Gracie's Birthday Banquet

"Feasts must be solemn and rare, or else they cease to be feasts." -Aldous Huxley 

^ From the top, clockwise: 

kibble and sardines, 

fresh blueberries, 

fresh bell pepper, 

roasted chicken, 

frozen blackberries, 

and in the middle, Gracie's favorite, hard boiled eggs. 

A cozy bed. 

A squeaky toy.

Maybe a sweater. Or a raincoat.

It's hard to land on a great birthday present for a dog. 

Especially when your dog does not care one whit for such treasures.

Gracie cares for one thing and one thing alone. (Well. Besides me.)

Gracie cares about food.

So this week, as her birthday approached, I racked my brain, trying to think of a new way to give her all the delicious food we're already giving her, in some way that would feel novel and maybe even special. At least to us. And one of my daughters hit the nail on the head.

A scavenger hunt.

After ruling out several undesirable scenarios:

1) In which we hide food around the house, which would result in unsightly puddles of Gracie's drool left behind in every place where she found her treats, 

2) In which we hide food outdoors along the route of her walk, which would only encourage her to eat (more) garbage, a horrible habit of which I'm continually trying to break her,

we hit upon a winning idea. 

Once home from her walk, we'd serve Gracie up her usual dinner of kibble and sardines. As she was chomping that down, I would slip out from the house a series of other dog bowls, each full of some Gracie-approved tidbit which, considering she loves all food except raw mushrooms, would not be difficult to accomplish, and tuck said bowls here and there around the front patio where she would already be dining. Then, we imagined, our birthday girl would nose around the patio, finding one delicious treat after another, and snarfing them all down to her heart's content. 

And you know what? It worked perfectly. 

^ Kibble and sardines, down the hatch.

Interestingly, Gracie did not tear through her various dinner courses at quite the breakneck speed I'd imagined. She worked carefully, diligently, licking every trace of food out of each bowl before moving on to the next. Other than the hard boiled eggs, which she wolfed, she ate with much more careful deliberation than usual. It was a delight to see her move through her progressive supper with more curiosity and self-control than her usual chomp fest. 

In fact, the only downside of the entire feast was the disappointment she surely felt on the day after her birthday when we returned from her walk and she excitedly scanned the patio for more of the extra treats.

Sorry, Gracie. Those goodies are for celebration purposes only.

But don't worry. You'll get another birthday banquet in just 364 more days. 

* * * * *

Do you remember the crazy story in which Gracie came to be mine? Read this for the details.

Surprise!

Hello And Goodbye

"Saying goodbye doesn't mean anything. It's the time we spent together that matters, not how we left it." -Trey Parker

"I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello." -The Beatles

For the past five Saturdays, I've made a trip to the airport.

Five weeks.

In a row.

I've driven there and back.

Now it's a 74 mile round-trip journey. Forty-five minutes each way if the traffic is good. Goodness only knows what if it's not.

And - full disclosure - I have not been behind the wheel every inch of those trips. I've shared driving duties with my fourth born and my husband. But I've been there in the car, clocking the travel time, brainstorming alternative routes, and otherwise cheering on the entire enterprise. 

Some trips have been in daylight, others in the wee hours of night. 

But all of these trips - each and every one - have trafficked in the deep emotion that always surfaces during our hellos and goodbyes. 

Now, I am an experienced mom of adult children. I truly respect that they have built lives of their own that involve these comings and goings. Shoot, I moved away from my family of origin so I know from experience that there's nothing personal to these distances. Sometimes, life just beckons us to follow where it leads. I get that. And I'm good with that.

But there is a visceral pain that comes from squaring your shoulders, buttoning up your tears, and sending your daughter (or niece) off on a plane to live her own life. 

Yes, she's allowed. 

Yes, she's entirely capable. 

Yes, she'll be back.

Still, it's hard. 

So it gives me 

a certain solace, 

a comfort in numbers, 

a sense of feeling seen, 

when I visit the airport to watch the other families saying hello and goodbye, to know that we all carry a certain pain in our hearts, to accept that this process is very much a part of the human condition.

At least the postmodern human condition.

So here is my gift to you. When you find yourself in the process of saying goodbye - or hello! - to your adult children, I am with you. I will meet you at the airport and join you in all the emotions of these tender moments of hello and goodbye.

Owl Friend

Photo credit to one of my neighbors who snapped a pic of this owl and shared it in a neighborhood group. It looks exactly like the owl in the story I'm about to tell.

I had a feeling I'd see you today. As I strolled along the first bit of my walk, letting whatever thoughts might fly into my head build a nest there, I thought about you. I've seen you swooping through the woods along my path several times in the past few days, always at that same spot on the footbridge behind the high school. Powerful and silent, you glide through the trees and disappear into their branches. Just thinking about you triggered an echo of the shivers I always feel when I see you; you're majestic and mysterious and just a little bit creepy. You fascinate me and freak me out.

So as I come upon that little footbridge, I am looking for you. I call out to my dog in several unnecessary ways, just to give you a lil heads up that we are approaching your domain. I come upon your Doug fir growing in the little grove on the edge of the forest, sandwiched between the walkway and the parking lot, and look up.

There you are.

You're backlit by a tall light behind you, sitting on a branch maybe ten feet up. In a flash, I make out the unmistakable silhouette of your owl noggin. Deep in the shadows though you are, I catch a glimpse of the white and brown ruffled feathers that can only mean owl, and I feel the familiar tingles begin. 

I know it's you.

But just to be sure, I take a few more steps, so that I can look back up into the tree from the other side, with the angle of the street light shining fully upon you.

I see your face.

Your eyes, shining deep and alert, are staring into mine.

And hypnotized, for a full second, maybe two, I stare into yours. 

Now the goose bumps begin to zoom across every inch of my body, head to toe and back again, round and round. Dumbstruck by your imposing magnificence, I also somehow feel as if I'm invading your sacred owl privacy, trespassing into your secret owl life, crossing a line between our two separate lives that I should not be crossing.

I quickly turn, cast my eyes downward, and walk on. 

But you better believe that not a minute has passed since then that I have not relived our encounter. I see 

your dignified profile, 

your snowy feathers, 

your glossy black eyes, 

and I overflow with the magic of our encounter.

And you better believe that tomorrow, my dear little owl friend, I will be looking for you again.