Sarah Wynde's Blog, page 8

Where the story goes next…

So…

After Monday’s revelations, I was shaking and crying and angry and hurt and completely at a loss as to what I wanted to do. Suzanne’s spiteful unloading happened after I said that tenants have rights and I thought I maybe needed to act like a tenant instead of a friend. I was willing to compromise on my “lifetime” lease turning into a lease for a year or two, long enough to give me breathing room for a radical readjustment of my plans and maybe to find a job and housing, but apparently that was completely unacceptable and made me an evil person, taking advantage of her, etc. etc.. Oh, and I’d be hearing from her lawyer. 

Still, regardless of her opinion, I was a tenant and I did have rights. Did I want to fight for them? 

What I wanted was to breathe. 

No, what I really wanted was a bath. So I called the Finnish Hot Tubs down the street and scheduled a hot tub for an hour later. I’m going to guess I spent the intervening hour mostly crying and/or texting people to say, WTF? But in the hot tub, with occasional sprinkles of cold rain hitting my face, I had time to think about what I wanted and what I needed. Mostly I thought about how I wanted to feel. 

Going back to R, I felt horrible after the fight we had that began our long estrangement, not just because of what he said to me (bad) but because of what I said in response (also bad, arguably worse.) At one point, I told him I should have had an abortion. I immediately apologized at his gasp and clarified that it wasn’t because of him, who’d always been awesome, but because I should have known I wouldn’t be a good mother, but you know, I don’t think he heard either of those things. That was where that fight was at, though — mutual unkindness from two people who had never been unkind to one another before. I was hurt at the time, more hurt as the months went by and it became clear that he considered my behavior unforgivable, but I also had to be ashamed of my own words. 

I didn’t want to have that feeling again. 

Regardless of Suzanne’s words, I didn’t feel like I had done anything wrong. I accepted her invitation to live in the tiny house. Along the way, I helped her organize the shed (multiple times), paint her kitchen, and clean out Greg’s office. I cooked for her, took care of her animals, cleaned up cat vomit and kitty litter, drove her places when she needed a driver. Did the mile walk to the pet store and carried a 14 pound bag of dog food home when her petsitter let her know that Riley was out of food just a few weeks ago. Hell, made coffee for her on quite a few mornings. And lived in a space that had been unused, dirty, gaudy and half-finished before I moved in and did the work to turn it into an adorable home. If I wanted to wage war, I had the sense of righteous indignation that could make it happen. 

But I didn’t want to live in a state of righteous indignation. Nor did I want to live in a place of fear, worrying about the future. Nor did I want to wallow in hurt. So as I floated in the hot tub, I thought about what feelings I wanted to be living with for this next uncertain period of my life. 

And I decided that what I wanted was to feel clean. 

It felt like such an odd word choice. What does it mean to feel clean, emotionally? I wasn’t looking for literal physical cleanliness, obviously, floating in my hot tub, but some kind of spiritual cleanliness.  I decided that what it meant was not letting the negative feelings — hurt, anger, fear, that oh-so-familiar triad — stick to me. I wanted to let go of them, as quickly as possible. And I didn’t want to do anything that would keep me up at night questioning my own behavior. 

I wanted to feel clean. 

And the way to do that, I decided, was to go. 

So I got out of the hot tub, dried off on my t-shirt, having forgotten a towel, headed home, and started making plans. I checked rental car places & U-Haul, I looked at maps, I opened my cupboards and thought about all the things people own and how they accumulate. I thought about staying until I’d eaten all the food in my freshly stocked refrigerator — probably two weeks worth, including a whole slew of veggies purchased at the farmer’s market on Saturday — and rejected the idea entirely. 

On Tuesday, I borrowed the wonderful neighbor’s truck, got myself some U-Haul boxes (six of them, total, the size of my life), and started packing. 

That afternoon, I was texting with my brother, aka the BBE, and told him, ”I think I am going to bite the bullet and just rent a car for two weeks. Then I don’t have to strategize about what will fit before I have the car, can take a day to just pack it up and make sure that the things I most want to bring fit. And then I can not push like crazy on the drive, which given how sleepless I am feels like a safer choice. Means more hotel rooms on the way, of course, but I feel like spending that money is a smart choice.” 

His response boiled down to, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Pick me up at the airport at 2:30.” 

So on Wednesday, I again borrowed the wonderful neighbor’s truck, drove to the airport, drove to the car rental place, and then drove home, the BBE following me in a Ford Explorer SUV. 

To a home that would only be mine for another two hours.

Someday maybe I’ll write more about that, because it’s got enough stories for a blog post or seven, but not yet, not today.

By 5PM, we were on the road. We made it to Redding that night, crashed in a hotel that I already don’t remember the name of, and got on the road first thing in the morning. 

We stopped at a fantastic dog park in Susanville, where Sophie got to play ball for a good long time, then made it to Reno for lunch, where we ate Korean fusion food on an outside patio on a beautiful sunny fall day, Sophie at my feet. Then we went to Trader Joe’s and picked up muffins to make our mornings fast and efficient, plus candy to keep us going through the long afternoons. Then we drove. We ate dinner in Elko, poke bowls from a Japanese fast food place, sitting in the car, then stopped at the Utah border for the night. 

Today, we started with an excellent outing in Salt Lake City. Memorial Grove Park has an off-leash dog area which includes dirt trails alongside a creek. Sophie had so much fun. She ran around, exploring the undergrowth and the running water, while the BBE and I walked. The weather was fantastic, a crystal clear perfect fall day, and the air had that delightful crispness of autumn. We encountered a few other dogs, but all interactions were friendly and respectful. 

Afterwards, we stopped at a Venezuelan restaurant right down the street and had GF empanadas for lunch. Hu-u-u-uge empanadas. If I’d known how big they were going to be, I would have gotten us each one, but I thought they’d be regular empanada size, so we had two each. We did not finish. But Sophie was delighted to share the shredded pork and chicken from the leftover filling. 

Now we’re on the road, headed to Grand Junction, Colorado, and I’m writing while the BBE drives. Yesterday, when I was still in a state of… not quite functioning… he suggested that I could get in the back to lie down and try to sleep while he drove. I did and wound up not sleeping, but with Sophie on my lap snuggling with me for probably a solid hour. (She is not typically a dog that snuggles.) 

I felt so safe. So protected. I don’t think I’ve tried to sleep in the back seat of a car since I was a little kid, and I felt a little like a little kid again, but in a really good way. Not helpless, but cared for. 

When we were leaving Serendipity, I had six boxes left of my lifetime supply of tissues. I wanted to bring all six boxes, so I could cry all the way across the country, but the BBE told me I could only have two. So far, I have used approximately six tissues from the first box, and one was for a sneeze. 

Because, much to my surprise, I’m not actually feeling that bad. In fact, yesterday, when I was investigating my own feelings, I thought, “Is that — relief?” 

And it was. 

But this post is long and I am tired (– my writing moved from the car to a hotel room in New Castle, Colorado with a break in-between for some pretty good chicken tortilla soup and a visit to an impressive dog park in Grand Junction –) so I will write more about that later. I just wanted to reassure anyone worrying about me that I’m doing fine. And of course, write down all the highlights of this trip for myself, so that twenty years from now, I can be reminded of eating messy empanadas on a park bench, and Sophie splashing into the creek, and laughing with the BBE about the door-less public restrooms. Oh, and playing Find Uncle W with Sophie in the tiny riverside park in… was that Elko? I’m forgetting the details already. But it’s been a pretty intense week, so…

More soon, I hope with photos!

 

A Single Saturday in Summer

I have so many stories and thoughts bubbling around in my head that I could probably write a 5000 word blog post. I’m not going to, though, because that’s a lot of words and it would take me all day, maybe two days, and I have other things to do. But these are things I want to remember, all from a single day: this past Saturday.

First thing in the morning, I took Sophie on a walk, to our usual park, Stewart Park, where we played ball for a while. When we were leaving, a mid-size black dog came running up from behind us, its owner calling after it. Sophie said hello, politely enough, they did a circle of greeting in the way dogs do, and Sophie came back to me, ready to leave. The dog followed her and then… just… attacked. Grabbed Sophie by the scruff of the neck, yanked her down to the ground, much growling, Sophie yelping. I grabbed the dog’s collar and smacked it with my ChuckIt stick, yelling at it, while its owner came running.

Sophie was fine. I was somewhat less fine. The owner was apologetic, and shocked, authentically, I think. Not the pretend shock of “Dang, he did it again,” but the real shock of, “What did she just do, that was so crazy?!” The dog was sheepish, turning her back on Sophie and me. Sophie sat patiently while I checked her for injuries and then talked to the other dog’s owner for a few minutes. On the way home, I was shaking. Not because of that interaction, weird as it was, but because of the memories it brought back. It’s kind of amazing that we live with and love these dangerous predators.

It’s also kind of amazing how resilient human beings can be (and dogs, too, of course.) After Zelda was attacked, I really did have some post-traumatic stress around dogs: strange dogs made me jumpy, and a dog moving quickly in my direction would trigger major anxiety: adrenaline, accelerated heart rate, fast breathing — not quite panic, but anxiety. But I’ve recovered from that. When this dog came running toward us, I didn’t have the slightest bit of concern. I’m sure it helped that it was a black lab-ish kind of dog, not a pit bull or a German Shepherd or a Doberman, none of whom I would want to see running toward Sophie. But still, I wasn’t worried in the least. Incorrectly, as it turned out! But I don’t think there was a thing I could have done about that situation, short of never leaving the house, and I don’t think it’s going to trigger renewed anxiety. Well, maybe a little. But not a lot. It was a strange experience, however, and not a fun one.

Next up on my Saturday, though, some definite fun: the farmer’s market. The farmer’s market in August is so different than the farmer’s market in the middle of winter. Packed with vegetables and packed with people. And most of the people are — not tourists, that’s not the right word — but… browsers? They’ve come for the event, for the outing. They’re having a little Saturday adventure that might include some delicious food, while I’m trying to do my grocery shopping. It’s such a different mindset.

But it’s nice to remember to step back and say, oh, yes, this is an outing. (It’s a three minute walk from my tiny house, it’s a very tiny outing.) It’s not just picking up groceries; it’s a celebration of nature’s bounty. It is, of course, much, much easier to feel this way about the farmer’s market when it’s sunny and 65 degrees than when it’s raining and 45 degrees. And also, of course, with summer foods instead of winter foods — peaches, not just carrots. I’ve been eating yogurt and granola with peaches for breakfast and it feels deliciously summery.

Also deliciously summery: I brought some hibiscus aqua fresca home, and froze it in an ice cube tray. I’ve been drinking sparkling water with hibiscus ice cubes while sitting in the sunshine on the back patio. Total summer. Yum!

After the farmer’s market, Sophie and I went to her dog training class. We so love her class. Marilyn, the main instructor, asked how we were all doing with pulling on the leash, and then said something to me like, “You probably don’t have that problem, do you?” I laughed and said, “Mostly, no, but walking to class today, I put Sophie on leash the block before Samoa, because that’s where the road gets busy. But she knew exactly where we were going and for those last two blocks, she was definitely pulling. Go faster, go faster, that’s what she was saying!”

There are three dogs in this class (Level 2) and the way the class is structured is that we all sit and talk about our dogs for a little bit, and then we all go to separate corners, created by temporary fencing covered with sheets. Then Marilyn walks us through an exercise, sometimes using her dog to demonstrate, and we all practice in our separate corners. We’ll come out, one at a time, to work with our dog in the center of the room, with the instructors offering advice and suggestions.

Sophie is a total ham. When she’s in the center of the room, she will run through all her tricks as quickly as possible, trying to guess what I want. Up, down, tummy, hugs, kisses, tummy again, down, sit, eyes, paw, tummy, tummy, tummy… It’s never the goal, but she usually manages to make me laugh. This week, Janet (the assistant instructor) called her delightful, and Marilyn said she was surprised Sophie wasn’t fat from getting treats just for incredible cuteness. In her defense, however, twice recently, strangers on the street have asked if I’d like to train their dog, too. I admit, I find that seriously gratifying. She’s probably moved to an average of 2/3 compliments on her cuteness, 1/3 compliments on how well-behaved she is. The former are nice, of course — yes, she is adorable! — but the latter are so satisfying. She’s not perfect, of course, (I will expect perfection from my dog only after I have achieved it myself, ie never), but we’ve worked hard on good behaviors, both of us, and I’m proud of her.

After class, Suzanne and I walked down the street and went to the movies. My first movie since pandemic times, where I think I only went once, but it was much nicer to sit in the movie theater without a mask. Movies are not in my budget, to be honest; I’d rather eat, go to the dentist, and buy the occasional book. Well, I don’t prefer to go to the dentist — but that’s where my money goes. Anyway, I hit the point of thinking, much to my surprise, that I wanted to see Barbie. Much, much to my surprise! I can’t possibly express how little interest I had in seeing a movie about Barbie a month ago, but it would probably equal how little interest I would have in seeing a GI Joe movie or, I don’t know, the Super Mario Bros movie. No interest whatsoever, it will never happen. Except I kept reading things about it and it sounded a lot more interesting than I expected it to be.

It was, in fact, a lot more interesting than I expected it to be! Also, really fun. Also, really unexpected. Also, it made me laugh out loud. And, I admit, I actually shed two tears for Ken, who I think is kinda the villain? Anyway, it was an excellent movie and I do recommend it. Well worth seeing.

I had turned my phone on airplane mode for the movie and when I got home, I turned it back on. I had some text messages and a couple of alerts. One of the alerts was sort of odd: the NYTimes was telling me about the Perseids meteor shower. Um, okay, that’s nice. Not the sort of news that usually warrants an alert, but whatever. I looked at the article and thought, well, maybe I’ll stay up and see how foggy it is, and maybe I’ll wear something warm to sleep in so that if I wake up in the middle of the night, I can easily go outside.

Then I got another text: this one from a friend whose mother had just passed away. I texted her back right away of course, and we exchanged messages for a while. The death wasn’t unexpected, but it wasn’t easy, either. Somewhat randomly, I eventually said, “Tonight is the Perseids meteor shower. Any chance you can get outside and watch the night sky? It might be just the kind of cosmic moment that would feel good.”

What an odd thing to suggest, you might be thinking. True. But it turns out that falling stars had emotional significance for her — she’d seen one when her mother went into hospice, another one when she decided she needed to quit her job to be there. And it was exactly the right suggestion at exactly the right time: she went outside, saw a shooting star within two minutes, and then the clouds started to come in. Sometime recently I wrote about not believing in the malicious universe, and I don’t, but I do believe in the mysteriously magical universe, the one where the NYTimes sends me an alert on a subject that I don’t follow so that I can offer a suggestion to a grieving friend at exactly the right moment.

I did not, then, go out to see any meteors myself. I did think about it! But it was foggy early on and then later, when it was full dark and maybe there were some stars, I remembered the skunk who I really didn’t want to meet at midnight. Still I think I got the meteor magic without actually needing to see the meteors myself.

I should find a photo to go with this post, but not unexpectedly, I’ve been writing it for hours. I can’t believe it’s almost 2PM and I haven’t even looked at my email. So no picture, but use your imagination — blue skies, lots of flowers, especially roses and dahlias, and an incredibly cute dog. That’s what August 2023 in Arcata looks like.

Punchlines

At about 10PM Friday night, Sophie asked politely to go outside. I went to the door, asked her to sit and wait, which is something we’ve been working on, opened the door, took one sniff, and then slammed the door in her face.

“Sorry, honey,” I said. “There’s a skunk out there. You’re just gonna have to hold it until morning.”

Sophie was rather surprised by this behavior, but being an agreeable sort of dog, sighed and went back to bed.

Until 4:30 AM or so, when she said, “I REALLY have to go now.”

Understandable!

I got up, opened the door, took a sniff. No skunk smell, so I gave her my permission and off she went. 30 seconds later, I heard her scratching at the door. Of course, I got up again and opened it for her, although I was a little surprised at her haste. She usually takes more time than that.

She came in, head down, tail between her legs, and peed on the floor. And while my sleepy self was trying to process what she had just done/was doing, the reek hit me.

I swear skunks are truly practicing chemical warfare: skunk — really close, immediate, fresh skunk spray — is just SUCH an overwhelming smell.

Fortunately, I’d washed my dishes the night before. I grabbed Sophie and put her in the kitchen sink before she could go under the bed. Also fortunate, it wasn’t a direct hit the way it was last summer. It was bad — so bad! — but not as astonishingly, mind-bogglingly awful as it was then. Still, I wasn’t quite fast enough. Later in the day, I also wound up washing towels and sheets and the clothes I was wearing, and feeling quite sorry for myself. But by Sunday morning, the smell was mostly gone, which means I’m way ahead of the game compared to 2022’s July skunk experience, which could still be smelled in October.

Amusingly — to me, anyway, if not to her — I was sleepy enough that instead of washing Sophie with the internet-approved combo of Dawn, hydrogen peroxide, and baking soda, I used Dawn, baking soda and white vinegar. At the time, I was surprised by the way the reaction turned into an incredible mess, overflowing the bowl I was using onto the floor, the counter, and me, but not surprised enough to realize that I’d screwed up. It was only later in the day, when I was putting things away, that I saw what I’d done. But wow, what a beauty treatment for her fur — I’m sure it’s the vinegar, but her white fur is practically glow-in-the-dark right now, it’s so very white. I think she might still have preferred hydrogen peroxide, though, since I’m not sure a dog would choose to smell like vinegar. Honestly, she was quite sad about the whole thing, really. And so was I. I guess my skunk check only works when the skunk is  close to the house.

In completely unrelated news, I was at the grocery store this morning when an older gentleman in the line next to me said to his cashier, “Did you hear that they’re talking about making it illegal to sell shredded cheese?”

I think I probably had exactly the same reaction as the cashier did —  and the same reaction as the person behind him in line, my own cashier, and every other person within hearing range — which was an internal eye-roll about people’s weird internet conspiracy theories.

I’m not quite sure how the cashier responded, but I’m gonna say that he gave the polite murmur one gives when faced with a conversation that one really doesn’t want to get into.

The gentleman went on to say, in the same tone of deep conspiratorial foreboding, “Yeah, they want to make America great again.”

I giggled. It took me a couple seconds, and I was eavesdropping, so I wasn’t going to be too obvious, but I definitely giggled.

No one else responded at all. Stony silence. His cashier said something along the lines of, “I don’t really follow politics.” Whoosh! That’s the sound of a joke flying right by.

The guy did not keep trying; no explanation, which I would probably have tried, to be honest, but a joke that you’ve missed is not much of a joke.

On my way out, he was still packing up his groceries, so I patted his arm, and said, “My grandpa would have loved that joke. Loved it! I wish I could call him up and share it with him.” He gave me a huge smile and said, “Thank you,” and I waved good-bye to him as I went out the door.

Suzanne had missed the joke, too, so as we were walking through the parking lot, I re-told it, and she got it as soon as I added a hand motion of one closed fist sliding over the other, ie, a grating motion. Shredded cheese, make America grate again, yep. I’m still laughing, and actually, really wishing I could tell that joke to both my grandfathers. I wonder if, fifty years from now, there will be AIs completely capable of simulating people who are gone? And I wonder if that will be profoundly creepy or really quite nice? Maybe it’ll be both…

But I’m not going to let myself get distracted by new ideas! Today hasn’t included any real writing, just some revisions to Cici 2 (now titled Cici and the Curator Search for Treasure), and a business blog post about an SFWA StoryBundle, which includes A Lonely Magic, and which, if you read fantasy, you should absolutely check out: Take No Prisoners. It’s a great deal: 13 books for $20 if you buy the bigger bundle, which of course you should. The deal ends August 17th, so it’s a limited time offer, and you should act fast. My, how marketing speak of me. But you’d be supporting a bunch of independent authors and a good organization, so you’d get to feel virtuous for your $20, too, which is always nice.

And now… well, I was going to say that I was going to get back to real writing, but it would be a lie. It’s a really nice day and I’m going to put on my shorts and go sit in the sunshine and read a book. But tomorrow will involve real writing, I swear!

 

 

Mid-summer update

How quiet I’ve been!

I’m actually really surprised to discover that I haven’t posted in almost three weeks. What have I been doing with myself?

Not, I’m pleased to say, wallowing in ill-health. Maybe it was the antibiotics, maybe it was the season, maybe it was just a natural slow recovery, but I’m finally over my cough. I haven’t quite gotten my daily walking back up to where it was in early May, but I’m getting there. (For my own future reference, May’s walking average, 3.8 miles. June, 2.2. July, 3.2.)

I haven’t been doing much, though. Suzanne and I took a quick camping trip up to Oregon over the 4th of July, mostly in order to keep dogs away from fireworks. As far as I know, Sophie doesn’t care about fireworks at all, but they make Riley pretty unhappy and it was a good excuse to go camping.

It was only Sophie’s second camping trip, which surprised me when I realized it, but of course Suzanne’s broken ankle derailed our camping plans in the summer of 2022. And I don’t currently own a car — or a vehicle of any sort, in fact! — so I’m not doing any camping on my own. The good news is that Sophie was a much better camper as a two-year old than she was as a puppy, “better” being defined as more relaxed. When we got into the tent, she curled up and went to sleep, instead of alerting on every passing noise.

Tent camping in campgrounds, though, is less fun than Serenity camping mostly because people are really noisy. We had neighbors one night who stayed up chatting at their campfire until 1AM. Ugh. I felt like I should invite myself to join them, but I didn’t want to join them, I wanted to sleep! It was also chilly and foggy on the coast, which isn’t surprising, but wasn’t what I was hoping for. On the other hand, it was more comfortable than if it had been sweltering like most of the rest of the planet, so no complaints.

And it was fun to be out and about. It’s already almost two weeks ago, but I think my favorite part was probably stopping at a river with the dogs and letting them swim.

IMG_3761

I don’t actually know how to embed a video, but that link is two seconds of Sophie swimming. Earlier in the month, we took the dogs to a splash pool event at the local shelter. Bear loved it and swam like crazy: Sophie was completely unwilling to step off the ramp into the water. Obviously, it’s fine if she doesn’t like to swim, and I’m not going to force her to. But I was glad she was willing to give it a try at the river.

Locally, I’ve gone to pick blueberries a couple of times; also appreciated the glories of the farmer’s market; also enjoyed the back yard and garden; also played lots of ball with Sophie at our local fields. We started the next level of dog classes and are currently working on “middle,” where she sits between my legs and waits patiently, and “tummy,” which is basically roll over and get petted. I’ve also worked on a book or two or three — for some reason, I’m having trouble sticking with a project and keep hopping between them. And I’ve planned some future fun trips, including investigating Mexican dental tourism. I haven’t quite taken the plunge and made an appointment, but I’m going to.

Anything else? Hmm… well, this happened:

Not because of anything I did, in either case. Well, I guess I set Cici to be free (via KU free days), so that was something. I’m fairly sure that one of the sites that advertise free books much have picked up both of them and mentioned that they were free, because books don’t generally make it onto the best giveaway list just for existing, but I didn’t do any kind of promotion to make it happen, so it was a pleasant surprise. It will be a more pleasant surprise if it helps sales or reads of the other books, of course, but I’m not counting on those chickens.

And now I should get back to writing a book. I keep reminding myself that persistence always gets me there in the end, but… well, persistence! It’s my new mantra.

I hope you’re enjoying your summers, too, and for those of you sweltering in the heat, remember to hydrate!

The Wrong Reality

My friend Christina lost her son this week.

Andrew was 34. He played all types of games — video, board, RPG, D&D, everything. He loved Disney, and theme parks, and superheroes. My most vivid memory of him is calling him in to adjudicate a battle in Superfight. He wasn’t playing, probably because he had to work, but he had passionate opinions about which superheroes would be superior in a face-to-face conflict.

I’ve got other memories of him, too — a conversation about learning to cook for other people while in the kitchen one day; laughing with his mom about which media mom she most resembled on the back porch when he’d just moved to Florida; a long afternoon spent playing a game that became a catchphrase for awful; and lots of meals. So many meals. Christina loves to cook and feeding people is her love language, so Andrew and I sat next to one another at more than one feast over the years. I hate that we will never do so again, just hate it.

And I am so incredibly sad for Christina. I want to get on a plane right now and cry all the way to Florida so that I can give her a hug. If I thought that hug would make anything any better, I’d do it, but it wouldn’t, of course. I’m not sure there’s anything that could.

It feels unreal, though. Not surreal, not like reality is twisted, but unreal, like of course that couldn’t have happened. Of course that can’t be true. Of course this isn’t real. It is, though. Every day, she has to wake up into this new reality that is just wrong. Truly so very wrong.

Unsurprisingly, perhaps, Christina’s immense loss has left me thinking a lot about my own son. I used to want to reach out to him all the time. I’d cook something good and think, “Oh, I should tell R about this,” or read an article and want to share it, or laugh about something the dog did and remind myself to remember it for our next phone call. That’s been over for a pretty long time. I still think of him every day, but I haven’t had to resist the urge to call or message him for… well, probably not since he called me whatever it was, an emotionally stunted creep or something like that. But this time… I just wanted to hear the sound of his voice. I just wanted to feel the visceral certainty that he is alive from an actual interaction, real words, responsiveness. I didn’t even try, though. I didn’t choose this estrangement, so there’s no point in me trying to un-choose it. I wish him well, though, wherever he is, however he is. I hope that he’s happy and thriving and… well, alive. Really, today, that feels like almost enough. Alive is so much better than the alternative.

I am so very sad for Christina.

The malicious universe (not)

Things I’ve appreciated today: cough drops, tissues, my thrift store rain jacket.

Level of happiness about my appreciations: pretty low, actually.

I bought tissues at Costco a couple of months ago and joked about how nice it was going to be to have a lifetime supply of tissues stashed in the storage shed. Today I took my 5th box out of the shed. Yeah, maybe not a lifetime’s worth after all. It feels a little like the universe is laughing at me for my over-confidence. Not that I believe in a malicious universe, but if I did, it would be laughing.

On the plane to SFO, I chatted with the woman sitting next to me. She’d just lost her live-in job (and therefore her housing) and was feeling a little shell-shocked, I think. She needed to talk. She was on her way to visit a son in Florida, to babysit for the grandkids while he and his wife vacationed, and was debating whether she should tell him what had happened. Along the way, she asked me if I had kids. I was so tempted to lie. I didn’t, because it felt like that malicious universe — the one I don’t believe in — would jump on any such statement and make it come true in some awful way. Like denying R’s existence would make him stop existing. That’s obviously ridiculous, and I know it’s ridiculous: even if he’s dead (no reason to believe he is, no reason to believe he’s not), his existence shaped my life. I am who I am because I chose to become his mother. No casual words to a stranger will change that. Fortunately, I no longer cry every time I mention him. I simply answered the question and immediately turned it back to her and we spent the rest of the flight talking about her five kids, fifteen grandkids, and first great-grand.

Random thing I want to remember: I had a little time to kill in Florida, between lunch with my friend Lynda and my stepmom’s birthday party, so I did a Japanese lesson in the car before starting to drive. While I was driving I was thinking about how little Japanese I know, even after 200+ days of tiny lessons. Then I thought, well, I do know the word for beach. Umi, that’s how you say beach in Japanese. And also, I know how to say that I’m going somewhere — ni iki masu. So I can say that I’m going to the beach — umi ni iki masu. And I know how to say tomorrow, too. Ashita umi ni iki masu — tomorrow, I’m going to the beach. So I guess maybe I’m learning more than I think I am. Tiny lessons leading to tiny triumphs. The next day I really did go to the beach, so it was even useful. Well, or it would have been if anyone I knew spoke or cared about speaking Japanese, ha.

Hey, good news: tomorrow is my last day of antibiotics and I am not going to be so afraid of them in the future. My stomach has had moments of uncertainty but I’ve been drinking my probiotic beverages every day and so far that’s worked to prevent too much misery. Less good news: as far as I can tell the antibiotics haven’t done a thing. One can’t have everything, I suppose.

Meanwhile, the prescription cough drops were/are completely useless as far as I can tell. In my not-entirely-scientific but extremely extensive experimentation, Ricola really are the best cough drops. Turns out, though, only the Honey Herb Ricola are guaranteed to be gluten-free, so it’s entirely possible that my cough drops were causing my cough. I honestly don’t believe in a malicious universe, though. Really. It’s just ironic. Or it would be if it were funny.

Time to go write a book! I’ve gotten a little stuck on Ceres, so yesterday I pulled out Cici. Beginnings are so easy; middles are so hard. I wonder if that’s a life truth, not just a writing truth?

 

Nostalgia for awful things

Yesterday, I coughed so hard I threw up.

It was a bizarrely nostalgic experience. When I was pregnant, I spent the last few months throwing up every day, multiple times a day. I’m not quite sure when it started — end of October, I think — but I caught a cold, and the baby pushing up on my diaphragm plus an intense cough equalled vomiting. Lots and lots of vomiting. It turned into a weird self-perpetuating cycle where the coughing made me vomit and the vomiting made me cough and so it just kept going. For weeks. Months, actually.

I threw up so much and so often that I started strategizing about the best foods to eat before throwing up; if I knew it was coming, I’d quickly swallow some mint ice cream, which is honestly the very best thing to vomit. If you do it right, it’s still cool and creamy on your throat and the mintiness makes the taste bearable. Mmm, mint flavored vomit, so infinitely much better than tomato or orange juice flavored vomit.

I also knew all the best places to vomit on the streets I had to routinely walk. I was waddling along, of course, carrying a beachball in my belly, so I couldn’t move very fast. I’d pause at specific sewer grates to see if I needed to use them before continuing on. Worst place to vomit: at an ATM. I’m still sorry about that for the people who were waiting in line behind me. Second-worst place: on my plate at Christmas dinner. Fortunately for me, my sister saw it coming, and so pulled my plate of food away and slid her empty plate before me. I threw up on the empty plate, and she then replaced it with my unfinished meal. I kept eating. I wasn’t nauseous, I just threw up a lot.

Ah, nostalgia. LOL. It was weird to feel wistful about what was fundamentally an awful life experience, but I guess time puts a hazy glow on bad memories if good things come out of them eventually.

As a result of yesterday’s unpleasantness, however, I did go to the doctor this morning. My oxygen level is fine, my lungs are clear, and I’m not running a fever, so I’m more or less okay. He prescribed some antibiotics, given that I’ve been coughing for about a month now, but also asked if I was using a new detergent. Ans: why, yes. (Along with a few other allergy-related questions.) Do I think my new detergent is what’s causing insane allergies? Not really, no, but I’m probably going to switch back to my old detergent for a while. And reluctantly take the antibiotics. I’ve had such horrible luck with antibiotics in my life that I am very dubious, but I am also extremely tired of feeling awful.

Despite the coughing, I had a lovely weekend. It was a quick trip to Florida for special events and family time. It felt much too short, but also perfect. Now that I’m home again, though, I have two goals: write a book and stop coughing. Easier said than done, but I am sure I will manage to do both eventually. But not today. Today my goal is to unpack, to eat something healthy, and to appreciate Sophie, having already very efficiently gone to the doctor, picked up antibiotics and now written a blog post. Go, me!

Saturday started out rainy, but we went to the beach anyway, just in time for a couple hours of that intense blue sky. We saw dolphins, too, and loads of pelicans. No sharks, though, even though the beach is known as the shark attack capital of the world. (According to some sources, 10% of the world’s shark attacks happen at New Smyrna Beach. Not really the statistic you want to be thinking about while you’re swimming!)

Roses over trolls

A troll showed up on the blog last week which was, as always, an odd experience. I started to respond to its comment, and then paused, reread the comment, and clicked the Spam button instead. Good-bye, troll.

But I was thinking about it afterwards, in the way that one does, and it occurred to me that what I felt was actually pity for the poor troll. That troll, whoever they are, is a person who is so wounded, so in pain, that they seek out opportunities to be unkind. Not just take the opportunities that show up in life — the moment when another driver does something stupid and a little road rage makes you want to give them the finger, or that impatience at a long line that lets you be abrupt to the cashier instead of polite — but to seek out moments in which to be mean. To actually spend your time and energy to go out of your way to leave a rude comment on a blog, to be unkind to another human being. I can’t imagine what it feels like to live with that kind of negativity. Or actually, I can imagine it and it just looks awful. Like living with the flu or in chronic pain, only a spiritual, emotional pain. If you are hateful, then you are full of hate, and then you have to live with that feeling. Ugh, how awful that would be.

I never hated anyone before finding out that a friend (now, obviously, ex-friend) was enough in touch with my son to know that he was alive and well and reading my blog, and didn’t care enough to share that information with me. As far as I had any way of knowing, he could have come down with COVID in the early days of the pandemic and died. He might have been hospitalized or in jail or living on the street, homeless or hungry or suffering. I was living with that pain and uncertainty and fear every day, and she… well, she wasn’t. I still hate her fucking guts. I will never forgive her. But I don’t live with that on a daily basis. Every once in a while, I touch the thought. It’s like poking a bruise. Yep, still hurts, still hate her fucking guts. But that’s really it for the negativity I live with. A little, teeny-tiny part of my being still tied to that feeling, and a bigger chunk of my being that lives with the grief of loss and estrangement, and then the majority of my being… well, pretty happy. Content and easy-going and kind and really quite sorry for people whose hearts are nasty. That troll has to live with itself. What a fitting punishment for a troll.

Speaking of COVID, though, I never mentioned on the blog that I came back from Oregon and my allergies began kicking my butt. I had a couple days of an intensely bad headache, and I finally decided that it was a sinus headache, and upped my allergy drugs. The headache went away but the congestion moved into my chest and I developed just a phenomenal allergic cough. It got so bad that I started taking Benadryl — my own nuclear weapon for allergies — and then, of course, the side effects of Benadryl left me exhausted and sleepy and feeling like my thoughts had to work their way through molasses to reach my mouth or fingers.

Really, it was all so miserable that I started thinking maybe I can’t live in Arcata during spring. Then Suzanne came home from her trip, I started feeling better, she started feeling sick, and she took a COVID test. Positive! I took one, too, and mine was negative, but I’m pretty sure that was because I was recovered, not because I’d been right about allergies. Today is the first day in almost three weeks where I took Sophie for a walk and didn’t feel exhausted at half a mile. I’ll be taking another test before I get on a plane to Florida on Wednesday, but I expect it’ll be fine. It says something, though, that headache + cough + general malaise did not = maybe COVID? to me. It crossed my mind, sure, but not in a way that inspired me to actually take the test. Oops.

Despite her case of COVID, Suzanne decided about ten days ago that it was time to get rid of potential skunk habitats in the backyard, aka piles of wood. Every morning since, she’s lit a fire in the backyard fire pit a little after sunrise and we’ve had our morning coffee fireside. Such an excellent morning routine. A couple times we skewered sausages and ate grilled sausage for breakfast and this morning we baked potatoes in the coals, but mostly we just had coffee and played Spelling Bee and chatted and rewarded dogs for sitting quietly. A fire is a great way to start the day, especially, I suppose, if what you’re looking for is some nice mellow, peaceful energy with which to begin your day. It wasn’t great for inspiration — I didn’t rush away from the fire every day to add another 2000 words to my WIP — but I enjoyed it. All the skunk habitat is gone now, though, so our fires are over for a while.

Our roses are just beginning, though. Eons ago, back in those early pandemic days, I said I wanted roses by the tiny house wall. Sadly, the ones we tried to grow from cuttings didn’t make it. In 2021 and 2022, we were too busy with puppies to try again. This year, however, Suzanne planted rose bushes along the wall back in January and they have been thriving. Much to my delight, the first flowers are now blooming. Yay, roses!

Time Flies

I realized this morning that I am not blogging, because every time I think about blogging, I think that Carol is not around to read my posts anymore and it makes me sad, so instead of writing, I go do something else, like playing solitaire or eating candy. She, of all people, would shake her head at this behavior, I think. She understood that the only day we have is the day we’re in and that we should appreciate it. I don’t know whether she also knew that the only way through sad is to let yourself be there, but I know that, so it’s time I started acting like it.

I’m sad that Carol will not read this post.

And that said, I’m really happy that it is a beautiful day in Arcata today. Suzanne was gone through most of the month of May, off adventuring in Europe, but she had a really delightful house-sitter, with whom I got to exchange the morning greeting every day of, “There might be sun today. It could happen,” and the evening farewell every night of, “Well, maybe tomorrow.” So much fog. So cold. So gray and dreary. Sigh.

This is the weather that Suzanne told me about eons ago, but it is not the weather that I’ve ever had in Arcata. It’s the weather that made me rule out ever living in Arcata, in fact! Or, I should say, “was” the weather, because now we’ve had three days of sunshine and it’s been glorious. Does the weather relate to the fact that I’ve been making lots of little adventure plans instead of sticking to my commitment to write, write, write? Yep, absolutely. The only day we have is the day we’re in and even though I know I need to write, write, write, I am actually going to do a bunch of other fun things instead. Or, I should say, as well, because I’m not giving up my write, write, write commitment, I’m just not going to not enjoy my life while I’m doing it. Double negative adds up to a positive, so yes, I’m going to enjoy my life. And write!

Little plans: an overnight camping trip near a river, so the dogs can play; a day trip to Santa Rosa, so that dogs and I can have fun while S sees her eye doctor; an incredibly swift four-day trip to FL to celebrate occasions with family; a three-day camping adventure in Oregon to escape from fireworks on the 4th of July. S’s making bigger and even more exciting plans for farther out in the future, too, but I’m holding off on those, because I do need to write. Or rather, I do need to earn some money.

Am I making smart choices when it comes to writing –> making money? Absolutely not! Not really a surprise, I guess. But that’s not just about not doing the work, it’s about the choice of projects I’m working on. I’m now 20K words into a cozy science-fiction romance which has actually stopped being cozy and become more of a science-fiction mystery adventure. The practical thing to do from a writing point of view is always to write romance, and also to always write series romance, and… well… yeah. I keep thinking I want to be practical, but I guess it’s just not my strong suit. I quite like this story, though, and am having fun with it, so I won’t bother regretting my choices for now. (If you want to read it as I write it, I’m posting first draft chapters to the Rescuing Ceres category on my 1000words at a time blog.)

Proof of how beautiful the day is:

Sophie, playing in a field of buttercups.

Sophie and I finished our dog training class yesterday, with a field trip to a park where she got to play on some dog agility equipment. I promptly signed up for the next class in the series, because I think she really liked the class overall and I know she loved the field trip. Her big success on the field trip, IMO, was staying in a crate without complaint for the portions of the event where the dogs needed to be crated. It took me the third time of putting her in the crate to realize that the proper command for the request is, “Load up,” which is what we say to the dogs when we want them to get into the car. She completely understands “load up” as meaning, “enter this enclosed space and wait patiently for something to happen,” and when I told her to “load up” with the crate, she went straight in, turned around and waited, exactly as one would hope. For her first time at using a crate, I was super pleased with how well she did.

She also did a pretty great job on jumps, although she knocked the bar over a couple times, and a great job with the tunnel and the balance beam, and an exceptionally great job with all the optimism equipment, ie boxes of noisy things to jump into and out of, plus wobbly things to jump and balance on. If I had to pick a favorite for her… well, actually, her favorites were all the ones where I was crouching at the end waiting for her to knock me over and give me kisses. Those were her favorites. She was not a super big fan of any of the ones where I needed to use the lead to show her where to go, ie running around cones, running in circles around a center point.

Here’s an obvious thing I learned about dog training from this class: it’s really about training the person, not the dog. Some of the skills we haven’t worked on, like sitting for a heel, are skills we should work on, just because they’re gateway skills to other things that are more fun, like jumping. But all of it is mostly me needing to figure out how to tell her what I want, because she’s both smart and willing. It makes me think of Anne Sullivan, trying to teach Helen Keller to communicate.

I did think, though, during the field trip, that if I was a dog trainer (never going to happen) and/or had my own school of dog training (never going to happen), all of my teaching would revolve around trust and relationship-building. During the jumps, I let Sophie off-leash, because, as the instructor said, “She’s not going to go far from you.” She didn’t, although she did hop over to visit another dog for a few seconds and then returned promptly when called. With the tunnel, the other instructor said, “She’s a real mama’s girl, if you’re at the far end, she’ll go through.” Yep, she did without hesitation. We don’t have the skills that obedience or agility competitions measure, but it’s such a huge advantage to have the foundation of trust that we have.

Anyway, the class was fun for both of us. I’m not sure I could sum up what we learned, but we enjoyed ourselves.

Somehow my quick little blog post, just to break the non-blogging cycle, has gotten kinda long. And I’ve got words to write on Rescuing Ceres, so I think I’m going to get back to it. TTYL!

BEST DAY EVER!!!, according to the dog

I said to my brother last week, “I think it’s a really good quality in a day if you think your dog would say, ‘BEST DAY EVER!!!’ about it.” Even if you wouldn’t say it yourself, if your own more measured perspective would think it was a pity that the sun didn’t shine more, and that the wind was so strong, and that the food was fine, but nothing so great that you’d remember it a week later… Even then, if your dog thinks it was the BEST DAY EVER!!!, then probably it was a pretty darn good day.

Of course, Sophie is kind of an easy audience. Her version of Best Day Ever!!! needs to include some time running around off-leash in nature, some activity with a ball, something to chew on somewhere along the way, and a fair amount of time with her people.

A ball on the beach might be all that’s needed for the BEST DAY EVER!!!

Speaking of her people, the BBE came to visit me for a couple of weeks and Sophie adored him immediately. I did not appear to be a particularly good dog trainer, because she was up on him, in his face, providing kisses and full body tail-wags and demands for tummy rubs pretty much from the moment she first saw him, and then every time they’d been separated for a few hours. Honestly, it was adorable. Not exactly well-behaved, but super cute anyway. I love that she loved him so much. She has good taste, my girl.

Not really a lap dog, but she wanted to be.

But speaking of well-behaved, she ate with us at a multitude of restaurants over the past couple of weeks and she was very good. The first time was the most work for me. She didn’t quite get the concept of just hanging out by my side and wanted to explore the entire patio. But after that one, she figured it out and was such a good girl that I got nice stranger/waitress comments about what a good dog she is.

In other news, well, yeah, I went on vacation with the BBE. We spent a few days in Arcata, while I dragged him around to all my favorite places — Moonstone Beach, the Mal’el Dunes, the Arcata Marsh, the bottoms, Stewart Park, Creamery Field. Yes, all my favorite places are basically long dog walks. Oh, but also Little Japan in Arcata which is a store with a great selection of Hi-Chews, a candy the BBE introduced me to in the summer of 2021, when we hung out in FL together.

After a few days in Arcata, we drove up to Oregon. We spent three days at a beach house in Waldport, where the weather wasn’t exactly awesome, but wasn’t too terrible either. We ate oyster tacos at Clausen Oysters, and gluten-free burgers and fries from a place called Skosh and more than one meal at the Drift Inn in Yachats, which had a great dog-friendly, covered patio. And we walked on the beach. A few photos:

A mysterious dead thing on the beach. No idea what it could have been.

But in the morning, bald eagles were eating it.

The sunrise view from the house we were staying at

After Waldport, we headed to Bend for a few days. We did nothing there except eat good food and take Sophie for long walks at the good dog trail next to our hotel. Well, okay — we went to one thrift store, and one other dog park, and the BBE went to the crazy expensive grocery store, I think to prove to himself that I wasn’t exaggerating. (I wasn’t!) And there was a little sitting outside in the sunshine reading and some peaceful hours hanging out. Mostly, though, long walks in a beautiful place, good food on patios so Sophie could be with us. And much nicer weather!

Still snow on the mountains! The clerk at the hotel asked if we were there for the skiing. Ha, no.

Sophie loved the trail so much. Lots of running and exploring and really just an excellent response to my recall whistle. There was one time when I’d gotten a little separated from the BBE — we were on separate, adjacent trails, that we assumed would meet up again soon but that hadn’t yet. I could see him over the brush and vice versa, but Sophie could not see him. She disappeared. And stayed disappeared. I stopped moving and stood still, whistling, waiting, calling, waiting, whistling again. It was maybe a minute or so when she came barreling up the path to me, racing so fast that her ears flew out behind her in what I fondly call her otter look. She’d gone all the way back to the river to try to find the BBE where I’d lost him. She was very happy when we found him again.

We made it to the river on Good Dog Trail more than once. Sophie did not approve of the swimming dogs! There was much barking.

The restaurants we ate at in Bend were mostly familiar but with two new additions: The Blissful Spoon, where I had a really incredible chakchouka, and Poke Row, for delicious GF poke bowls. I’d eat at either of those places again, quite happily. Oh, and on our way to Bend, we stopped in Philomath, aka the middle of nowhere, and ate at The Eats and Treats Cafe. Now I am SOO jealous of Philomath. Arcata is also the middle of nowhere, but we don ‘t have a restaurant like that. It was a really excellent, entirely GF menu. The roll on my barbecue chicken sandwich tasted absolutely like real bread, and my chocolate chip cookie was delicious.

On the way home, we stopped in Ashland for the night. Our hotel was very centrally located. Also very loud. It was nice to be able to walk to all the shops and restaurants on the main streets and wander around the downtown area, but I think I prefer a hotel where sleep is feasible at 11PM. (It was both a Saturday night and probably the first warm Saturday night of the year, so highly likely that it was worse than usual. But it was not good.) We ate at Vida, the Brazilian cheese bread bakery for lunch, and then stumbled across Thai Pepper in time for a really lovely dinner on a patio with Sophie underfoot and the sounds of a rushing creek nearby.

I did not manage to break my step count high for the year, which was 19,582 steps on March 26, but I did average 13,000 steps for the week, for which I’ll give myself some shine. It’s a little bit apples to oranges, because I do have a watch tracking all my steps now, not just a phone tracking the steps when I’m carrying it, but still, my 2022 average was 4652 steps, so I’m ahead of the game right now.

I will now, however, drop behind the game, because my goal for the next however much time is not steps, but words. Lots and lots and lots of words and these ones don’t count. I am determined that the next thing I do — no idea when, but the next thing I do! — will be to publish a book. So now I just have to get back to writing one. Although first, ha, I should probably walk a couple dogs. And eat a healthy breakfast with lots of vegetables! Our vacation was lovely but it included more cookies than vegetables. Which is not a bad quality in a vacation, really.