He sits at the trailhead in advance of the game, quivering, waiting — even after I drop the leash, quivering and waiting some more. His eyes locked on mine.
Teaching him these forms of relationship has been easy. But there is a dog at the other end of the field — off leash — so I don’t really have time to relish his stellar performance.
We play at our end of the field and the other dog and human soon wander off. The ground crunches under foot. Temperatures dropped to the low twenties last night and it is still cold. In search of the ball, Finn shovels his nose through piles of rimed oak leaves and soon wears frost like makeup.
As we’re leaving, another dog heads down Langley Path so we change course and head home through the schoolyard.
I wanted to share a picture of my painted contribution to the parking lot mural — a ripped open bag of gold, spilling its contents to the ground — you know, how I might have chosen a more auspicious image and isn’t it too bad I don’t remember what the boys painted (how old were they then? Six and eight?) — but LO — I am silenced — star struck even — by what is painted above: just look at that Mama Bear and her cub! Two polar bears curled into each other in the shelter of their den, in the sanctuary of care. The image is not the least bit pocked by the applications of salt, not the least bit obscured by the raggedy, late season weeds fringing the wall below. Just there — clear and pure, somehow. A symbol of some importance this week.
Where I am this morning. Lines! Mood: upbeat!
Look how lit this patch of woods is! A blustery rainy day. They’re calling it a Nor’easter but it’s not much of a storm.
I listened to “Gaslit Nation” while out with Finn. Came home and hung some more winter curtains.
Friends are coming over to write postcardstovoters in an hour. Solidarity in action. Today: Phil Bredesen of Tennessee and Stacey Abrams of Georgia, again.
Meanwhile, yesterday I went back to that empty house. Went upstairs this time and yes it felt slightly transgressive. A little spooky. Another post for another day — maybe Halloween?
Some days are like this: filled with a sense of vulnerability and gloom. A friend used to call them my “Eeyore moods.”
I have some idea why today. The pipe bombs. The unavoidable reality of having a white supremacist President with legions of ill informed but well armed followers. The way the media conspires to amplify the negative and repeat the lies, always at the expense of the Democrats.
It didn’t help that what I wrote in class today provoked almost nothing but comments about being confused — even though comments are supposed to be restricted to the positive (I get it. My style tends to the impressionistic — my heroes being Woolf, Kincaid, Faulkner and not Chandler or Hemingway. And there are folks in the class who don’t know any of the characters and others who have met them but don’t remember them. Plus, and this is a biggie, having revised earlier writings so intently for two seasons now, I have a real sense of how preliminary these class sketches are).
Still, last week I “got” something I can use pretty much word for word and I’d always prefer to blow people away.
And then there’s the way the two groups I’m in have formed external bonds that aren’t entirely exclusive but are noticeably less vibrant in my direction. Noticing how I need to update my availability.
Plus there is K’s travel schedule. I think he may end up having been gone for more than 25% of the time in 2018 — a lot of that weekends.
So. Keeping going with chicken soup (literal chicken soup), walks with Finn, postcards for Phil Bredesen of TN (he’s running for Corker’s seat) and a new utterly absorbing Netflix series, “The Bodyguard.” And quilting.
Oh. And then there’s taking pleasure in gifts that come in the mail. This sweet little pop up notebook, from Michelle. Thank you, Michelle.
The basement door was open. The place was sold midsummer — a very tiny, dated Cape, most likely a tear down. The dog and I went ’round back and crept in. It wasn’t spooky exactly but full of the traces of lives departed.
Did I already post about this?
Today we helped my sister prepare for building-wide inspections this week. It was a little overwhelming, given that it looks like she moved in yesterday (instead of the end of April). We hung mirrors, curtain rods and curtains, a kitchen peg board, pictures, put away the AC (which required emptying and sorting a closet) and took out lots of garbage. It was a lot. I’m tired.
But my younger son is in the air, due to land within the hour. Such good timing.
Because it is a hard time to be alive and be American.
These came in the mail! Thank you, Ms. Lacativa!
Went to the vet with this guy and, except for some seasonal allergies that we’re treating with apoquel, he’s healthy. Good weight, muscle tone, appetite. Yes, yes, yes. Also grateful that the vet was open to tinkering with dosage and pill size of the allergy meds to reduce price. I wasn’t having $250/month.
Grateful for Ronan Farrow and Jane Mayer (but I don’t know WHAT to think about Michael Schmidt right now – but let me add, I’m grateful for Rod Rosenstein*). Oh, and Michelle Alexander who wrote a good piece for the Sunday Times about where we find ourselves with the resistance.
Grateful for the cool temperatures and the feeling of settling in that comes with fall.
Grateful that my sister was open to a visit on Friday instead of tomorrow because it’s supposed to rain like the dickens tomorrow, plus for reasons I don’t understand but no longer question — I need tomorrow open in order to be able to write today.
Grateful for James McBride — who writes really good historic fiction.
And coffee. Always grateful for coffee.
What are you feeling grateful for today?
* I wrote this post before the shit hit the fan re: Rosenstein. Must’ve been in the air.
The sedum rouged up in a hurry. And two of the small Rose of Sharon trees that I’ve been nurturing along are blooming for the first time.
Met with some old dear friends yesterday: Candy, Chris, and Tara. Elizabeth and Barbara joined us by phone. An old circle made new. It was reviving. Necessary.
Peggy over at Woman with Wings (sidebar) has inspired me to make some tinctures with a few of the massive comfrey leaves in my yard. I’ll let you know how it goes.