I say, somewhat uncertainly, unsure of what further confusion there might be.

"What else want you?" she counters, clearly becoming exasperated with my apparent indecision.

"Um," I said. "Let's see. How about some lettuce?" I'm really getting into this now, wanting to see how far it can go.

She picks up some leaves of spinach. "No, no," I say. "Not spinach. I didn't ask for bacon, SPINACH, and tomato. Lettuce," I enunciate clearly, pointing to the romaine.

Ok. Now she's on it. We get through the lettuce part without further difficulty. And now her hands are on her hips and I need not stretch my imagination to know that her toe is tapping.

"What else?" she says. I'm encouraged. Her English is improving.

"Tomato?" I ask.

One thin slice of hot house tomato lands in the middle of the lettuce. I decide, given the styrofoam appearance of the poor thing, not to push for more. But what's this? She's now reaching for the mayo without being prompted. Some part of my original request appears to have registered. "Mayo," I'd requested, "on the side." I'm really, deeply gratified by this, until the hands go back on the hips and the exasperation in her attitude has deepened to a point where I'm actually beginning to feel at fault here.

"What?" I venture cautiously.

"Well," she says, picking up the ominously dangerous looking squirt bottle of mayo and levelling it at me. She gestures at each side of the sandwich, one with three thin slices of overcooked bacon lying forlornly upon it, and the other with a leaf of romaine, and one, sad, thin, pale slice of tomato staring up like a bloodshot eye. With a great sigh, she appears to realize how dense I truly must be.

"Well," she repeats. "Which side you want it on?"

March of the librarians?

2007-08-28T10:13:00.000-04:00

Oh my goodness. Perhaps I've worked here way too long. Who are all these people? And how did they get so old? I have known a fair share of them for over 30 years, and a couple of them for over 35. I am, of course, only 18, so I have no idea how any of this is possible.And just when did black and white print skirts become so fashionable? (There are at least 2 more in the back rows.) I, of course, rebel that I am, am still in denim.

Which book are you?

2007-08-15T08:05:00.001-04:00

Who knew? I guess, in an odd way, it's kind of nice when one of these silly tests tells you you're one of your all time favorite books.

You're Watership Down!

by Richard Adams

Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're
actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

My life is a dog and pony show ...

2007-08-07T19:48:00.001-04:00

This past weekend I once again was privileged to go up to my friends' farm and stay with the dogs while they took a couple of days away. I'd done this in May, and had a wonderful time.

No small part of the pleasure of doing this is in knowing that I am doing something special for people I love. For that alone, it is worth it. The payback, though, is enormous. The dogs with whom I get to spend time are friends, too - true friends - and the opportunity to refresh my relationships with those among them whom I've known all their lives is like gold to me. It is as comfortable as coming home, as familiar as an old easy chair, and as welcome as true love ever is.

That has a solid depth to it, and affords me a sense of peace and belonging. The chance to forge new relationships with the younger dogs I do not know as well brings with it a different kind of joy - it's the joy that comes with the excitement and magic of new love and new friendship. It's exhilerating, infused with discovery along with bright sparks of recognition and brilliant flashes of understanding. I wouldn't trade a minute of either, old love or new.

This visit, I spent some time for the first time with Eagle, a retired trail horse who's been there for quite awhile, but with whom I've never had the opportunity to spend much time. Another new friendship, more discovery, more falling in love.

You may remember Eagle from last fall's posts about Shrimp. He's a very special soul. Shrimp is doing very well. Thanks in part to Eagle's caring companionship, in part to the dedication of the veterinary staff at Cornell, and in huge part to the dedication and determination of her loving friends, John and Suzanne, who never gave up on her, and listened to her needs, Shrimp made a miraculous recovery. She's a lovely little soul, who thrives on affection and attention. It was hard to get a picture of her because she kept following me so closely. This was the best I could do.

I finally had to ask Suzanne to take a picture of us together in order for the camera to be far enough away to get any of Shrimp in the shot. She's just irresistably cute and appealing. I am so glad she is doing so well.

Cute is not the word to describe Professor Spot. Impressive. Funny. Interesting. Even altruistic, if you'd seen his relationship with his father. But not cute. He was a cute piglet. And ok, if you like pigs' noses, he's got a really cute nose. But I wouldn't call Spot "cute." I wanted to get Grizzly, Crow's full brother and a fair sized male GSD in his own right, in this picture, but sometimes, with a crappy digital camera with a slow shutter and animals, you just take what you can get. Still, I do wish I'd gotten something in this shot that conveys Spot's true size. If I tell you that's he's longer end to end than I am tall does that give you some idea?
His dad, Connor, was a Gloucestershire Old Spot (photo for example only, is not of Connor.) His mother was dear old Charlotte,a Yorkshire cross, who can be seen far from her full-grown size if you click on her name. Both links give a better idea of Spot's size than my photograph begins to do.

My lovely dogs went to the kennel while I was away. It would not be possible to keep them amused and comfortable and still do duty with all 10 of Suzanne's dogs. Normally, they enjoy the kennel, and I believe from what they tell me that they did this time, too. There was, however, a little incident with nails during the final hours there that might have altered that, but I've apologized to Crow, who is a wonderfully forgiving and resilient soul, and assured her that no one will ever do that to her again. She is happy to be home, as is her handsome brother, Hudson. I missed them tremendously, and am happy to say that this old love of ours wears as well as and carries with it as much joy as the new loves and old friendships I have at Hawks Hunt Farm. That just being together can put an expression like this on anyone's face is reward enough. As I said in May - well worth doing. These friendships nourish and sustain. They make life meaningful and worth every loss and heartache that is suffered along the way.

Invaders!

2007-07-15T18:25:00.000-04:00

Right after the dog whispering, there was the dog shouting. Anyone who lives with dogs knows that there are many barks. There's the bark that says, "Hey, there are some people showing up for a yard sale across the street!" Yet another bark says, "Someone's walking a boxer in front of the house!" Then there are the other barks. "Mom? There's a rabbit out there. I know I can't chase it 'cause I'm inside, but I thought you should know. You know. Just in case you felt like opening the door." And the barks that say, "Someone's barking up the street," or "that cat is out again."

None of these are deeply significant barks. They're conversational, intended to inform and one learns what they mean.

But then there's the "MOM!!!! Venutians with ATTITUDE have landed and are digging up your flowers!!!" (That was a ground hog.) One learns the difference and which require immediate attention, ranging from a quickly yelled "Quiet!!" to hurrying to see who's arrived, to picking up the phone and dialling 911 while on the way to check to see what the specific threat might be.

The very day after the exercise in cooperation when the yard sale was across the street, there was a bark I'd never heard before. It was on the variety of the "Venutians have landed" bark, but there was an extra edge to it.

Shortly before the barking began, I'd been out back with the dogs and had been irritated by a persistant, loud, but unfamiliar roar. Closest I could come to identifying it was that someone might have been working on the engine of one of the very large township trucks. I live across the street from the town garage, and now and then there are definitely some unusual sounds. But this? I'd never heard anything like it, couldn't place it, and found it very irritating. And it went on. And on. And then stopped. And I didn't think any more of it.

Soon afterwards, while I was folding laundry, the dogs went to the front door and the new bark started. It started with that "Mom? There's a.... a ... a.... " tone to it, but rapidly changed to a "Ummm ... Mom? You'd better come and look at this" sound.

So, I did. Well. Gee. Great balls of fire.
I thought it must have just landed, but if it had, man, they'd done a heck of a job threading the trees and power lines. But, no. I remembered that odd sound. They must have been inflating it back there. One irritating mystery roar explained.

It started out behind the garage. Then, it began to move, just as if it were walking out from behind the building. The bark that greeted this event had to be heard to be appreciated.

Once it emerged, it appeared to have legs. And a couple of little heads grew out of its belly. Those elicited yet another tone to the barking (and yes, I felt truly protected.)

The thing began to bob and weave and develop a life of its own. And then, though we did not get a picture of it, it began to die. A man began to swing from a bar down by the basket, and kept swinging until his momentum tipped the basket over. And the great pumpkin head collapsed, and all the air rushed out. The dogs fell silent. It was a somber moment. The dogs mourned briefly, and then lost interest, just as they do when the chipmunks cease squeaking and the rabbit's shrieks fade away for good.

Whatever it had been, it was now dead, and no longer worth barking at.

Dog whisperings

2007-07-14T13:11:00.000-04:00

My riding lesson is canceled this morning, so I decided to take it slow until the front lawn is dry enough to be mowed. I have both the front and back doors open for a cross breeze. I became aware that I was hearing a lot more car doors closing, and a lot more voices outside than I usually do. Then I remembered seeing a sign yesterday, indicating that this weekend there would be a town wide yard sale. A closer look at the activity confirmed that the folks catty corner across the street were participating, and all the unusual noises signaled the arrival of customers.

With the front door open, Hudson and Crow decided that guard duty was in order. After my fifth or sixth coronary event coincided with the sudden eruption of barking, and my "hush," "quiet," and "that's enough, please"'s had escalated in volume and frequency and yet were all ignored, I went to the front door and knelt between the dogs. As new cars arrived, I began to whisper, "Look! Someone else! Who do you think that might be?" As they tensed and alerted, I would say "shhhhh ... let's watch." I had an arm over each of them, around their shoulders, and I realized I was using a slight posture change I could feel through their muscles, an elevation, to cue me as to when to whisper. So, I changed what I was saying to "Leave it. I've got it. It's ok," which is what I say when we're out and about and a dog comes into view (which is not always effective.) No sternness, no increase in volume, just whispered quietly.

Wow. As this went on for about five more minutes, each of them began to just slightly glance at me as a new car would pull up. Using that subtle check-in, I was able to begin whispering my cue to them BEFORE the elevation of the shoulders.

I stayed there watching the action with them, an arm around each of them, laying lightly across their shoulders, not restraining them in any way, until they decided, one at a time, that things had gotten boring. First Crow left. Then Hudson. It was actually a few seconds before I realized I was kneeling alone in my front doorway, watching by myself.

Before they left, we had quietly watched families arrive with small children, one elderly gentleman with a pug, a young couple with a golden, and dozens of pairs of women of all ages.

What did I learn? Wonderful things about timing and checking in. More wonderful things about energy informing energy. And that women, by and large, apparently don't have enough to do except date other women and buy other people's junk.

I am feeling enormously full and peaceful. I highly recommend becoming a Dog Whisperer for real.

Time flies, and so do the birds

2007-07-12T16:21:00.000-04:00

Ok, I've slipped up on blogging here. The baby doves flew off. For the better part of a week, I kept startling them in the forsythia next to the driveway, but now they've moved on from there. I hear mourning doves calling from all around the yard now, particularly in the evenings, but I have no way of knowing if its mama and papa, or the youngsters, or all of them. Time moves on. So do young birds.

The red tail clutch at Drew hatched, and two of the three baby hawks made it out of the nest. We've been treated to watching the juveniles figure stuff out. For the last few weeks they've been hanging out behind the administration building in an area we can watch from our office windows. They've also spent time back on the loading dock - rich pickings there since the squirrels hang out back there to raid the trash that's stashed there until the truck comes by to collect it. Yesterday, we got to watch one of the youngsters catch a grey catbird, and carry it up to the roof of the Mead Hall porch and devour it there. Nature's harsh. All God's creatures gotta eat, and most of them eat some of the other of God's creatures. It's a closed system, and a workable plan. Pretty hard to watch unless you happen to be rooting for the hunter at any given moment. So, we've watched the babies take to the wing. We've watched the parents continue to hunt for them and feed them for another couple of weeks, and we've watched the little ones learn. Time moves on. In fact it flies.

Since I don't have any further photographs of either the doves or the hawks as they grew, I'll impose a couple of shots of my Fourth of July on you.
My niece and her boyfriend as they lazed in front of the DVD of Planet Earth.

And my brother's dog, Cooper, who is one happy, funny, smart dog.

And Cooper's new "baby sister," Delylah. Delylah was very sick, and my niece, Alison, proved to be a worthy nurse and dogmom, shepherding her through the worst of a very serious case of kennel cough.

On the Fourth of July, she had her second good day, and was up to kissing her Auntie Gin.

Niece #2 (who doesn't own the puppy) will be very glad when Niece #1 (who does) stops carrying the little one everywhere. Sometimes it's fun to just sit by the pool and be an audience to family. Time flies. Birds grow up and leave the nest. So do nieces.

Nearly Fledged ...

2007-06-29T20:03:00.001-04:00

This evening, neither mama nor papa dove is on the nest, although mama was there this afternoon. The two babies are quite large now, and when I just went out to talk with them, one of them stretched its wings up and showed me how big its gotten to be. They'll be leaving the nest within a day or two. This was the first clutch of the summer. My understanding leads me to believe I can expect a few more. I'll have to see what happens.

It's too dark to get a good picture now. I'll try again in the morning. I have some basil and thyme plants I want to plant before my riding lesson, so I'll be out front for a while anyway.

It's been a long, hard week. I'm glad to have the plants and the birds, and, always, the dogs to be absorbed in. It's always striking to me how different my energy is after I've done so.

Hatched

2007-06-27T12:32:00.000-04:00

A couple of days ago, two eggs hatched. I've been giving them space to feel safe and unthreatened. But now, since they're popping their heads up, I decided to take a closer look.
There are two - one's all the way over to the right behind some twigs. They're brave, unafraid, curious, and very, very cute.

The Doves

2007-06-21T19:13:00.001-04:00

Only a few feet from my front door, atop the column on my front porch, a pair of mourning doves have built their nest. The mama and I have gotten quite used to each other.

Every evening, I've been bringing bird seed out to her, or a sprig of millet from the parrots' supply. I put it out, and I sit. I wait for her to begin cooing. She's calling to her mate. For all I know, he may be calling to her to let her know he's near, but I don't hear him first. I hear her. That's when I retreat indoors. Within moments he appears, and begins to gather my offerings.

Mama is quite beautiful, and lets me get very, very close. When the babies hatch, I'll leave them to feel safe, and I'll watch from indoors. But for now, I'm really enjoying being allowed close to my new little friend.

If you click on the picture you can see the lovely pale blue ring around her big brown eyes. There's much more color to her plumage than these pictures show. There are rusts and umbers on her head, and ivories and deep navies in her wings. She and her mate are both lovely creatures, studies in pastels and peace. In a very challenging and tumultuous time for me, the chance to witness the patience and devotion of these birds has provided an unexpected oasis for my soul.

When you blog, you're out there ...

2007-06-18T12:55:00.000-04:00

So, here I sit, minding my own business, checking e-mail before hitting the pile on my desk last Friday morning. Someone on one of the mailing lists I'm on has posted a message, saying that they'd been perusing some of the e-zines that morning, when they happened upon something that looked familiar. Idly, I clicked the link to see what might look familiar, and there, in the middle of an article about dogs having a sense of humor, lifted intact from this very blog, are my own words AND a photograph of Crow. No credit, no mention, no nothing. And no one ever asked my permission.

For what it's worth, I know that when you blog, you have to accept that you're out there, and that anyone who wants can lift your work. The fact that what you put on a web site or a blog is yours - you own the copyright - seems to go unacknowledged, as well as widely unobserved. It does seem to me, however, that if someone wishes to make a living as a writer, they ought to, out of a sense of respect for their own work, respect that ownership and ask permission. To do less is both unethical and unprofessional.

There. I've said my piece. And for what it's worth, the original can be seen in the December 22, 2005 entry in this very blog. The photograph is worth clicking on in this version, but loses much in the resolution provided in the e-zine (which shall go unmentioned and uncited in this entry so you won't patronize them.) And by the way, if you write for an on-line dog-zine, and still have to ask if dogs have a sense of humor, you've already shown that you don't know what you're talking about.

Turn around, turn around ...

2007-06-09T21:28:00.000-04:00

My little niece, Alison, is getting married. Ok. She's not so little anymore. She's 9 years older than I was when I first got married. In fact, coincidentally, that would have been 34 years ago today, now that I think of it.
Ali had an engagement party today. It was nice, held at a place called Paisano's over in Rutherford. Very nice place. Lots of good food. I had had more than I usually eat for lunch by the time we'd finished the first course - fried calamari. After the bruschetta, the pasta, and the salad, I was stuffed, but there was still the main course and the dessert.

And it's official. I'm clearly addicted to coffee. By the time the coffee was served, I was so twitchy, I simply asked the waiter, who spoke little English, "con su permiso, un otro, por favor," and took two cups for starters.
So, my lovely nieces are all grown up. We don't get to see much of Genny these days. She's a production assistant who has been working on The Sopranos for the past several years. Now she's working on a new HBO series called Damages. She hadn't gotten home till after 2:00 a.m., but she still managed to be her scintillating self at lunch. Oh to be young...

I don't know who all these other old people are. They can't really be related to me, right? I'm not that old. All right. I confess. That's my brother, Mark, and his wife, Joan. But he is OLDER than I am. They both are.

By the way, given the name of the restaurant, and the surnames of the bride and groom, should it be surprising at all that lunch looked more like a wrap party for The Sopranos than anything else? This is Joan's sister, Stacia, and her husband, Babe. I kid you not. Babe. My nieces' Uncle Babe. I rest my case.

When a big wind blows

2007-06-03T20:48:00.000-04:00

It was a hot and humid day, just the sort that usually gets still and very close around sundown. Today, instead, the wind began to pick up, and as I sat in the living room between the front and back doors, I could tell the wind was really freshening the air. We were about to get the tail end of the tropical storm they'd called Barry which had hit the southeast earlier in the week.

I love the wind. So I decided I would take the Sunday paper out and sit on my swing and enjoy not only the wind, but the coolness and dryness it was blowing in. The dogs came out with me, and enjoyed ambling around the yard while I sat sipping coffee and reading. Finally, they both laid down in front of the swing. The winds were quite high, and occasionally the gusts really picked up to a gale. I loved it. I actually even consciously thought, "What a perfect evening. The wind. The coolness. My lovely dogs." One of those "it doesn't get better than this" moments.

We were out there quite a while. I'd pretty much finished the paper. I decided to go in and get another cup of coffee and come back out to enjoy the last of the light before we called it an evening. So, I got up, gathered the paper, and headed in. I opened the screen door. The dogs went inside, and I realized I'd forgotten my coffee cup. I shut the door and returned to the swing to retrieve it.

That's when I heard the **crack** behind me. When I looked up, I saw a tree falling toward me.

It missed. It missed the swing. It missed the fence. It missed the tractor. It missed the lawn mower. It missed the dogs who had been laying directly in its path just seconds earlier. It missed me. If it had been felled by an expert woodsman, it could not have fallen more precisely in my crowded back yard and missed so much.

It didn't miss some plastic lawn furniture, a couple of patches of day lilies, and the edge of my magnificent old lilac bush.

I am, however, not complaining.
I owe the tree. I had the tree man top my old ash. He hated to do it, but the only other option, because of the structural damage done when the huge bough which had fallen tore off of the main trunk, would have been to take her down. I really felt I owed her a chance.

I know when I am lucky. As I look at my dogs lying here beside me, I am glad that the tears I've shed today have been for my tree. I'm sorry she's been damaged. I'm grateful for how things occurred. I will do my best to help her make it, with water, and careful tending, and always, with my gratitude.

When I say "bough," don't think "branch." What fell was as big as most trees themselves ever get. Here Hudson and Crow sit next to what missed us, demonstrating how big it was. We were very, very fortunate to have just gotten up and come inside.

Work that is well worth doing ...

2007-05-15T22:19:00.000-04:00

I can't remember when I've ever had more fun working so hard. Having been owned by multiple animals for all of my adult life (and once having gone 8 years without taking a vacation,) I know how difficult it can be to get away for a couple of days. Having said that, I now have the luxury of being down to a manageable number of dogs. If I can't find someone to come in for a weekend or a week and stay with them, I can generally afford to board them.

This is not true for my friends, John and Suzanne, who have a farm in upstate NY. If you follow my blog, you already know some of the residents - Flag and Shrimp, Cash, Otter, and if you remember the Puppy Envy posts, the incredible Stone. There are also three horses, another donkey, a total of 11 adult dogs, 3 puppies, a pig, a herd of Scottish Highland cattle, and sundry others dwelling there. Needless to say, it's rare that these folks get away from the farm together and find some real down time to just enjoy.

So, when Suzanne sent an email out to a small number of recipients, asking if there was anyone who might be willing to come and farm sit for them so they could just get away for the weekend of their anniversary, I replied that I wasn't doing much that weekend, and yeah, I could help.

I had some idea in advance of how much work this was going to entail. I also knew that Wendy, another friend, would take care of the barn animals. While I love them, I don't have the expertise to handle all of the different animals. Wendy knows and loves the cows, and takes excellent care of them. And then there's the boar, Spot, pictured here as a piglet.
Now he's the size of a large office desk with legs. I love Spot, but watching him pick up and move his entire pen because his breakfast is a few minutes late makes me very glad for Wendy and her abilities. I would have primary responsibility for those in the house, and would only help picking out the stalls in the barn. I had no doubt that I could and would be able to handle it; I also knew it would be tiring, but since I personally know how priceless an opportunity to get away is, I was glad to offer.

What I never could have foreseen was how deeply gratifying it would be, not only to do something nice for good friends, but simply to spend time with and get a chance to deepen my relationships with some old friends (Otter, Grizzly, Bee, Bird, Rain, Ruby - all German Shepherds, and Badger, an amazing Chow/Lab mix with whom I've often had the privilege of sharing a bed,) and to get to know and appreciate some youngsters I had met, but never gotten to know well (Cash, Monk, Stone and Jax, all German Shepherds.)

This is Stone - my new buddy - a dilute blue sable.
It was wonderful to walk all these dogs, in four separate groups, and to watch them flow like a living stream through the woods and out into the pastures. On Saturday, Otter only wanted to come with me for the first and last walks I took with the others, opting to stay home and rest while I took the more rambunctious hooligans out. On Sunday, however, Otter came along for all of the walks. Having this thirteen year old trot along beside me, sometimes catching up from the rear and nuzzling my hand as I walked to let me know she was there was a quiet pleasure I can't describe. It was like walking with a very old friend whose company is familiar as an old chair, and just as comfortable. Though it took more than 2 hours to give everyone their walks, it was time well spent, and work worth doing.

I spent Saturday morning up in the barn, stripping out the winter coat on Joey, a 30+ year old Thoroughbred. After about 2 hours, I realized I was standing in a pile of horse hair that came up to the middle of my calves, and made a circle about 8 feet wide all around us. I was sneezing it. I was wearing it. I was chewing on it and spitting it out. It was in my eyes, and up my nose. But it was, most importantly, off of Joey, and his deep gratitude as he lowered his big head into my arms for me to finish combing through his forelock and currying his face, was palpable. I've known Joey since 1998 or so. On Sunday morning, when I walked into the barn, for the first time ever, he nickered to me. Work well worth doing.

At the end of the day, when I collapsed into bed, with 6 of the German Shepherds sharing the room with me, 3 of them opted to hop up on the bed with me. When I finally put my book down and prepared to turn off the light, Monk jumped down and curled up on a blanket on the floor next to me. Cash curved along the back of my legs and turned to lay his head over my ankles.

That's Cash on the right - possibly the sweetest, silliest German Shepherd I've ever known.

Stone, however, leaned over my face, surveyed me with a wrinkled grin, and searched for my eyes. When I reached up to rough up his head and thank him for a wonderful day, he proceeded to give me the face-washing of a lifetime, and then, with a satisfied groan, laid himself down in my arms and put his head on my chest. He had the softest eye, and the kindest expression, and when I told him he was a good boy and how much I'd enjoyed spending the day with him, I knew, without asking, that he had had a good day, too.

I told him "good night" and rolled toward him slightly. He nestled his head on my neck, and I knew. I had done a good day's work.

Shrimp rolls...

2007-05-10T16:26:00.000-04:00

You may remember Shrimp, my little donkey friend who was so sick back in the fall that it was touch and go for weeks on end. The decision to put her down was nearly made a number of times. Finally, her friend, Eagle, a lovely retired trail competitor, joined her in her hospital stall. Slowly, with Eagle's company and friendship, with the dedicated care of the veterinary staff at the equine center at Cornell animal hospital, the devotion of her owners and friends, who traveled hours every day to visit her and hand feed her tempting goodies, and with many prayers and much energy sent her way by those of us who love her but couldn't be with her, Shrimp began to get better. She came home in December, still desperately underweight, and with a long, long road of healing and recuperation ahead of her.

Last month I got to go up to the farm and finally got to see Shrimp as she is now, to put my hands on her and feel her strength and energy, to stroke her funny forelock and see the life shining in her eyes.

Here she is, just Shrimp, just fine. This weekend, I'm going to be at the farm again.
Time with Shrimp is no small part of why I look forward to each and every visit.

Time with Shrimp and Freaky, Joey, Jupe, Eagle, Professor Spot, Otter, Grizzly, Badger, Bee, Ruby, Bird, Rain, Stone, Monk, Cash, Jax, and ummm ... I'm running out of fingers and toes. So many old friends. And so many youngsters to get to know.

You can click on the photograph of Shrimp's head, and be almost close enough to touch her.

This is Cash, by the way. I just had to show you Cash. He's the only dog I know whose eyes are as big and as deep as a horse's. I kept thinking there was something so different about his face and his energy, and I finally put my finger on it. Cash is a kind old horse in a German Shepherd's body. Whatever he truly is, Cash is the most adorable GSD I've ever seen, and an accomplished Goofball. This weekend, I'm am going to get a good picture of Otter if it takes me 100 shots to do it. And I'm under orders to get a new picture of Stone. Wait until you see Stone now!

The Finished Log Cabin baby blankie

2007-04-24T21:53:00.000-04:00

Without question, this was the coolest blanket I ever made, and possibly the most fun I ever had knitting. It just kept changing and changing. As each color strip was added, the character of the whole piece would morph entirely, as you can see from the pictures. I loved making this, and I loved the finished product.. I gave it to my Jen (my hairdresser) the night before her last day of work. She loved it, and left it displayed at her work station while she worked on my hair. I could have taken 6 commissions that night to make more of these.
Jen had a boy, by the way, and named him Jasper. I am sooo glad I didn't go with pastels or a lacey stitch!

Welcome to the world, Jasper. I hope this blanket made your first winter warmer.

The Great Grandmother

2007-04-23T12:30:00.000-04:00

On the very same trip up to Suzanne's during which I re-met and bonded with Monk (see last post,) I had the opportunity to reconnect in a meaningful way with one of my favorite friends. Otter, Crow and Hudson's mother, is a uniquely funny dog.

At 13, she's still going strong. Otter and I have always had a "thing." She isn't a snuggly, cuddly dog (neither was her mother, and neither is Crow.) But through the years, we've shared a snuggle or two, and we've always found a way to let each other know how we feel about each other. This visit was no different. We have our subtle ways of acknowledging one another's presence. We had our snuggle on the couch, too, which was a very, very special gift to me.

Unfortunately, no photographs were snapped to capture the moment. I wrote and asked Suzanne for a picture of Otter. Otter disdains having her picture taken, and there are very few shots of her that are any good as a result. But here, less than a week later, a photographer caught Otter trotting along, with one of her great grandchildren tagging along for the fun of it.
Photograph by Cindy Knowlton

I remember you, Otter, when you were no bigger than that happy youngster who is following you. You look good, old friend. I love the happy grin on your face, and the obvious spring in your step.

Just because it's time to blog again...

2007-04-20T08:14:00.000-04:00

It's been awhile, I guess. And while there's a lot going on for me, not much of it is anything that wouldn't just bore you silly. So, instead, I offer photographic proof that I am still alive and kicking, that I can still muster a smile, and that there's still a bit of love in my life.

Herewith, Monk, a wonderful hunk of a guy, with whom I fell in love while visiting friends over the weekend:

Flag

2007-03-30T08:45:00.000-04:00

Flag is gone. Earlier this week, I got e-mail from my friend, Suzanne, that Flag, a Jersey/Holstein steer who came to her farm during the summer of 1997 as a baby, was found dead in the field that evening.

Flag was a very special soul. One could lean on Flag's side and feel instantly connected to the earth.

There was a peace and a stillness in Flag that he generously shared with anyone who made themselves open to it.

In return for peace given, Flag was open to scratches received. There are spots on a steer that a steer cannot easily reach to scratch. Heaven was not far away for either of us in this give and take.

I used to spend a lot of time on the farm, visiting John and Suzanne and all of the animals about once a month. The events in my own life over the past few years, and the shifts in Suzanne's schedule have meant that I haven't been to the farm in a very long time. I always know I can go there, and will be welcome there, and in carrying that within, I have always assumed that Flag would be there.

I will have to accept Flag's presence in a different way. Flag will always be a part of the farm for me. But now, I will have to be open to his spirit, which has joined Jeremy's, and Ming's, Charlotte's, Carson and Vali's, and a host of others. All of them have always been there for me, and I know Flag will be, too. But I will miss leaning into the solidness of Flag's strong, gentle body, and will have to settle instead for the largeness of his heart which is forever a part of the heart of the place.
Peace, Flag. Peace and sweet grasses, sunshine and love, wherever you are. Thank you for being a part of my life. Your presence was huge; your absence just as large. Your spirit brings life to both.

An unexpected loss

2007-02-19T20:18:00.000-05:00

This evening at 5:00, I had Angel put to sleep. She was down to 7 pounds, was no longer eating, and her kidneys were in full shut down.

Up until about a week ago, she was still exploring the yard when she was out, and still barking at me for her dinner. All of that changed rapidly, and at nearly 16 years of age, there was really nothing more that could be done to keep her going.

Angel and her older housemate, Sparkle, came to me in 1995, after their owner, a friend of mine, died a sudden death. Pat lived alone, and the dogs were alone with her body for several days before anyone missed Pat. Arrangements for the care of the dogs fell through, and ultimately, they joined me, my two German Shepherds at the time, Doc and Annie, and my beloved Greyhound, Beckett. They fit right into that household, and taught me much about the pleasures of little dogs who love nothing more than spending time in your lap. Until Crow came on the scene and came of age Angel ruled all the big dogs with an iron paw - I kept warning her about Crow, and ultimately, Crow took the crown, but it was a good, long reign while it lasted. After that, Angel was always grateful for a ride in my arms if Crow was around.

Angel - my little lapdog, rest now. You are already missed.

How I stay sane

2007-01-31T11:08:00.000-05:00

One of the first gifts Joe gave me was a beautiful leather bound journal. So, I began writing in earnest again. It keeps me sane, or as sane as I'm ever likely to be. I laid in bed last night, looking for something to hold on to. I pulled out the journal, and found this. From a different stage in my journey, but just what I needed to read.

These Wings

Within the chrysalis
strength and will crystallize
until the moment when
desire and need come together
to force the beginning
the struggle for freedom.
Impossibly fragile,
enormously frail,
driven by
hunger beyond comprehension,
risk neither weighed nor calculated,
effort neither measured nor rationed,
the push goes on

Emerging, finding only that which cannot be touched -
air, light, space and time –
these wet wings unfold and dry,
revealing in their new velvet
symmetry and pattern unexpected
And the inexorable need to try
one final powerful push,
discovering in that upward thrust
the surprising thrill of flight

vrp

Resolution

2007-01-30T13:46:00.000-05:00

Some things are not as easy as you think they'll be, even when, at first flush, you think they're going to be so hard as to be impossible.

Scattered thoughts

2007-01-29T10:42:00.000-05:00

I'm going through a challenge right now, having been asked to do something that is proving to be one of the hardest things I've ever tried to do. In order to succeed, I'm going to have to dig deep into the wells of faith, stir up the depths of patience, and put my entire belief system to the test. I can do this, and I will do this, simply because I love the person who has asked me to. It's hard when you're tired and emptied to find your strength, but right now I've had to walk up to fear, nod at its ugly face, tell it I see it, and walk right on through it. Fear breaks into pieces that surround me; they ambush me in the middle of a task, or choke me in the middle of the night. But they're small and insignificant when measured against the love, and I've come to see love as the place within which I will find my faith, breathe life into my patience, and come home to the seat of my beliefs.

I've always thought of winter as a fallow time, a time within which roots are sunk more deeply into soil that remains warm and nourishing below the cold, hard surface, a time within which the soil itself replenishes and rests and restores life giving mineral. And so it is with the soil of my soul right now. In the quiet, in the cold, I must believe that something alive and warm is growing stronger, and will soon be ready to show its shoots once more to the sun.

Last week was hard. A good friend died suddenly. As I think of what his family is going through, it casts some light on my own challenge, and lets me know this is only a moment in my life, and I only have to get through it. It is the time "before." I have only to hold a space open for the new and it will come.

This Friday is Candlemas - Imbolc. As usual, I ask for help and it's given. Here's a poem that came my way this morning that speaks directly to the heart of my challenge. I'm not even going to attempt to write my own when I find something so beautiful, so articulate, and ultimately so evocative of my own struggle:

Imbolc

The feeling in this still dark, unstable, muddy time
that the light at the end of the tunnel is my own soul
staring back at me on the inside
and I'm blind as a mole pushing through
some primal unseen path
with my stubby little snout and inexplicable will

If winter is a wide ocean of night
January is the hollow point, the trough
that holds visions too deep to fish up into morning
it is a cave too far down for light or even hunger
life hibernating in me suspended, waiting
and the mind floating free of the body now
like something promising but unborn
I want to lean over my own self to see if I'm breathing
I want to regress into a world of fur and blood
I am as slow as a stone's pulse

Into this no place, no thing
Imbolc comes at the end of forever
and the beginning of all time
Suddenly there is one fiercely yellow crocus open
dreams pierce dense and soggy layers of sleep
right up into the thin clear air of day
just like the red torpedo shoots of peonies
pierce the ground by my back door
carrying all the courage that weeks later they will need
to unfurl those painfully delicate new leaves

I am asking for that courage, Mother
I'm ready as I'm gonna be
nothing more to wait for
just hold my hand while my eyes stumble into light

---Miriam Dyak 1994

So, I know what power holds my hands. I believe in it. I believe in myself, though that is the bigger challenge. I know that the light awaits. If I have learned nothing else over the past 2 and a half years of my life, I have learned the truth of the power of love. I can do this, and I will.

More fun with knitting

2007-01-17T10:29:00.000-05:00

My hairdresser, Jen, is expecting her first child in March. Jen's an unusual hairdresser - tomboy through and through, drives a Harley, skydives, definitely keeps up with the boys ... she's been gagging on the baby stuff, all pinks and powder blues. I wanted to make something for her, but wasn't sure what I could make that wouldn't be white, that awful bon bon green, or one of the shades of baby blue or pink.

Last year, my friend Janie sent me a box of wonderful needle point wool. This comes in tiny amounts per skein, but in lovely, rich colors. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with it, as there wasn't a lot of any one color. And just this past fall, a wonderful knitting book had fallen into my hands. This is the Mason Dixon knitting book, written by two ladies who have a great knitting blog, from which I've picked up a number of tips and stitches. Fun stuff, if you're into that sort of thing (which, clearly, I am.)

In the book, one project caught my eye, but I sort of forgot about it until the drive to make something for Jen arose. Then, as I was doing the dishes one evening, it all came together as inspiration. So, here is the start of my baby blanket for Jen's baby, using the needlepoint wool, and the log cabin knitting technique I pulled from the Mason Dixon book.

The colors are, as usual when I take a flash shot of my knitting, disappointingly bleached out. They're much deeper and richer in person. This is fun. As you add each color, the character of the whole piece changes. I find myself sitting up knitting well past the point when I should be in bed, getting my desperately needed beauty sleep.

What are the odds that I'm ever actually going to give this one away?

What holiday food am I?? What sort of question is that?

2006-12-22T22:50:00.000-05:00

Honestly, it never occurred to me to wonder before. Oh, and well ... duh. The results surprise me?

You Are a Yule Log

While you do have holiday spirit, you have a secret, heathen past.

What Holiday Food Are You?

Up and eating

2006-12-16T18:11:00.000-05:00

The joyful news is simple. Shrimp is up on her own four feet of her own volition, and eating well.

Sometime in the last day or so, a crucial corner was turned in Shrimp's recovery, and she's no longer requiring help or encouragement to get up. Her appetite is better and she's eating well.
So, Shrimp is freely and willingly doing the two things she needed to do to get well - standing and eating.

This little donkey's courage and determination just blow me away.

She's home...

2006-12-07T08:05:00.000-05:00

After weeks in the hospital at the Equine Center at Cornell Veterinary School, Shrimp came home yesterday, accompanied by her faithful nurse, Eagle. Eagle's presence in the stall with Shrimp made a remarkable difference in her recovery. He was, by all reports, amazing. More than once, when offered a chance to go out for a walk and some free grazing, he refused to leave the stall. He knew exactly what he was there to do, and he intended to do it to the best of his ability. I know how much energy he poured into her, and I have sent him my gratitude every single day.

Shrimp with her medical team, Eagle and Dr. Burton.
Shrimp's home now. There's a long way to go until she's out of the woods, but she's home now. Tired from her journey, she still managed to eat something and show Suzanne and John that she understands what she needs to do to get better. Shrimp's courage and determination have been nothing short of inspiring. Working with her has steadied, calmed, and centered me. I'm humbled and moved by her spirit and her energy. So, as her light brightens, keep on clapping if you believe in donkeys.

Pressures of the season ...

2006-12-06T18:40:00.000-05:00

Think I've been working too hard?

The power of friendship

2006-11-30T08:49:00.000-05:00

Shrimp had the veterinary staff at the hospital convinced that it was "time" more than once, and more than once she rebounded. The other day, Suzanne rushed down to be with her after receiving a call from the doctors that it was probably time to consider euthanasia. Shrimp had other ideas. She was clearly still in the game, and when Suzanne saw her, the strength of Shrimp's spirit and presence removed all question. She would be allowed to battle on.

Donkey experts assert that donkeys generally don't fare too well in the hospital. They are so bonded to and lost without their companions, they get depressed and pine away. So, in an effort to assist Shrimp in her fight to recover, one of the horses she lives with was trailered down to join her in her stall. When he was brought in and saw Shrimp, Eagle nickered his greeting. At first Shrimp didn't seem to realize who it was, but I'm told that the look on her face when she recognized him was wonderful to see.

So, as we continue to surround Shrimp with prayers and energy and hope, Eagle is simply providing her with his presence, and his solid steadiness, and his love. May this be the magic elixir that was missing from her treatment.

It is hoped that Eagle's presence will encourage Shrimp to drink and eat more on her own. Once she's been eating and drinking on her own for a day or so, she'll be allowed to go home. That's what we all want for you, Shrimp, that you can go home and be with Joey and Eagle and Spot and Freaky again, and stand each evening and watch the sun go down.

Shrimp's rollercoaster

2006-11-28T18:18:00.000-05:00

Please clap if you believe in fairies.... ummm ... donkeys ... or in the power of positive thinking. Shrimp the donkey's been quite ill. Finally, a diagnosis of Cushings may have come too late to save her life.

She needs to eat, and build herself back up. Shrimp has an amazing spirit, and an incredible will to live. The doctors have written her off a few times now, but Shrimp's not done fighting.

So, please add your prayers for Shrimp's recovery. Send positive thoughts. Energy. White light. Whatever you believe in.

This little donkey has humbled a lot of people with her courage, her stoicism, her strength and determination.

Shrimp loves a beautiful sunset. Let's all hope that Shrimp can go home to her farm, where she will be able to admire many more sunsets before her final sleep.

The hills are alive ...

2006-11-25T21:22:00.000-05:00

I spent Thanksgiving in Vermont with old friends. Their beautiful daughters are my goddaughters, Kaitlynn and Hannah. I need to blog and blog and blog and blog to catch up with things, but I thought I'd post just this quick post. I arrived up there early on Wednesday afternoon, and left for home early this morning. We managed to shove a lot of visiting into 2.5 days. On Thanksgiving morning, we drove around the area, and I got a quick tour of all the places they'd lived since they moved up there. We ended with a brief visit to the Trapp family lodge, and a quick hike up to the chapel in the woods.

I have two lovely goddaughters who were just babies when they left NJ. Now they're both taller than I am, and getting to know them as the lovely young ladies they are is a pure delight. Thanksgiving.

When dogs explode ...

2006-11-01T17:51:00.000-05:00

... this happened so fast. I took a dog and a handful of grooming tools out back, and five minutes, one dog, and only the pin brush later....

... so sad...