Red Tash's Blog, page 9

More journals

Halloo! I’m taking a quick break from working through editorial feedback on Hot Patchouli, but wanted to let you know that if you need a blank lined journal or a bullet journal, we have three new ones available on Amazon:

All of our Planet Tash journals are available in blank lined format OR bullet journal format. Make sure you select the correct format for your own needs, okay?

Enjoy. Back to work for me!

Surprise! It’s another Miss Fitz book!

Yay! Go ahead and pre-order it. I’ll wait.

You back? Okay.

So, yes, I pushed the release date pretty far out, but I don’t expect it to take that long to be ready.

Matter of fact, I’m going back to work on it in 3…2…1…

OH! The latest newsletter is out.

Cover & title reveal coming 12/15/21

If you’re reading this on the website, you’re probably already on the email list, but if you are NOT getting our monthly newsletter, please sign up!

Top 100 Songs, 2021

I can’t figure out how to do the young people’s meme that shows you all the great, cool bands I discovered on Spotify this year, so here’s a link to my Top 100 playlist, which unsurprisingly reveals that I am, always have been, and likely always will be a classic rock kid from the 80s at heart:

LISTEN TO LESLEA’S TOP SONGS OF 2021 PLAYLIST ON SPOTIFY (Fellow Olds: fear not, it is free)

Journals!

I have instructed Tim to not buy me any journals for Christmas. Not only have I recently acquired a Kitchen Witchery Journal, but I also have two upcycled children’s book journals (Nancy Drew & Heidi), one awesome notebook of cats doing self-care, and a great black cat notebook on my desk. Upstairs, I have a poetry journal and a diary. There are more journals lying around, but I’m not even going to focus on them, because the truth is, I also have copies of all the latest Planet Tash journals.

What’s that? Planet Tash journals? Yes, indeedy.

This project started with a Love journal based on the popular watercolor made by the youngest Tash. Everyone really seems to love its cheerful rainbow vibe, so we put it on the cover of a blank journal, and she gets the profits. (So far nearly $5!) It is earmarked for more art supplies, but I think she’s going to end up spending it on shoes. Who can blame her? Shoes!

Regardless, I’m going to start uploading a bullet journal version of the love journal. Everything else about it will remain the same (matte cover, 156 pages, 7×10 white pages)

I had some other doodles and designs on hand that I turned into journals, as well. Some of them were graphic art pieces and photos I’ve taken over the years, and others were just ideas that popped into my head. Everything is available as a blank lined books. Bullet journals will be coming as soon as I get them uploaded.

I’ll be frank: I’m really focused on finishing up Miss Fitz 2’s first draft right now, so if you want more info on Planet Tash journals, check them out here:

PLANET TASH JOURNALS ON AMAZON

Inside Salma’s Soapery

Miss Fitz Discovers Midlife Magic: A Paranormal Women’s Fiction Cozy Mystery

The New Weird

Remember when we used to talk about the “new normal”? Was life post-coronavirus going to get back to normal, or were we going to have to cope with a new version of normality? I’m tired of waiting for anything resembling normalcy: let’s just call it what it is: The New Weird.

I always enjoyed the Weird Sisters from Macbeth, didn’t you? In high school, two fellow thespians and I performed a rap version of the whole “Double double, toil and trouble” bit. Yes, I rapped. Pretty dismally, admittedly, but it was not to be the last bit of hip hop that I’d write! (Or in the case of the Bard’s work, re-arrange, I reckon.) I just learned later in life to send the lyrics to someone who could actually perform them better than 99% Celtic me. (Don’t argue with me that House of Pain is Celtic AF, because Everlast is a phenom all his own. But I digress. As usual.)

Regardless, jump up, jump up, and get down, because I have taken my proclivity for journaling, AND teaching people to journal, AND weirdness, and put together the following:

The Kitchen Witch’s Guide to the New Weird: Practical life magic in the time of Covid-19 is the unexpected, unplanned, big and juicy follow up to My Life as a Kitchen Witch, yet another book I had not planned to write! If you enjoyed My Life, then you are going to love the BATWINGS out of this new book. It’s much longer, goes much deeper into herbs, emotional well-being, life during and post-pandemic, and there’s even a chapter on GHOSTS, because your girl Red absolutely has seen one.

Why write about ghosts, forest spirits, and what-not? WHY NOT? Let’s let all the weird, witchy goodness hang out, shall we? And because I really want this book to be as much about YOU as it is about me, there are writing prompts. Dozens of them. I will have you journaling your ever-living heart out, girlfriends! (And I use “girlfriends” here to include all friends, regardless of gender status.)

Did you know I used to teach journaling classes? They were super popular. The only reason I stopped was because it was wearing me out, and after all, I was still an introvert, mom of multiple young kiddos, and dealing with chronic illness, myself. But I really enjoyed those classes. My students called me their teacher, but I would insist I was only a guide, because journaling isn’t something you can teach. “What’s the first rule of journaling?” I would ask the class on the first day. They’d look at one another nervously, waiting for someone to take a stab. “There are NO RULES!” I’d announce, happily, and they’d all smile, some would laugh, and pretty much everyone would breathe a sigh of relief. We did whatever we wanted with our journals. Draw in them, make collages, write…one fellow would fill up an entire college composition book with “unsent letters” to his ex-wives from week to week! I think he went through at least nine comp books in one six week session! (I miss him–he was a great guy. And for the record, he did NOT send his exes those journals, in the end agreeing with me and the rest of the class that just writing out his feelings was the release he needed.)

I know from my own experience how therapeutic journaling can be. After hanging in limbo with the pandemic for months, I needed to take stock, myself. And so, the old journaling guide inside of me spoke up. “Write another Kitchen Witch book. Share this.”

And so I did.

I hope you enjoy it. In the paperback version, I left room after the journaling prompts for you to write your own responses, although if you are like the guy from class years ago, you might need more room than I left you!

The ebook is pretty, too.

Oh, and if you didn’t read the first book, My Life is on sale for $.99 at Amazon right now. Buy yourself both, maybe, and get ready for the New Weird.

The best dog in the world

Cass runs back to Seamus & me while Sam and Sean run toward the lake at Mount Saint Francis in November 2007

Cass is outside barking in the yard next to dogs that are ten times her size. She’s a Jack Russell Terrier, mightiest of all the little dog breeds, with a jaw the size of a Spaniel’s set atop her 14 lb body, a bundle of muscles that propels her on the daily across the chasm from our backyard retaining wall to our kitchen’s back steps. She can no longer hear when the Amazon truck pulls up the driveway, but she can tell when the Great Pyrenees and the Foxhound trot around the side of the house, that it is time to send off the alert bark. “Alert! Alert! Intruder alert!”

Cass, Parker, and Samson in November of 2020

She’s friendly despite her protective nature. She has always been one to bark a few times at a stranger, before folding back her ears and letting her tail wag like an oscillating fan, fairly telepathing, “Pet me! Pet me! Oh, pet me!”

If you watched Wishbone on PBS in the 90s, then you know how smart Jack Russell Terriers can be. Wishbone, after all, was a match for all the famous sleuths in popular mysteries. Cass is as smart as Wishbone, no doubt, but not built like him. Her legs are shorter, her ears set more to the side, giving her a Yodaesque silhouette. Now that her facial fur has faded to white and her hearing gone, she would certainly horrify the judges at a fancy dog show–but we have never been in it with Cass for the looks, have we?

Cass keeping watch at the old house, 2007

I started looking for a small dog when Seamus was a toddler, because he had developed a fear of dogs. A few experiences with aggressive dogs barking or lunging for his face when he was in his stroller or learning to walk had resulted in him crying and carrying on to a severe degree around any dog. (Mind you, he was on the autism spectrum, but we wouldn’t know that for years to come.) When you have small children–and I had three in less than four years–you visit parks often. Dogs are *everywhere*. A fear of dogs can be devastating for a child’s development in this circumstance, so I set out to “fix this situation.”

I needed a calm, small dog. Say that aloud with me: “I need a calm, small dog.”

If you’re an expert on the species, then you know how tall an order that was. It is very easy to find a small dog that needs a good home. It is moderately challenging to find a calm dog that needs a good home. After all, it’s more the “troublesome” dogs that end up put up for adoption by their owners. Easy-going dogs tend to stay where they are, with their happy parents. I didn’t want to take a chance on a puppy, and figured that an adult dog with an established personality was my best chance at finding a dog that would remain calm throughout his or her time with my children. Any dog that had a face-to-face stance (or taller) with my toddler was out the question, as these size dogs sent him cowering in fear. That ruled out even medium sized dogs.

Eventually, I wrote to a number of dog rescues explaining my very specific request. I didn’t get a lot of responses, but I got the one that counted: I heard back about Cass. We went to meet her in a public park, where she rolled over and showed my then-husband her belly and did her “Pet me! Pet me!” routine immediately. She was one year old, and recovering from having a litter of puppies. She had been dumped on the side of the interstate in Louisville. As soon as the rescue had her spayed, she came home to live with us, forever!

Seamus holding Cass and telling her she is his baby, May 2008

A lot of people treat their animals like babies, but I don’t think Cass ever saw me as her mother. We started more like roommates, and over time, we became friends. She was the worst to walk with–always pulling, to the point of hurting my hips, although there was that one time I let her pull me up a hill to Community Park in New Albany while I wore roller skates behind her–a disastrous experiment that led to me practically crawling back down the hill on hands and knees while strangers walked Cass down on her leash. She loved walks, though. She and I took the boys to the bridge often, where we threw rocks into the water to see who could get the biggest splash.

Cass saw me through my divorce, sharing my bed, although only sleeping at my feet–never letting me cuddle her like I wanted–and keeping me safe through the sleepless nights when my children were with their father. She loved my Pom “Britches” who came to stay with us for a year. She was friendly to Bean, the dog of a girl I dated for awhile. Bean had doggie roommates and Cass loved them, too.

Cass was and remains a rascal. When she was young, she’d jet out the front door at every chance she got, to chase squirrels. In a flash, she’d be blocks away. The boys and I had a regular engagement of hurriedly jumping into the car to chase her until she tired enough to be caught. Even now, she digs in the back of the fence of our yard, and we are never overly surprised to see she has gotten out into the neighbor’s yard to play with their dogs and children. (We do fix the holes in the fence, and the gaps, but she is a great digger, and she finds her way out like the Raptor in Jurassic Park! Clever girl.)

Cass and Parker play with GiGi in the leaves, November 2013

In her old age, Cass has mellowed. She is kind and loving to all the other dogs, including our Pomeranian, Lord Grantham, who she has treated like her own child since his adoption five+ years ago. She saw our little girl born ten years ago. She is closely bonded to Parker, who became her step-dog-brother eleven years ago. And, she loves Tim. She loves me. She cuddles on the bed with me now.

Cass has never been like a baby to me, but she seems to have gravitated in her old age to seeing me as the pack leader. We used to compete for this title. She thought she was the boss of me the first couple of years, at least–but now, although she can’t hear me, she follows me everywhere. When it is nap time, she happily lies right next to me on the bed, and even lets me put my arm around her, although inevitably, at night the bed grows too crowded, and she makes a nest in my closet to snore the night away.

Yesterday, I took Cass for a walk. We hung out at the park and there were so many neat smells. She still pulled on me some, but as in other ways, she has mellowed in that regard, as well. Her eyes are bright. Her ears are happily Yodaesque. Her tail wags like mad. You could not tell looking at her that she has stage four kidney failure, but she does. We went to the vet yesterday after our walk and I got the news today.

The big mole Cass dug up in April, 2015. Not her first or last kill!

I knew this day would come–the day when I would have to look at my life partner, my sister, my friend, and decide for her that she should not draw breath much longer. That her suffering should not be prolonged longer than necessary. In truth, although she has all the signs of being an alert, happy old lady dog, she has been vomiting quite a bit and even if I kept her on IV fluids daily, it would only prolong the inevitable.

So here we are. I have not made the call yet. I have not told the kids yet. Only myself, Tim, the vet, and Cass herself, know.

The kids grew up with her. The one who was afraid of dogs used to hold her like a baby on his lap. He is now an adult, and he loves animals of all kinds, including all sizes of dogs. My sixteen year old has been staying at his dad’s house, and I wonder what Cass thinks of that–surely she misses him. I hope he will choose to come and say goodbye, but I can’t force him, and it’s tricky to handle.

Sean cuddles on the couch with Cass, July 2013

My oldest, who doesn’t think he even likes animals that much, will be devastated, I can promise you that. He has a huge heart and he doesn’t remember much of life before this little dog was in our lives.

Seamus, Sam, and Sean with Cass at Mount Saint Francis, May 2008

The other dogs will have no alpha mama to boss them around (although I suspect Samson will step in to fill that void).

I feel like I am losing a sister. She is my baby, and she isn’t. My peer, my protector, my best friend.

When we put Lee (Tim’s dog) down a few years ago, it was rough. I felt guilt, horror, sadness, grief…I loved Lee. I picked him up off the side of the road, myself, as a puppy, but I didn’t spend the years in-between with him like Tim did. I saw him in and I saw him out, but in between, I only wondered and hoped he was okay.

Cass, on the other hand, has been my responsibility all this time. I’ve done my best with her. When she went in for a dental last year, I half-expected the vet to tell me to save my money, fearing some invisible malady would be detected. She said no such thing. Just pulled the bad teeth, pronounced Cass to be happy and healthy, and I left knowing every day was a gift with my precious, old, healthy girl. I can do the math. She’s 105 in human years.

She zips up and down the steps, flies off the couch, and plays with the other dogs–or, she did play, until recently. If I’m honest, she has been doing more sleeping the past few weeks than playing. It has been a few weeks since I’ve seen her digging a hole, although this afternoon she was staring hard at the dirt, as though she might be ready to go after another mole.

Digging for moles, May 2021

I’m going to miss this dog. I’m going to miss her in ways my heart and mind can’t begin to enumerate. She’ll always be with me, I know, but it won’t be the same. I feel as though she’s been at my ankle so long, she is part of me.

I don’t want to lose her. I don’t want to lose her. I know it’s inevitable. I don’t want her to suffer. The vomiting she’s doing is because the kidney failure puts so much urea into her blood, it makes her feel nauseous. I can’t imagine how awful that is. If I were her, I’d probably sleep all day, too.

Today I will tell the kids. Tomorrow I will make the appointment, or Tim will. I hate this, but I love her. I love her, and it’s time to say goodbye.

Cass today

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The Magicians & other fab finds

leslea:
Every time I think I could not love this show more, they top themselves. My heart belongs to...