dogga had had lunch and snicky-snack was about three hours away. he seemed to be in good spirits and looked to be about to take his early afternoon nap. it was a beautiful day – absolutely gorgeous – blue sky, sunny, warm. so, for the first time in a long time, we decided to go hike the loop river trail. got our stuff together and drove down to the trailhead.
the white asters were blooming in the underbrush, the milkweed’s seedpods were splitting, with silky white filaments exploding from them. tiny purple blossoms were open to the sun and three snakes lined our way. a gorgeous day in the woods.
and then, the dandelion! this dandy hanger-on-er happily positioned itself around the bend and, as i approached, it smiled.
we are rapidly approaching the very end of october and, yet, here was this brilliant brightest yellow, reminding me that truly beneficial things do survive – the dandelion’s whole flower and stem nutritious for all the critters. this little flower. hanging on.
i suppose that is a good lesson for us all – particularly as we approach this midterm election: goodness does survive.
many people are out there voting early now. the ads and extreme pundits are getting uglier. the administration is losing whatever is left of their depraved minds.
but good people are also getting loud, louder.
please join with the dandelions out there. be the brilliant brightest everywhere, be what is beneficial for our country.
everything was already changing. we were on our way from seattle in a budget truck – david’s stuff loaded in the back – moving him to wisconsin. everything was in flux for both of us and we were riding on trusting the universe, a 20′ truck and love. it was no small deal.
as you have already read before, the sign “aussie pups” caught my attention and we turned around to drive up the hill at the farm. with only one puppy left – in sore need of adoption – we followed farmer don to see it.
d told me that australian shepherds are usually multicolored, merle, browns and whites and auburns with a bit of black, but never all black – which was good since we had decided that sooooomeday we would get a puppy – a black one so fur wouldn’t show up on our decidedly black wardrobe.
the only thing was – farmer don told us that the reason his only puppy was not being adopted was…wait for it…because he was all black.
cue life change.
we fell for his amber eyes the moment we saw him and he bounded over to us, curious about who he obviously knew was his new family.
even though we left a deposit and drove across the state, debating dog/no-dog/dog/no-dog for the next couple days, we figure dogga knew that whole time.
and then we drove back.
we picked him up. and our hearts and our family grew.
and now – as we watch him aging before our very eyes – as we pass through days when we are so, so worried about him – like this past weekend – we know our time is limited.
“this is nothing new,” you are thinking, “you’ve been writing about this.”
and yes…you are right…we have both been writing about this.
but today – today is that day – the day we met the aussie-angel who has walked with us. and that is a big deal.
he now has tiny grey hairs scattered across his face, not just around his muzzle. and every now and then he looks a little confused when he wakes up. there are other issues and concerns and we deal with each and have many workarounds. we stay home or close to home. there is nothing we can do to change it. we are in this with him just like he has been in life with us, through it all.
as 20 wrote the other day, “no matter how much love and sacrifice we give, we just can’t change the outcome.”
exactly.
what we can do is celebrate the moment that all that black fur came bounding at us – a full-throttled expression of exuberance, a full-throttled expression of i-am-who-you-need, a full-throttled expression of love that has carried us for thirteen glorious years of time spent together.
there are many things we are not doing these days, simply so that we are here for dogga. no matter.
we can hardly remember the before. we cannot think about the after. these days are the important ones.
in every way we are grateful that thirteen years ago our dogga – tripper – chose us and the universe gave us the wisdom to drive back.
after all the rain – followed by some big dashes of cold – i thought that the potting stand would be done-in. i figured that any tiny cherry tomatoes would have fallen off the vine, that the basil would be drowning, that the mint would have given up, that the jalapeños would stop being-a-pepper. i was concerned about the rest too…the sweet potato vine, the fern, the licorice plant, the tiny purple flowers in planters. i wasn’t sure i was ready for what that would mean – the end of summer – even though we are now past the official date for the start of fall.
i haven’t really been a mum person. truth be told, i’m not sure what a mum-person is, but i just know I haven’t gravitated toward mums. despite their unrelenting determination to bloom and to flourish in the roller coaster of autumn, i think it might be how structured a mum tends to look….a tight little ball of green with lots and lots of buds just waiting to burst into color. now, i don’t know if there could be anything at all wrong with such a plant – we all need that kind of steadfastness, that kind of dogged dedication to blooming. there was just always something stopping me from mumming.
until this year.
our friends have a black cherry mum on their front steps – its blooms the color of deeply ripe bings in the summer, the color of the name of one of my favorite “sodas” growing up, the only color of choir robe i ever thought was aesthetically appropriate for everyone in a choir (should robes be necessary at all). their mum…stunning.
i commented on this mum and they promptly told me they had gotten it at the local grocery store, which has a plethora of them out front – all different colors.
the next day they texted that the price had been reduced – to $12. now, this is a really big plant. and full of potential blossoming mum-flowers. and so…
we went to the grocery store that morning and chose our new mum-plant to come home with us, gently placing it in the back seat of big red.
it has exploded with gorgeous blooms and has been absolutely steady and unperturbed all through the torrential rains we had after its homecoming. like it is…carefree.
now, “carefree” is not a word i would have used to describe a mum – unlike the wildly growing ornamental grasses in our yard, it seems to have more framework, more parameters for its growth, a tad bit more structure. hmmm.
we have recently discovered that – in lieu of doing chores as needed – there are some things that work better within a charlie’s-plan kind of plan. certain days or dates for certain things – a tad bit more structure – it takes away the spontaneity yet – surprisingly – frees up space.
in essence, we have found that it can be effective to be a little more mum.
and so, our little black cherry plant sits on our deck and giggles, “and they thought they weren’t mum-people.”
i recently made a chain of paper rings. it had about thirty strips of colored paper – many of the colors visible and invisible in this cloud – each cut with fancy paper scissors or pinking shears, looped, stapled and hung on the closet in our room.
it was a countdown and i needed the visual to keep it all in perspective, to remember to hold it all lightly, to know that there are days before The Day and days after The Day.
our whole lives are filled with paper rings, connected loops that go on and on and on. each season of our lives drops to the floor when we cut the loops loose and then – miraculously and on cue – the next season starts.
i had placed a lot of emphasis on The Day at the end of the paper chain. when it arrived, not only was it anticlimactic, it turned out to be utterly disappointing, completely unsatisfactory and a day that had been overemphasized in my mind and heart as we headed toward it, lopping off loop after loop.
i suppose that this is not uncommon. anticipatory angst, anticipatory fear, anticipatory grief, anticipatory glee at completing something – they are all supercharged and take up a lot of space in us. i read that the buddha would view it as dukkha– which is unnecessary suffering – that which pulls us away from the present moment. the wish for a specific outcome rails against the fear of that outcome not coming to fruition – it all is a tug-of-war and is suffering itself. at the end of the paper chain something is to happen – we imagine the best, we imagine the worst – all unwritten, all fictitious, unpromised though powerful – but what about every moment – every loop – in the meanwhile?
the rainbow in the cloud was just beautiful. it morphed and changed with the wind, but it stuck around for a while before it vanished. we watched from the adirondack chairs on the patio, content to be in its company.
maybe it was a reminder that nothing is permanent, that no paper chain has a guarantee, that each loop counts. and so does every color.
we had a field trip, an outing, a get-out-of-the-house, a jaunt. “yippee-doo-da!” we thought as we headed out.
it was to a couple of our favorite garden centers. we decided that we were on the the quest for a plant to place on an old painted-white column that is in our dining room. the column has been waiting for Just the right thing – feeling all forlorn and empty like no column should feel. and, after trying all kinds of other things – things from around our home, from in the basement, in the attic, things from outside in the garage, things, things, things…we finally knew what should go on it. a living plant.
we have two heartleaf philodendrons in our house – one that our girl gave me as a gift (that one is named “charlie”) and the second that i gave d on the occasion of our seventh anniversary (that one is named “seven”). we went searching for another – so that it could grow and vine its way around this 3’ tall column, next to the stack of vintage suitcases, just off from the dining room table.
i simply cannot walk around a nursery and keep my camera in my bag. it is impossible. the potential photographs are limitless – color exploding everywhere you look.
in particular this day were the coneflowers. in a big expanse of plant stands, they were in their glory, putting passive color charts – rightly – in their place. i was trying hard not to whip out my camera, but eventually i gave in.
i only took a few pictures, but these – “intense orange”, “hot coral”, “mineola-orange”, “orange-red” – were so vibrant i could not ignore them. ignoring them – missing their call – would be missing a breath. they were like the most extraordinary sunset – a sky full of coneflowers.
after wandering and touching and drinking it all in, we brought home a deep-forest-green heartleaf philodendron, named it “just right” and placed it on the column, which grinned.
we aren’t going far these days – keeping our old dogga company, making sure he is ok.
but it doesn’t take going too far to remind you of the glorious all around you.
but there is a very shriveled dried daisy-that-looks-nothing-like-a-daisy on littlebabyscion’s dashboard. there are a few daisies from our wedding in a vase in my studio. and the first rose he ever gave me is on top of a cabinet in the bedroom.
despite – or is it with? – its distinct bow to aging, this pink rose just became even more beautiful.
this week – while at the grocery store – we splurged and bought a new lotion. it is an anti-aging lotion, a lotion that will eliminate crepey skin, a lotion with a potion that will make us supple and glowing all over again.
ok, well, not really.
but we do need lotion to combat the dryness in the house while we run the ever-humming window air conditioner in the feels-like 104 degree weather. dogga rolls his eyes every time we turn it off for a spell – he is a dedicated a/c dogga. his aussie self loves winter but not-so-much summer; the “cold box” (as dogga calls it) is his pal.
so, particularly in these times – spending our time at home with our aging dogga – we “have the air on”.
on the outside of the lotion tube, under the words “age renew” and “crepe corrector” it unequivocally states, “82% had visible improvement in crepey skin in just 2 days.” and then there is an asterisk.
ahhh….the ever-present asterisk.
the 82% had visibleimprovementincrepeyskin on the back of their hands and arms.
hello???
what about the rest of our bodies?
the reviews list words like “transformative“, “fantastic product“, “you need this“, “worth the cost”.
one person wrote that her “creepy forearms look so much better.” eww. just the words “creepy forearms” make me shudder. i mean, check your spelling!
another person wrote that they were a “side sleeper” which, to my knowledge, has like zero to do with the efficacy of this lotion.
and then there was the person who is using this lotion but stated, “maybe it will prevent that crepe look from happening in the first place.” and the person who is “approaching [their] 40s and noticed aging on [their] neck.” goodness! poor dear.
clearly, there should be age restrictions placed on the purchase of this lotion.
we hold no lofty expectations for this. we simply want a product that will keep our skin more hydrated as we attempt to do the same with drinking-more-water.
we know there is – really – no turning back. lotions and potions and moisturizers and all-the-stuff wasn’t consistently budgeted in our lives so we will be more like the pink rose, bowing to what aging looks like.
but, in defense of the pink rose – and us – beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
it began ever-so-slowly. but on a day we needed a glow, the glow showed up.
all of a sudden – from our adirondack chairs on the patio – we could see a glow peeking out, growing behind the metal sunflower over in the fern garden in the back corner of our yard.
we are sunseekers – but not in a tanning sort of way. on this day, after many days of humid and overcast, humid and hot, humid and ridiculously hot, here was a day that was significantly less humid. the early evening was starting and we were not sweltering. instead, we were tiki-torch-sitting in the backyard, watching the world turn.
i aimed the camera around the yard – to capture that time – barney and our daylilies, the taller switchgrasses, the birdbath, the pond, the ferns and breck, dogga laying on the deck. a half hour later is when the sun started to sneak between the back of the garage and the fence – the amber of my favorite spotlight fresnel gel – this time backlighting the metal sunflower we brought home from dogga’s birthtown across the state.
the sun is streaming across the quilt right now. it is a glorious early morning and our windows are open. the streaming sun assuages worries we carried into the dawn.
i think about all the times i have spent deliberately watching the sun rise. the fence-climbing into crab meadow beach, the eastern sky over the ocean, the sky over lake michigan, over the mountains, in the utah desert, climbing over redrock. i think about all the times i have spent deliberately watching the sun set. northport harbor, the gulf beaches, over summit county mountain peaks, over the grandest of canyons and the quietest of canyonlands, the answer to the sunset of the eastern sky over the lake, off the dock up-north, looking west from our southport beachhouse, in endless farmlands, on favorite hiking trails, off the coast on-island.
to deliberately watch the sun is to see in-real-life the parameters of a day. to know that – in what feels like an instant – another day will start, another day will end. and on and on it goes.
we recently heard news of the death of someone we knew. it took us both by surprise and saddened us. and it made me fall back into that weird space i always feel when learning someone has died – the wondering space – where i wonder how it is that the world can go on if this person cannot feel it.
i know it does – go on.
and i’ve never really answered the question. it just feels too big – too humbling, too consuming, too heavy, too existential – for me to truly wrap my head around it.
i don’t know…
maybe that’s why i watch the sun rise and the sun set.
there is not a walk we take this summer in our hood – down around the marina and the harbor and the channel – when we are not filled up with beautiful flowers. everywhere we look – along the pathways that intersect by our lake – there are giant standing planters, hanging baskets or gardens brimming over with meticulously-tended blooms and greenery.
the other night we walked slowly past the really big containers along the road that flanks the saturday farmers’ market. every one of the vessels was different – each had a different grouping of flowers and vines – brilliant contrasts of texture and vibrant colors – we did not miss the obvious thought that went into these big concrete urns. it would be easy to produce a gorgeous coffee table photo book of these textures and colors just from these giant planters alone. and in the middle of winter – on one of those cold, grey, sunless days – this book would be an explosion of pantone color charts.
i would be remiss to not offer gratitude to the hard working park staff who carefully plan, plant and care for these stunning displays. we are fortunate to be reminded on every walk that such beauty exists – not only naturally in meadows and forests – but also with a great deal of tending by real people taking exquisite care of flowers growing in our town. a community becomes what people put into it. and though the textures and issues of our community go beyond the flowers, i am grateful for the acknowledgement that this beauty counts.
now – in too-easy juxtaposition – i could easily launch into a tirade about the utter level of ugly – and of unhappiness – that is permeating this country. the cruelty and – truly – twisted torturous devices – both emotional and physical – that are being subscribed to in an effort to make this country what it is not – homogenous.
each and every day i am shocked to my core – nauseated – to see the newest iteration of unlawful ruling or order or statement, the lies, the misinformation, the hideous display of conscience-less immorality, the destruction of national parks and of beautiful resources that make this country unique. every day i cannot believe the depths to which this nation is sinking. every day i am floored by a legislative branch doing nothing to stop this horrific madness. it is utterly devastating – this reprehensible movement. a country becomes what people put into it. and i am left wondering what exactly is being acknowledged as the things that count here.
what is happening all feels catastrophic to me. i know that we cannot do nothing – we cannot hide our heads in the sand while this hideousness just takes over a nation filled with possibility offered by its diverse textures and colors.
we are so much more than the ugly we are witnessing, so much more than the ugly that is in charge, so much more than the ugly that is permeating our every day – in every mind-boggling, on-all-fronts way they can find.
it is up to all of us to put a stop to all this.
every single attempt at beauty counts. every single attempt to stop ugly counts.
sometimes – in the stats of this blog – i can see older posts someone has read but which i have forgotten. today one of those came up.
it is a blogpost from the very beginning of january 2024 called the place by the big trees. it is as relevant today – maybe even more so – than it was back a couple years ago:
i spent much of last year looking back. way back. way past up-close. way way back – way way past the smallest of trees on the horizon. it was necessary and painful and shocking and mighty tedious.
“… the mind clings to the road it knows / rushing through crossroads / sticking like lint to the familiar…” (mary oliver)
…
and there it all is. raw.
and you can see it. and your brain tries to stop you from seeing it. both. so you sit with it – laden – burdened – in the retrospect of it all – connecting the dots, sometimes nodding your head in sudden understanding, sometimes eyes wide, horrified at it all.
it is surreal. you are back there. you can feel it. but you know – that in merely a blink – you can be where you are right now…where you are really.
and suddenly, you are at a crossroads. you must choose between replacing the lint – tamping it back down and turning your face away from it – or recognizing it as a shield, pulling it all out – this ancient insulation – discarding it and then staring at what’s left – what is now feeling air and space and attention.
“trauma creates change you don’t choose. healing is about creating change you do choose.” (michelle rosenthal)
and then, after some time – some processing, some sorting, some meaning-making, some swearing, much courage, sheer survival – you glance at all the baggage laying next to you – and you pick up only that which you wish to carry.”
we hadn’t been on our loop in the woods lately. we haven’t been on it since. but that day we took some much-needed time to go to that place, to hike and be silent, to talk it all through, to go sort, to ground.
these two black-eyed susans weren’t the only black-eyed susans in the brush trailside. but these two were separate, they were not in a stand of flowers. instead, they were standing – in all their glory – alone, faces to the sun.
and they made me think of us – me and d – standing – as we all do, as we all find ourselves – alone together – faces to the sun – in the middle of the middle of all the stuff.
and again, in the middle of the middle, maybe like you in the middle of some middle, we once again process, we make meaning, we swear and cry and drum up a bit more courage and we choose.
and we once again dispense of any lint that clings to what-would-be-safe, what would be mute – soundless, what would insulate us from looking at it all, recognizing the burden of it all, honoring the gravitas.
and we turn our faces to the sun – our choice the crossroad – feeling the air and the space and the raw.
i always feel like i have to explain – to people new to our kitchen – that our kitchen is old (like our almost-centenarian house), that the range is at least sixty years old, that – yup – all told, we have some significantly old stuff.
we are make-do-ers. we’ve been make-do-ers all our lives and we will likely be make-do-ers the rest of our lives. it is a mindset. not a bad thing or a good thing, it just is. and neither of us can imagine a different way.
the heat and humidity and rain of the last months have made our basil go crazy. we have two plants and i have cut them back – which actually makes them grow more. we’ve made pesto and tabouli, pizza margherita and tomato soup with fresh basil – it is caprese heaven.
the other day – on one of the days of tornado warnings and severe thunderstorms and torrential rain – i went out and snipped off a whole buncha basil, placing it in water in ball jars and small vases – so that later in the day we could make basil cubes. how lovely to have a harvest so plentiful that we now have both basil cubes and pesto cubes in our freezer for the winter. pretty amazing.
so she was here only for a day – and as we showed her around our house, chatting about the basil cubes we made the night before – i got to see our home through someone else’s eyes.
and for a moment or two, i took in her truly delightful comments about what she saw. for her enthusiastic words about our old kitchen, her laughter about our chunks of concrete and repurposed “furniture”, her “awww’s” when we told stories about rocks or branches or tiny baby shoes or old suitcases – these were so welcome, particularly for two people whose cars have ages that add up to 100 years right now.
we make-do. we are kinda proud of it. some of our best stories are stories about how we made do. we are convinced we would have nothing to talk about if everything were just … you know … perfect.
the suntea is out on the deck steeping now and the mint for it is at hand; the basil is ready for another shearing. we used the tomatoes on some homemade pizza last night and have all the ingredients for jalapeño poppers – both of ann’s recipes. we are soon to make another batch of tabouli and are – rightly (right now) – staying away from (as they say in colloquial wisconsin) “boughten” lettuce and other dangerous parasite-dwelling produce. our range is ancient; we wash all our dishes. we take back roads and turn our shampoo and conditioner upside down for weeks before calling them done. we have a window a/c unit, there are clamps on the edges of our roofing (waiting for the roofing guys), and a zip-tie holds the rocker molding onto littlebabyscion.
but heck. we wouldn’t be interesting any other way.
