scout.

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