Eleven

“Friends don’t lie.” -Eleven from Stranger Things and me, describing Grace  

Good ol’ Gracie turned eleven years old this week so here are eleven photos to celebrate her past year. Be sure to watch the video at the end - it captures the true essence of my beloved pup in a way no words could ever do  

^ All in all, Gracie’s not that much of a bed sleeper. She prefers her cozy bedroom chair or as a throwback to her feral ancestry, a good solid snooze on the floor. But as I jump into bed at the end of each day and wake up at the beginning of the next, there she is, tucked up close to me and slumbering like an angel. I treasure these moments. 

^ Those honey brown eyes are trained lasers that follow me every moment of the day. 

^ I know this look : “It’s walk time, lady. Get on it.”

^ Pausing by flowering shrubs along our way on a walk. I am way more into these photoshoots that she is. 

^ For as much as this girl loves her creature comforts and knows her way around a pile of pillows and some throws, she doesn’t seem to mind the snowy cold. She is truly a woman for all seasons. 

^ This is Gracie waiting in the car for me at the airport. I've been gone for ten days. As much as I live to travel, I hate hate hate to leave my pup behind. 

^ Of course she lies on a towel by the pool. She's not a heathen. 

^ We go for a walk every day. E V E R Y day. Gracie loves it. The neighbors comment on it  And I can't imagine living any other way. 

^ This year, we've begun something new. Every night at bedtime, Gracie romps up the stairs, leaps on the bed, sits herself down in the middle of this vintage red and white quilt, and chomps down three baby carrots that I offer her. And as I watch this big galoot hork down her bedtime snack in a most uncivilized fashion, little bits of carrot flying to and fro,  two opposing thoughts always flash through my mind: first, “Oh my lord, my mother would be shocked and sickened to see this horrifying mess unfolding on her beloved quilt,” and second, “No, she would not. She would be truly and completely delighted to see her redheaded granddoggie enjoying a tasty treat in such a comfy spot.” And I smile to think of how happy they both must be with our new bedtime tradition. 

^ Girl knows how to fill up a couch. 

^ When I leave the house without her, I give Gracie a special goodbye, lay out a towel on the laundry room floor, and go out through the laundry room door to the garage. And here is where she patiently waits until I return. 

^ Looking for a place to rest while Mom does a bit of yard work? The answer is often quite obvious: right in the middle of whatever she's doing. 

* * * * *

And here it is. As promised, this video captures the most Gracie-ish thing Gracie has done all year, perhaps in her entire life. She is a darling optimist, a precious problem solver, and a dog of remarkable appetite. 

Happy birthday, Gracie. I love you dearly. 

Luna’s Nine Lives

"A cat has nine lives. For three he plays, for three he strays, and for the last three he stays."

- Old English Proverb

^ "Hey, fam! It's cold and wet out here and I'm three minutes overdue for my fourth morning nap. Please let me in!"

They say cats have nine lives and I believe it. Our boy, Luna, has used up several of his. 

For starters, Luna and five siblings were abandoned as newborns on a chilly October day outside a vet’s office in Bellingham. One of those six kittens died during that crisis but the others were rescued and fostered by an incredibly compassionate and devoted team of cat-orphan-baby-loving women. Luna was the tiniest of the tiny survivors but survive Luna did. One life used. 

A few weeks after we adopted Luna and two brothers, we sent them off to be spayed and neutered. Despite the fact that these are routine and fairly safe procedures, I was filled with a sense of dread and a premonition that Luna, in particular, would not be coming back to me. Now, at the time, Luna - as the name may suggest - was believed to be a girl. But we got Luna back with a note saying, “She’s a boy!” And I realized that in a strange way, my premonition had come true. My girl Luna was indeed forever gone, and for a time, I grieved her. Another life used.

Now Luna’s lifetime of adventures began in earnest. Though we respect those who disagree, we believe strongly that cats deserve to live at least a part of heir lives outdoors; ours vocally demand the right to roam outside and we have done our best to respect that. But let me tell you that the cost of that decision has been many, many a sleepless night spent wondering where the bloody cats are and when they are going to come back home. Luna put us through his fair share of those long, mysterious disappearances and I couldn’t count how many times I feared he was gone forever. Once he was gone for three days and three nights, and I never expected to see him again. So imagine my surprise and delight when, on the fourth day, I popped around the corner of the house to find Luna on his way to the back door. I’d like to say he wore the victorious countenance of Odysseus heading home from war but honestly, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.  I suspect the poor boy got shut up in a neighbor’s garage and had to wait out a long weekend until they came home and set him free. Any number of lives were used up in this way. 

In the last couple years, Luna's zest for adventure has abated considerably. He still slips out the back door several times a day but only for a half hour or so, depending on the weather. He rarely leaves the comforts of his own back yard, and I'm relieved with his newly acquired homebody ways. But last week, Luna gave us a new reason for concern. Some potty problems landed him at the emergency vet who solemnly delivered her suspicion that Luna had a cancerous mass in his bladder. We feared, once again, than Luna may have finally run out of lives. 

Goodness. Loving animals with short little lifespans is inevitably such heartbreak

But this story has yet another happy ending  I just spoke to our amazing primary vet who gave us the wonderful news that Luna is most likely suffering some other, much more manageable malady than cancer and even as a 15 year old cat, is likely to be ok. 

Apparently our darling Luna still has lives to spare. 

Snohomish Treasures

 “For those who are willing to make an effort, great miracles and wonderful treasures are in store.” - Isaac Bashevis Singer

Snohomish, Washington. She’s a sleepy but sturdy little town, once the belle of the logging industry but now known by locals for one particular commodity: antiques. Weekends, holidays, sunny summer afternoons - well, most any day at all you’ll find First Street pleasantly and charmingly overrun with families and groups of all shapes and sizes who’ve come to stroll along the nearby river, dine in any one of at least a dozen eateries, browse through stores packed with modern wares, or - like my second born and me - search high and low through the treasures sure to be hiding amidst several hundred antique stalls. 

After several years of refinement, we’ve narrowed our focus to two highly reliable sources: My Eclectic Hone and Antique station at Victoria Village. Both feature the usual wild confabulation of bone china, cassette tapes, mid-century spice racks, gigantic old crocks, wood kitchen utensils, glass fishing floats, old postcards, and enough candlesticks to light up Buckingham Palace in a power outage. Really, there’s no end to the mind boggling array of bits and bobs that can be found on any given day but here are a few that caught my eye during our visit the other day. 

^ Anything with cubbyholes. I’m a fool for the look of a tidy grid. 

^ Scallopy things. Always charming. 

^ Footed bowls. Bonus points for well worn metals. 

^ Sponge ware puttering in its myriad shapes and sizes. Also blue slip ware pottery. Bonus points for jugs made into cozy lamps. 

^ Rustic paintings of snow covered barns. Red and white dishes, heavy mixing bowls, Longaberger baskets. I love to walk the razor’s edge between country cozy and sleekly modern. 

* * * * *

All in all, we saw much to be admired and temptation followed our every move. But in the end, cooler heads prevailed. I held myself in check and purchased just these two things:

Two baskets. Reasonably affordable. Always useful. I never feel rash for buying a basket because I know I’ll adore it for many years to come, inventing countless new ways to put it to good use. After all, I still have the first baskets I ever bought, as a teenager headed off to college. To this day, they float around the house, drifting from place to place and use to use, always timelessly beautiful and remarkably handy. 

Which is, I suppose, a fair description of Snohomish. Thank you, little town, for the  treasures you bring to my life. 

Fresh Start, Fresh Air

“Sometimes the best thing we can ask for is change, and a fresh start forces us to confront change head on.” -Natalya Neidhart

Today is the first day of a new year. And it just so happens to also be my birthday. 

In other words, a perfectly magical time for a fresh start. 

So, at my second-born’s suggestion, we head down the hill to the beach for some fresh air. 

High tide waves crash at our feet. 

Beach logs roll through the water. 

Ducks and gulls swoop and plunge overhead. 

And under the tune of nature’s soaring melodies, our steadfast ferry beats steady time, crossing back and forth across Possession Sound, loading up passengers here and depositing them there. 

The familiar symphony invigorates me. My lungs fill with fresh air as my spirit soars. 

Anything is possible. 

Surprises Around The Corner

"I hope that you walk around the corner and you get very surprised." -Miranda Richardson

^ Innocent victim.

Strolling along on our walk last Friday, my dog, Gracie, and I came around a corner and stopped dead in our tracks, stunned with surprise. 

Well, technically, as she was off leash as usual, Gracie rounded the corner a few steps before me, and came to a standstill all on her own.

Oh, must be an unfamiliar dog up ahead, I figured as I made the corner behind her. I looked up ahead and then I screeched on my own brakes. 

Because what was up ahead of us, maybe twenty yards away, standing at the edge of the forest, was a big ol' coyote.

And I mean big. Most coyotes I've seen around our neighborhood - and I have seen quite a few over the years - are small, slight, and somewhat scruffy looking; not much of a match for my eighty-pound lady. But this animal looked not only big, but strong and healthy.

^ Precious angel.

These thoughts flashed through my brain as I stared at the coyote and he (or she) stared right back at me. For her part, Gracie had tucked herself against my leg in a heel position, and was still as a mouse. But she was staring hard. 

We all watched each other.

For a beat.

And another beat.

Then, soundlessly, the coyote slipped into the forest. 

And we carefully continued on our walk.

Now I've been walking this same route with my dogs for 15 years now. Every darn day. And never once have I ever seen a coyote along the way. So I figured this one was a fluke.

Sure enough, on Saturday, we saw not a trace. 

^ Gentle as a lamb.

But on Sunday, we saw the coyote again. This time, Gracie and I were crossing the forest footbridge and caught sight of coyote just as he (or she) paced by the end of the footbridge, maybe ten yards away.

Much closer than the first time. 

And we went through the same motions. 

We all froze in place.

We stared at each other.

We paused a beat. And then another beat. 

Again, the coyote slipped off. But this time, he (or she) did not disappear directly into the fringes of the forest. This time, I knew very well that the beast would need to cross a large, paved turnaround area in order to get back to the cover of the trees. Still, as it moved off, low-hanging branches on the Douglas firs surrounding the footbridge blocked my view of its progress. 

And of all the surprising things that had happened during this encounter and the first one, what happened next was the most unexpected and shocking thing of all.

My dog, 

my gentle-spirited baby child, 

my soft-spoken huntress whose job in the field is only to scent and stand, 

yes, 

that sweetheart of an Irish lass did a most unexpected thing.

She took off after that coyote like a hell hound. 

In all her life, I've never seen my dog do anything remotely so predatory.

But girl was on fire. And I was horrified.

^ I would never. 

I froze in place.

I stared after her.

I paused a beat. And then another beat.

Then I snapped into gear. I ran to the end of the footbridge and stepped out from the trees so I could see what was happening. By now, the coyote was across the turnaround and closing in on the brush along the forest perimeter; in a flash, I saw him (or her) leap into the sea of blackberry vines and disappear.

Running maybe five feet behind, my red-headed riot maker did not hesitate to plunge right in after.

I had visions of them both landing in a nest of newborn coyote pups, surrounded by several other adult coyotes highly motivated to defend their offspring. 

Dear lord. 

Although I'd been calling my dog ever since her fire-breathing blastoff from my side, she was not responding to me. Very out of character for my normally obedient girl, but clearly she was operating outside the bounds of sanity. 

Still, I kept calling.

And a few seconds later, whether finally ready to obey me or just feeling satisfied with her efforts, my well-chuffed dog popped out of the underbrush, wagging her tail with happy abandon, apparently cleansed of her demonic possession, and trotted straight across the pavement to my side. 

* * * * *

It's true that coyotes are naturally scared of humans. They find us unpredictable and confusing, and try to avoid us at all costs. In the rare event that a coyote might approach a human, it's advisable to wave your arms and make noise. They'll back right off.

But coyotes and dogs are a little different. Coyotes generally view little dogs as a tasty snack (yikes). And while coyotes in the wild are still rather wary of big dogs and not likely to hurt them, if they're habituated to living near humans, coyotes may be ready to take on a dog in order to defend territory or a nest of pups.

And dogs who have eye-to-eye contact with the same coyote more than once are inclined to take action against them. Especially dogs with strong hunting instincts. 

So here's the upshot. 

Gracie stays on her leash.

For the next month or two, we will avoid this particular patch of forest.

^ I was here sleeping the whole time.

And while we never can be sure what surprises we might find around the corner when we're out walking, my hell hound and I will not be staring down any more coyotes.  

Spring Break 2.0

^ Margy, Jeri, Mary and Lindsay. Yours truly is behind the camera. 

Spring Break 1979

That was the first time I ever took a warm weather winter vacation. A carload of my dorm girlies and I trekked from Michigan to Fort Myers, Florida, to spend a week in the sun at one of the girl's parents' new condo. 

We did not fully grasp ahead of time the fact that said condo was in a retirement community. But that's a story for another day.

My point here is that that junior year trip to Florida was not only my first snow-to-sunshine getaway, but until last month, it was also my last. 

Uh huh. Yes. You heard that right.

For more years than I care to count, I have never taken another mid-winter escape vacation.

Not one.

Now don't feel too sorry for me. I've enjoyed a zillion fabulous vacations.

But I hadn't indulged in another cold-to-warm weather trip until my eldest said to me last summer, "I'm going to be so sad when pool season is over. I might need to go somewhere warm next winter to get a fix."

And I, knowing to strike when the iron was finally hot, said, "Yes. I'm in."

Which is how we came to find ourselves in sunny Palm Springs, California, last month with crystal clear expectations as to how we were to spend our long weekend:

Go to pool.

Read. 

Swim and splash about.

Eat.

Check, check, check. And check.

We had a glorious stay under the blissfully blue desert sky, and I've got the pics to prove it. Who knows, I may not wait another forty-six years to go back. 

^ The Saguaro Hotel is a delicious treat of rainbow flavored exteriors. This would be the citrus section.

^ Morning light reveals the San Jacintos in all their glory. 

^ Baby flowers match the purple walls. Freaking adorable.

^ I'm going to be honest. The interiors of the hotel are ho-hum at best. The pool area and surrounding courtyard are where the Saguaro packs its punch, and boy, does it ever. 

^ Fish tacos are my jam. These were delicious.

^At first, my eye was tricked into seeing these as some of those orange plastic construction fences. But they were actually cool steel barriers that created cozy little spaces here and there in the massive courtyard, and set off the landscaping. Love. 

^ I'm not one for drinking alcohol in the sunshine, but if you offer me a complimentary margarita, I will say yes. 

^ Looking up.

^ By the time the pizza arrived, I forgot all about taking photos. 

^ My idea of cute al fresco dining. 

^ The Holy Grail.

^ The room aesthetics did not tick a whole lot of boxes for me. But the colors in this happy corner blew my mind..

^ The weather was blessedly cool. Mid 70s. Any warmer and my chilly PNW bones might have melted.

^ When it comes to vacation hamburgers, I say go big or go home. Eventually, I did both.

^ Waiting for our ride to the airport gave me a moment of alone time with the bougainvillea. 

^ Goodbye, Palm Springs! See you in 2071. :)

A Change Of Heart

 

^ One of the medics and the nurse. My new friend is already inside the truck. I hope she is warm.

It's Valentine's Day.

I'm driving home from a few early errands and my mind excitedly turns over the trimmings of the day.

Hand-drawn cards.

Foil-wrapped chocolates.

Heart-shaped meatloaf.

I've laid careful plans and I'm prepared to celebrate in fine style. I'm a big believer that Valentine's Day is all about expressing love to friends and family, and my heart buzzes with a happy excitement for the festivities to come. 

As I turn from the highway onto a residential street, I see several cars ahead of me swerving to avoid something in the road.  My reverie shatters.

What's this? It's a woman.

An older woman. Well, older than me.

In a second, I assess the situation. She's clearly been walking down the sidewalk along the highway, pulling a nylon covered shopping cart but here, where the sidewalk gives way to a dirt path along the residential road, several sections of rough and tumble pavement make for some serious tripping hazards, and this poor woman has apparently taken a header.

She's literally lying in the street, struggling to get up.

Three or four cars ahead of me zip past her, swerving around her, pausing only so slightly in their rush to get to wherever they're going. 

I'm horrified.

By reflex, I carefully inch around this poor woman and park my car on the shoulder nearby. I rush over to her - she's still struggling to stand up or even squirm her way off the road. My first objective is to help her to safety.

I say hello.

I ask her if she'd like me to help her up.

I don't really wait for an answer. 

Drawing on the lessons I learned when helping my mother stand up, during her hard times, I step into  position, clasp her hands, and gently pull up.

Our first attempt fails and she sits back down. I realize she is more dazed that I first thought.

"Let's try again," I encourage.

And this time, as I pull and she struggles to stand, a miracle happens.

From nowhere, a younger woman wearing a rainbow-striped puffer vest and a beanie materializes out of the ether, and positions herself behind the woman, lifting her as I pull. In a heartbeat, the woman is standing.

"I'm a nurse," our new friend informs me. I cannot possibly be more delighted.

We talk, the three of us. The fallen woman is terribly confused. She has a strong eastern European accent, a small scrape on her chin, and absolutely no idea where she is or what has happened. 

Bless her heart.

The nurse speaks aside to me. "She's concussed. I'm calling 911. Can you hold her steady?" 

Yes. I can do that.

So we stand in the cutting wind, under steely skies. I listen to the nurse talk in medical acronyms and abbreviations to the medic dispatcher. I see her stealthily take the woman's pulse, peer at her pupils, and ask the woman over and over, "Did you hit your head?"

In the meantime, I hold onto the woman for dear life as she trembles, twitches, shakes like a leaf. She looks up and down the street, twisting and turning in my grasp to look around behind her, wondering over and over again, "But how did I get here?' I brush some stray bits of bark and mud from her white fleece vest and lilac ear band. I try to imagine what I could possibly say to comfort her, and do my best to stumble through.

The medics pull up. More angels. They're smiling and kind and endlessly reassuring. The poor woman is still confused, and now begins to apologize for her accent. We ascertain that Polish is her first language, and as the medics promise to call for a translator right away, I keep holding her arm and whispering encouragements to her: "Don't worry. We can understand you. Your English is just fine."

Now the medics are ready to move her to their truck for a full assessment. She's scared, especially when their gurney makes an appearance and they ask her to sit down. "No," she says. "Don't take me to the hospital." But these folks are prepared for her resistance and promise that right now, all they're going to do is take her to the truck so she can sit inside where it's warmer.

She sits down..

They belt her in and move her off. The nurse walks with them, still dispensing information and swapping medical data.

There's nothing more for me to do.

So I get in my car and drive home.

Along the way, I gradually recall my Valentine's Day plans. My pretty red hearts and chocolate candy don't seem quite so important now. Yes, I still believe in Valentine's Day as an opportunity to shower my nearest and dearest with tokens of my love. But maybe it's something much bigger than that.

Maybe this holiday is well celebrated by standing on the side of the road, shivering in the wind, holding up a confused, concussed woman and wondering what she will remember of this adventure with me. 

Probably nothing.

But I will remember her forever. 

Happy Valentine's Day.