scout.

Summer, a manifesto.

I have decided that this will be the summer of teen romance novels. This summer, my house will be a wreck, and I will choose whisky and lemonade over mopping and clean feet. I will keep a bag packed of beach-related things at all times, and suggest trips to the coast at random. And by suggest, I mean demand. This summer I have decided to enjoy the sweat that beads on my upper lip and the underwire of my bra. To embrace it as part of the heat and humidity that I have decided not to complain about. That will be the hardest part. As a pale person, I am hardwired to complain about the heat. This will be the summer I sit on the back stoop in my nightgown to enjoy a midnight popsicle. And I will enjoy it. Every second. This will be the first summer that I will do it right. I will channel my eight year old self, the last self who actually enjoyed months June through August, who lived for green chlorinated hair, morning swims, watermelon and root beer floats for dinner, impervious to the 120 degree heat of her childhood landscape.

And this will be the summer of love. I will tell you why. This will be the first summer in eight years for spending every day, arm in arm with my husband, sharing meals, walking the dogs, talking. Because this will always be remembered as the summer my husband lost his job. And while this will also be the summer of great stress, putting in longer hours, flailing in the sudden role of bread-winner, I know that in the end, I am only the winner of tiny loaves. Muffins really. Mini-muffins. There is no point in worrying about being the muffin-winner, when time stretches on ahead of you, full of  the one person you have always missed the most, despite sleeping in the same bed. I cannot help but smile, in the face of everything, when I see it for the gift it really is. This will be the summer of endless possibilities. And manifest destiny. This will be the summer where the big 3-0 looms ever closer, and I give up caring about what happened to my butt, or what it looks like in a bikini. This summer, there will always be fresh flowers on the nightstand, no matter how tight it gets. Because the hydrangea, who had a hunch, are kindly working on a few hundred blooms for us. This summer, I will wear gingham. I will whistle, despite poor whistling skills. I will daydream about avocado. I will give my dogs bellyrubs.

Dear Summer,

Bring it.

All love,

*Andrea

Dog Poo and the Pursuit of Happiness.

a peace offering

Hi, all. It's me. You know. The girl who's supposed to be writing things in this space, but isn't. Yeah that one. So...things have gotten a little difficult as of late. No reason to worry, but I couldn't let the days and weeks continue to roll on without mentioning that. I don't have much mental energy left, and the logon screen often leaves me wordless and witless. I don't have plans to close this blog, but I do know that if I don't let myself off the hook about a few things and soon, you may find me running down the street with underwear strapped to my head, raving about 'the pressure!' It's all self-inflicted of course, but it's high time I sorted some things out. I'm not sure how long that will take, but I hope to be back to something close to normal soon, writing about dog poo and the pursuit of happiness. 

I will still be around, plugging away at 52 weeks and visiting your lovely corners of the internet. And if a jar of wilty lilacs isn't enough of a peace-offering, how about a little dog smile? I hope that will do. Until then...

Much, much love,

*Andrea

Two good reasons.

14: 52

There have been days, many days, in the last few weeks where I have nearly walked out, or at least walked away from my job with no intention of returning. Days when I thought I would collapse from either heartbreak or exhaustion. Or both. Adding injury to insult, today I hobbled to and fro, after gruesomely catching my foot under an industrial sized door while cleaning the bathrooms. It was not pretty. Not any of it. 

And then, wouldn't you know, came these.

.    .    .    .

 

Mother: (utterly genuine) Thank you so much for helping us. We appreciate it so much. Have a wonderful night!

Me: You too! You're very welcome.

Daughter, 3 (whom I have never met): Thank you very much for helping us! Ap-pre-shate it! Thank you I love you See you in the morning!

.     .     .     . 

Boy, 8: Excuse me, Miss, would you be able to help me find something? I can't find a book and I really need your help. (with growing distress) It's the first book in the Guardians of Gahoole series, and it's so important, and I looked where it's supposed to be and I just can't find it...

Me: Well you are in luck, bud, because I got a copy in this morning that's still in the back.  I'll go grab it for you.

Boy: Really?! Really?! Oh I would be SO VERY GRATEFUL!!!

Me: (returning with the book) 

Boy: (jumping up and down) Wow, Miss, you are really very good at your job! Isn't she very good at her job, Mom?! Isn't she the best book person!

Me: (falls on the floor. dies.)

.     .     .     .

So I've decided to stay.

Happy Friday, friends. 

Thank you I love you See you in the morning.

All love,

*Andrea

To you and yours,

Honestly. You all are amazing. All I can say is thank you. Thank you for the overwhelming response to my last post.  These two are so lucky to have so many supporters. And because those words hardly seem to cut it, I offer you instead an Easter/Passover greeting in the form of two very cooperative, although annoyed, small dogs. I promise, it rained chicken from the sky immediately following. And then, of course, Bradley ate the ears. 

May your holiday weekend be full of family and loved ones, both furry and otherwise. Happy Friday, friends.

All love,

*Andrea

Bradley, June, and the lightness of being.

u haz treats?

I was going to wait until I got a decent photo of the two of them before making an announcement, but it has proved impossible. This, apparently, is as good as it gets. I forge ahead, covered in mud and dog fur.  

.        .         .         . 

 

Bradley, as he is now known by those who love him, was found wandering the streets in an area of rural Washington in October of last year. He was ill, emaciated, and afraid of humans. Of touch, in particular. A quick read through of the Animal Control report doesn't offer much hope. He was lucky; sent to recover at a no-kill shelter instead of the Humane Society where the euthanasia rate for small dogs in that area is incredibly high. After neutering, they knew his chances of adoption were slim without a transfer, and so he was sent to Portland, Oregon. We brought him home just a few days later. And then it all began.

The attempt to undo years of neglect in a matter of months is not an easy thing. I would try to describe it, but I couldn't do it justice. The only people who have any idea what I'm actually talking about are people who've been through it themselves. I have heard stories of dogs who jumped through second story windows as a result of separation anxiety. Holes chewed through doors. Entire living rooms attacked as if by machetes. The unlatching of locks, the bending of steel, the jumping of impossible barriers, injuries, death, you name it. 

You should know, however, that these stories are from the same people who cared enough to keep trying. The benevolent leaders who knew that it takes more than exercise and dominance assertion to rehabilitate a wounded animal.*** One who cannot even speak your language. Who will never understand you, what you are saying, or why you do what you do. Who will never sit in a psychiatrist's chair. Who will never have the benefit of an explanation. Who is not even of your own species. Through it all, there was never any doubt. Ours was the most docile, gentle, well-mannered dog we could ever have hoped for. An angel with children. Friendly to other dogs. He would have done anything for you, if only it meant you wouldn't leave. 

Fast forward five months. He is still all of those things, of course, but completely transformed. Confident, happy, joyous, with an arsenal of self-soothing techniques. He got a second chance, and he knows it, takes in every day as if it were a gift, a thing of beauty. It does a person good to live with that kind of exuberance. It changes people. The dogs, well, they are just busy doing what they do, and you are in tears, wondering why you never saw it before--the way this day is the greatest thing that ever happened to you, that you are ALIVE, and get to live it. The lightness of being.

We never expected to receive a call from the shelter up in Washington. We never expected to be told that there was a chance they knew where he had escaped from. That a home in the area was seized by Animal Control, where dogs of Bradley's particular breed combination, with a few variations, were neglected and in abundance. That they had taken in one of the females, that she was pregnant, but after she gave birth, would be up for adoption. We never expected to be making an 8 hour trip to pick up another dog on a random Sunday in March. It felt like the most insane thing we had ever done. 

More than anything, we never expected what we found when we got there. An impossible landscape. A listless, fractured place. Big dogs chained in front of every dwelling, and quite a few dead in the middle of the road. (Wish I was kidding about that.) The human situation was equally hopeless. And then one crazy old wild-haired woman, wearing socks and sandals and bright plaid pants, covered in dog fur, smiling with her whole mouth, as we pulled up to the shelter at the end of a desert road. We realized right away that it was her home. That she was, quite possibly, a saint. And that is how we came to adopt June.

We drove home that night while the dogs slept together in the backseat, their heads resting on each others shoulders. It has been five days and the June-bug has already brought out aspects of Bradley's personality that we could never touch. She taught him how to wrestle, how to chase squirrels, how to dig, how to play 'steal the bone' for HOURS at a time as if he had never forgotten any of these things. They both got a second chance. They know it. Sense in the nonsensical human world. A tie to their previous lives. Proof of continuity, instead of an explanation. And let me tell you. It is enough. 

They are eerily similar (not surprising). The gentlest creatures you will ever meet, their every move deliberate and soft. June shows no propensity for separation anxiety so far, but lives up to her name as a mischievous bug. Are we crazy for wanting to do this again? Probably. But I will tell you this: I have never been happier than I have been these past few months, running around like a fool at the park, drenched from the rain, covered in mud, away from the computer, phone, and big comfy couch, every day,  rejoicing in each tiny success, and paying no attention to the failures. Even my own.

My house is a disaster zone, the camera is covered with slobber, and I have swept up enough fur to clothe a herd of elephants, but it really doesn't matter.  This is a happy home. We live here. All of us.  No matter how our family may change in the years to come, no matter where we go, these two will always have a place here. We did what we could. And let me tell you. It was enough. 

All love,

*Andrea

***As you have probably noticed, we do not ascribe to the increasingly popular (not to mention televised), 'intimidation approach' to dog training, and are firm believers in Operant Conditioning, or positive reinforcement. If you are interested in finding out more about how we went about rehabilitating Bradley, including clicker training (our approach was multifaceted), feel free to email me with any questions, or check out the following books. You won't regret it. Promise. 

The Other End of the Leash, by Patricia McConnell  (my personal favorite)

Don't Shoot the Dog, by Karen Pryor 

Culture Clash, by Jean Donaldson

The Dog Who Loved To Much, by Nicholas Dodman

I'll be Home Soon, by Patricia McConnell

How Dogs Learn, by Mary Burch and John Bailey

Yes.

The Principles of Uncertainty

And if you are so inclined,  The Uncertainty Principle.

All I can really think of to say at the moment is, YES. Because the best kind of news is the kind of news you receive during the terror of spring break. Where it is mayhem. Perhaps the most dreaded week of the work-year. And parents, I feel you. Really I do. You don't have to tell me because it's written all over your face, if this madness does not stop you are GOING TO GO INSANE, and I will be right there with you. We'll hold hands even.

So Maira has returned to the NY Times. This is getting me through the week. There are very few people on earth who I admire more, who's books I turn to as often (for both grown-ups and smalls), who's entire approach makes me want to get up and dance and run around in the streets, and tell people, I happen to be alive. End of discussion. Let's go tell the others. 

Wishing you a remarkable Friday, a little bit of calm in a busy week, and if all else fails, we have Maira. And wine. We have that too.

All love,

*Andrea

Things that make my heart explode.

First off: You. So many new people made their way here last month via Habit, and I have not been able to respond to each and every comment properly. All I can say is thank you. Thank you for visiting this poor neglected space. Thank you for saying hello. Your comments boueyed me through the funk of February and March, which as we all know, can be quite the funk. And friends already near and dear, your words are a constant source of inspiration, and I don't say so often enough. Honestly people, if there were such a thing as a virtual group hug, I would initiate one right now. 

Second: pink blossoms. The weather plays me like a mandolin. Fake spring, which usually arrives in February, is full of 60 degree days and sunshine, and then the sky explodes and hail wreaks havoc, and the rain washes everything away til June. I am such a sucker. I fall for it every year. But cherry trees have a way of changing all the wet into magic. In desperate need of some face time with the dainty pinkness, Bradley and I went on a blossom hunt. While he looked for worms to roll around on (oh dogs), I was looking up. So glad I did. I feel better already.

Third: Making progress. Slowly. Sure I am failing at half the list already, but so far, I've managed to take a trip to the coast, buy a guest bed with part of our tax return money, keep up with 52 weeks (take a gander), and the pup is doing SO SO SO SO well. Even managed to dance barefoot with Mister Scout just last night. In the hallway. I think it counts. 

Fourth:  This song, which I had completely forgotten about. (starts at 1:03) Thank you, Susan. 

Fifth: This  print. 

Sixth: A surprise for you in the coming week! I am a terrible tease. 

Seventh: Did I mention you?

Hoping your weekend is grand as can be...

All love,

*Andrea

To the sea, part two.

What have I been doing since my time at Habit, came to end, you ask? I have nothing to say for myself. Walking. Walking in the torrent of spring weather (sunshine, hail, sleet, snow, rain, repeat). Eating tuna sandwiches. Removing mountains of fur from the floors only to have it reappear instantly. Making peanut butter cookies. Mucking around in the mud at the park. Working on the house here and there. Keeping busy. Sitting down to the computer less. Reading more. Thinking that I do not own nearly enough Dolly Parton records. Waiting for spring. Walking.

I promised to share some glimpses of our most recent trip to the coast. Quiet all but for a few horses, kite flyers, and sandy local birds. The air was warm from an uncharacteristic stretch of sun. It hung around for awhile. I'm beginning to wonder, with March in full swing, if that weekend wasn't something of a mirage. I am trying not to forget the details. The way time stopped. That I wore red sneakers. The deep, in your bones and heart and hair and toes kind of contentment. Watching our friend's baby girl, only an infant on our last visit, walk by herself on the beach. Salt smells. Wind smells. The blue glass ocean. 

But I will tell you this, the way this time was different: there is the sea. And there is the sea with a Bradley. And it is impossible to say just what I mean, especially when others have said it so much better. But there is something about the way a dog says, let's go, that defies all of humanity. Humans and their words. Ideas. Expostulation. Endless talking. Making sense. Forever making sense. The continuous string of thinking and reminiscence. Ridiculous. Even a pleasant stroll on the beach, remarking. So forget that. Forget it all. Even this post. Forget it, he says, with his entire body vibrating, wagging, smiling. Says the dog, who everyone claimed would never recover from his emotional scars. Let's go, he says. Forget the leash. Forget it and run. Run until you can't run anymore. Like lightning. Leave the sand in your wake. Be silly. Follow the horses. Run along the edge of a continent. Heal yourself already.

 

Okay, buddy. Let's go.

All love,

*Andrea

To the sea

the cabin

An admission: I am re-reading Wuthering Heights. Something about February being generally wild and all over the place makes it strangely appropriate. Either that or I am a glutton for punishment. Either that, or I am a 13 year old girl trapped in a grown woman's body. Most likely, the idea of visiting a truly blustery coast again has finally sunk in. We are taking a little impromptu trip this weekend. To the seashore and back. 

the room

It will likely snow; we will likely spend the entire time indoors by the fire. The dog may or may not be terrified of the ocean. (I am hoping we'll have to pry his tiny paws from the sand. We're taking bets.) When I say this place is special to me, I mean that there aren't really words to describe it. I tried once. I'm also excited to post through the weekend over at Habit. My experience there also happens to defy description. I love it. It's extraordinary. Being part of it is even more extraordinary. But it's impossible to find the right words. 

And when I return, I will try not to bore you with photos of a small dog in a bright yellow rain slicker. 

Happy Friday, everyone. And have a Happy Happy Valentines Day.  xoxo

All love,

*Andrea

A quilt and some news.

I think I was a little hard on it when I called it the quilt of doom. Honestly, it's soft and sweet. A simple little tie blanket in very summery gingham and linen, for a family with a home on the coast. I can't blame the quilt. The problem was the making of the quilt. And then the thinking about the making of the quilt. Major Sewing Lesson Learned #1: Do not write a letter to anyone that refers to making a quilt as a thank you gift. No matter how much you want to. Or how much they deserve it. (Which they do.)  Because things happen. And you might not expect to suddenly start looking for, buying, or renovating a house, and every time you think about the unfinished quilt you break out in hives, ruminating on what a big jerk you are. So you don't sew anything, not for yourself or the new house, over the course of the entire year.  

Thankfully, in early December, I took a vacation, brought home a dog (with separation anxiety, huzzah!), and then it snowed. So it wasn't until I was completely housebound that my feelings softened and I made friends with the idea of a tie quilt, instead of doing it by machine.  I spent the better part of the month with swollen fingers as a result, but it took the pressure off, and that was the important thing. When all was said and done, I spent a scant 12 hours on it, which is pretty much nothing in quilt time. Everything held up just fine in the dryer (there was much bated breath regarding the ties). And it turned out kind of lovely. More importantly, I never have to worry about it ever again. Thank. Friggin. Goodness.

Although I have a backlog of craft-related posts to share with you, posting may be a bit scarce here in the weeks ahead. I will be guest posting over at the always inspiring, Habit, for the month of February, and cannot wait to see what will come. Molly and Emily have created something truly special with this project, and I hope you'll visit me there. Be well, friends. Oh, and happy Friday.

All love,

*Andrea