If You Say So

Overheard in the car, late at night:

Passenger: That guy we were talking to, he owns a bacco company.

(Pause.)

Driver (skeptical): Wait, who owns a tobacco company???

Passenger: Not a tobacco company, a bacco company.

(Pause.)

Passenger: No "to."

(Pause.)

Driver: What's a bacco?

Passenger: A machine you dig ditches with.

(Pause, then uproarious laughter from both.)

Driver: You mean a backhoe!

Passenger: That's what I said. Bacco.

(Prolonged hysterical laughter from both.)

Driver: Backhoe. Back-hoe. Back hoe. Not "bacco"!

Passenger: You need to listen better.

Driver: You need to learn to enunciate.

Photo: science.howstuffworks.com

Re-Returning

(But from where? The ether, I suppose.)

Vacation was wonderful! But it knocked me out of any habits I might have acquired (good or bad) and put me behind on everything. I guess that's the story of my life and I wonder if it will ever change. Probably not, unless I develop some better habits!

I've said yes to teaching again this semester and the Tuesday/Thursday schedule keeps me hopping. Added to my regular 30-ours-a-week job, it's been a struggle to balance everything. The manager of the book store took a two-month vacation herself, and I shared coverage duties with another volunteer -- to add to the schedule. So . . . It's been a busy late-summer.

Now, what's the upside?

Home improvements peaked this spring and then lagged, but in a burst of my usual fall energy I unpacked the last of the boxes in the living room and hung pictures throughout the house. The living room and master bedroom are settled now. The bath is mostly settled while I await the arrival of a shockingly expensive but irresistible new shower curtain that will change the look completely. The kitchen and guest room still need some work, as do the porch, the shed, and the yard. But it's all good and I'm enjoying the process.

(Well, I should say I'm mostly enjoying the process. I had a falling out with the lawn guy who mows all the yards in this part of town. Before I went on vacation I planted some large, native firebush shrubs that a friend had given me. I thought something so mature and so obvious (and surrounded by freshly turned dirt) would be unmistakably intentional, but the lawn guy thought . . . well, who knows what he thought? He tore them out and I returned from vacation to find them missing. I was heartbroken and angry -- not only for the loss of the plants (they were about 3 feet tall and blooming like crazy) but for their sentimental value. Considering my mental state, I left a very reasonable message on his answering machine. I definitely said, "I'm very upset about this" but I didn't shout or anything. In response, he left me a note saying he didn't want to mow my lawn anymore. Well, okay then. I'm now in search of a lawn guy with a clue about native plants and customer service.)

The cats are much happier in the new place. They have multiple views from multiple windows, and I've contrived to arrange the furniture so they have lounging places where they can watch the street and the birds. That's a big plus.

I'm getting more exercise than in the past year or so. That's definitely a plus.

I've cut WAY back on my Facebook time and I like it. It's certainly helped me find a few more hours that can be used in better ways. Thanks to a recent cool snap, "better ways" includes reading on the porch with a cup of coffee.

Hurricane Michael zoomed by to the west and gave us just a breezy day with a few rain showers. We were very lucky. Seeing the destruction in the Florida panhandle confirms my decision to avoid living on the coast and to evacuate if a big one comes this way. Even so, everyone here is still keeping a wary eye on the weather right now. 

Kayak Guy and I are still spending quite a bit of time together and having fun adventuring. Maybe it's just the daily life that taxes us? What an interesting thought.

I'm turning the corner on some of my reading challenges and think I might actually finish a few this year. That would be huge!

Here's to keeping this fall energy thing going as long as I can. Maybe it will help me write all those reviews that I'm backed up on . . . .

Hard to Say

My friend Karen's partner Glenda recently retired. Glenda has worked for many years in emergency services, accustomed to a tight schedule and being very structured and productive in her off hours.

Karen, on the other hand, pursues multiple occupations with aplomb, flowing fluidly from one to the other while always saving some time for life's finer pursuits.

As an introduction to retirement, Karen convinced Glenda to spend an evening sitting on the back deck, watching the sunset. After a few minutes, Glenda turned to Karen and asked, "How long is this gonna take?"

Returning

Yoo hoo, remember me? It's been ages since I wrote anything and this promises to be one whirlwind of a catch-up, just to get things started again.

I have NOT abandoned the reading challenges and will update everything back to current status as soon as I am able to. Please don't give up on me despite my admin laxity!

Okay, so what have I been up to? Well . . . .

First and foremost I have to blurt out that Kayak Guy and I got a divorce. That relationship began with some of the most incredible experiences of my life, for which I will always be grateful. We had so many fun adventures together! But I'm sorry to say that the nitty-gritty reality of blending two full and independent lives ultimately was too much for us. We're striving to stay friends, but I'm not sure yet whether we'll succeed. It's especially difficult to make the transition because we have many interests and many dear friends in common. That process goes on.

On a happier note, I bought a house! It deserves a post of its own (and perhaps many more as the fixing-up goes on) but for now I will say that navigating the paperwork was like having another full-time job. Whew! I hope I never ever have to go through that again! It was worth every scan and fax and records search, because now I'm happily more-or-less settled into my own little 1963 charmer, surrounded by nearly a quarter of an acre of sunny Florida yard. My head spins daily with plans for indoors and out. Such an exciting time! The cats are much happier here, too, with plenty of room to spread out on every available windowsill.

I'm still working and teaching, with a new adjunct gig starting next month. I've been seeing my share of baseball games. I have some travel plans in the offing. I'm putting my health back together with more exercise and more time outdoors.  Mother Nature continues to renew me whenever I need her the most. I'm feeling that I've weathered this stormy period and can see calmer waters ahead now.

And life is what it always is, delightful and challenging and changeable, all wrapped into one.

Well, Okay Then

She: How old am I going to be this year? Fifty-eight?

He: Yes, that's right; you're going to be 58.

(pause)

She: Wow. How did I get to be so old?

He: Well, you still have some time left.

She: Before I'm old?

He: Before your birthday.

Don't You Just Love Synchronicity?

One of my favorite things about reading is stumbling on some obscure reference and recognizing it as relevant to something else I'm working on or thinking about at the time. It gives me that tingly, visceral feeling of being a single neuron in a vastly larger network of consciousness; for just a moment I can glimpse how the network connects its billions of points.

The latest example of this favorite feeling of mine is a single phrase in my current book, Fail, Fail Again, Fail Better. The subtitle is Wise Advice for Leaning into the Unknown, which strikes me as a bit trendy for the timeless spiritual teaching of a Buddhist nun. I suppose the whole "leaning in" thing optimizes search engines and sells books, so perhaps the trendiness can be forgiven.

Before I digress even further: in the introduction to the book, Seth Godin mentions author James P. Carse's book Finite and Infinite Games: A Vision of Life as Play and Possibility and spends a few brief paragraphs contrasting games that are played to win and games that are played to be played. This seems like a strange concept, at first, until you think of something like music or dancing: Nobody in the orchestra is trying to win the music, right? And no one who dances is trying to finish the dance ahead of all the others. The point of playing is playing. The point of dancing is dancing. And part of the point of both is collaborating with the others who are playing and dancing along with you.

I found this concept really intriguing the first time it was explained to me, and what a delightful moment of recognition to see it mentioned here. Sure enough, a few seconds of searching revealed the book on the TBR shelf, awaiting my renewed attention.

Maybe this year is the year I'll get to it. The signs are pointing that way.

Oh, and did I mention that Kayak Guy brought me belated roses for our anniversary earlier this month? There's a much more deliberate connection between the date and the roses, but I'll take it.

Saturday Night Ain't What It Used to Be

She: So I think I'm going to put on . . .  (becomes distracted by the phone)

He: Your dancing shoes?

She:  . . . my pajamas.

Pink Shirt for the New Millennium

He: So after he described how he renewed his concealed carry permit, George invited me to go to the Predators game with him on Friday.

She: Hm, interesting.

He: Would you want to go?

She: No, I'm not a big fan of arena football. It's not the same indoors, on that small field. And it's way too noisy, with all those screens. It's like being inside a video game. Too much testosterone for me. But you could go with him, if you wanted to.

He: I'm not too crazy about it either, so I said probably not. Plus I told him we have the ice cream thing downtown that night.

She: Wait, you told your buddy you wouldn't go to the Predators game with him because you were going to an ice cream social?

Goodbye to the Cafe

With a resigned heart and a mild sense of failure I am writing to acknowledge the obvious: the Hotchpot Cafe has run out of steam. It's been ages since I posted here with any regularity, and the happy energy that used to surround the blog has dissipated.

Despite my intention to return to blogging (as variously stated over the past months), I realize now it simply isn't going to happen. This year I'm determined to resolve those parts of my life that are stuck in limbo, freeing my time and energy for what's to come.

Supporting this new period of growth is that fact that I have fallen in love with a wonderful man who shares my worldview and my passions. We plan to make a life together, one that will be filled with travel and outdoors pursuits. I have no qualms about simplifying my commitments to make more room for the happiness, excitement, and comfort of a coupled life.

Even so, I'm a little sad to renounce this electronic diary. It certainly reflects my varied experiences over the past 5 years, and I'm very proud to have written some of the posts.

Most importantly, it has been great fun to get to know the blogging community. I hope to still visit, even though I'm not posting anymore.

To my fellow bloggers, I say: I'm in awe of your creativity and insights and passions, and the interesting lives you lead. May you fare well in 2014 and always!

Surprise

It looks like after about 3 years of silence, C.S. and I are on speaking terms again. There was a funny incident a while back where NBC broadcast a map that completely obliterated the state of New Hampshire, then issued a nice apology. We got into an e-mail conversation about that, and then about baseball, and then books, and now we check in occasionally. It's very low key. And it's nice.

Testing My Resolve

Funny how I come to these little crossroads now and again. It's like the Universe is double-checking me, making sure I'm still committed to a particular decision (before opening the path and speeding me on my way, I hope!).

As recently as a year ago, I was pretty sure I would go back to New Hampshire someday. I live in urban Florida by necessity and by accident, not by choice. Although I grew up spending lots of time at the beach, my appreciation for Florida had never expanded to include the inland landscape, and certainly not the sprawling strip malls and gated communities that line the roads where I live now.

Last year at this time, I was still teetering on the knife edge of staying or going, if not in the immediate future, then someday. It kept me from fully committing to putting down roots here. And one of its greatest manifestations was a recurring restlessness every September, when I knew the leaves were starting to change up north. I'd be thinking about the scent of wood smoke and apples, the crunch of frosty grass underfoot, the chill of a misty morning sparked with the blaze of red and yellow leaves, and the slightly musty warmth of wool sweaters.

About a year ago, I realized that beyond those sensory pleasures, what I really missed about New Hampshire was the small town feeling of belonging. When I lived there, I liked crossing the common and going into a downtown shop where I probably knew the name of the person behind the counter, and they probably knew my name, too. I liked knowing the history of the place, with that history spanning a couple hundred years. I liked seeing the landscape manifest itself in its own unique geographic and geological way. Compared with what I knew of Florida, land of chain stores, template landscaping, and Stepford-esque "town centers," the layers of community and place that developed over time in New Hampshire were indescribably rich.

I started realizing this when I started spending more time in what will soon (touch wood!) be my new home town, a place with a complex history and a small town character that expresses itself in a genuine Main Street downtown. I felt at home there immediately, and I realized it wasn't just the change of seasons that seemed to draw me northward. Slowly my perspective shifted to reveal that the sense of being integrated into a particular place could be found here as well, if I would just step outside the urban area and open my eyes.

My shift in perspective was enhanced by meeting a man who introduced me to the beautiful and original Central Florida landscape that expresses itself in scrub and hammock, spring and swamp, lake and river. Real Florida is still full of wide vistas, clear waters, secret places, and the wild plants and animals who belong here, who are only too willing to show me, by example, how to thrive.

Given my newfound contentment, it's not surprising that the Universe saw fit to test me: Two days ago I received the current issue of Yankee magazine, featuring an article called "Fall Comes to the Lake Country" -- complete with stunning photographs of some of my favorite New Hampshire places in all their fall glory, places that are just 15 minutes from where I used to live.

Although they are as beautiful as I remember, I wasn't tempted in the least. Not even a smidgeon of the old restlessness returned in response to those familiar landscapes. They are still lovely to look at and sweet to remember, but that's all.

If that was a test of my resolve to stay, I passed. And I won't be renewing my Yankee subscription again, either. There's really no need.

Overheard in the Car

Female: I'm not so sure about that building. The design looks unfinished . . . blah, blah, blah . . . unless it's intended to be postmodern.

Male: (silence)

Female: You know, you're really fun to talk with.

Male: I'm not saying anything, darlin'.

Female: Oh. Yeah. Right. But you didn't freak out when I said "postmodern" just then.

(pause)

Female: Okay, no more coffee for me today.

Random Friday Things I Love

I love traveling. It's terrific to get a new perspective -- even when the new perspective is a huge fake waterfall spotlighted with purple lights, right outside the hotel room window. (This is the daytime view, however.)

I love having dinner with friends in a beautiful waterfront place. In this case, without any purple spotlights -- or any other human creations across the way.

I love keeping a journal. I just started journaling again, trying to write a bit every night before bed. It only took 2 nights for me to get hooked on a few minutes of creative reflection before sleep.

I love the kind of conversation where the talk never lags -- it just gets quiet once in a while and then starts up again in a natural rhythm.

I love driving through the pouring rain, where you can barely see out the windshield and the wipers are going like mad, and then suddenly driving right out of it and the pavement isn't even wet.

I love coming home and gliding back into my own comfort zone.

Someone Else's Story

I dropped into the local Goodwill this week, lured in by a dress I saw in the window. Naturally, I couldn't leave without also searching the bookshelves for treasures.

Like the best of unexpected pleasures, I didn't know I wanted to read this until I saw it, but I recognized the author and happily pulled it from the shelf. The back cover says Lopez "urges us toward a new attitude, a re-enchantment with the world that is vital to our sense of place, our well-being . . . our very survival."

Checking inside, I realized it was bookmarked with a neatly cut piece of Christmas wrapping paper, and that it held an inscription . . . which drew me instantly into another world.

I imagined Joe and Letitia, sharing this book at that long-ago Christmas, maybe after hiking or camping or being on the water together. It would be a lovely gift between a couple like that.

I wondered if perhaps things didn't work out between them, and if this book was a casualty of a library being divided, no space for all the books where Joe was going, or simply one that he couldn't bear to keep because of what it represented of the past. Perhaps he left it behind and Letitia was the one who couldn't stand to have it around, reminding her of happier times.

It's equally possible to imagine that they lived a happy life together, with this book a cherished part of their bond. Maybe this was their first Christmas together and Letitia's declaration of love -- in writing, in a special book -- was an important turning point for them. Perhaps they forged a re-enchanted life with a shared desire to awaken to their place in the world and belong to it.

Perhaps Joe and Letitia are both gone now, crossing another kind of open ground together. It's been more than 20 years since this book was a crisp new Christmas present. Maybe it was left to someone else to decide that this book should go. Maybe Joe and Letitia -- given a choice -- would never have parted with it.

Whatever the story, the book resides in my library now. Even though I don't know Joe and Letitia, I will remember them. Their book and their love have a safe home with me.

Still Waiting, and a Test

No progress on the house, and my "can do" spirit is struggling a bit with the limbo state.

I was supposed to receive a response to my offer last Saturday, which then became last Wednesday, and now the seller won't even talk to his own realtor, much less send along a message to me.

As time goes on, I am convinced the seller is in denial, hoping to somehow save the house at the last minute. Everyone I talk to says two things: it's highly unlikely that the seller will be able to do it, because he is already in short sale territory, and it could take a very long time to get the final "no" that means he has to abandon hope.

I understand the emotional component there. And I realize it takes time both to do the paper work and to accept what the paperwork tells you.

What I don't understand is why the seller won't just tell us all that. It's the uncertainty that's difficult for me. Every day I wake up thinking, "Maybe today!" and then "Maybe today?" and then, as the day goes on, I start thinking, "Maybe tomorrow!"

Even so, I want to wait. Much as I feel ready to put down some roots at last, I want to wait. The one I have found is The One.

I don't just want a house, I want that house . . . although part of me wonders if this delay could be the universe's way of telling me it isn't the house for me.

To test my resolve, I looked at another house yesterday. It was somewhat similar, and maybe better in some ways. But I discovered very quickly I wasn't willing to forgive it any of its shortcomings. I couldn't see past the small rooms, the garish paint scheme, the suspicious water stain and sagging plaster in the breakfast area, the tiny backyard . . .

Every step of the way I was comparing it to the house I love, whose flaws are totally forgivable, even endearing. Love makes all the difference, doesn't it?

I'm glad I looked, because now I realize that if I don't wait, if I don't let the process evolve at its own pace, if I buy another house simply because I am ready to buy, I'll forever be wondering about what could have been.

The "no" -- if there is a "no" at the end of the waiting -- has to come from outside. If it comes from me and my impatience, I'll regret it forever.

No Camera? No Problem.

I ended 2011 in fine fashion, but have no photos to show for it. That's by choice.

Having received a thrilling invitation to join a group of friends on a New Year's Eve kayak excursion down a local, well-protected and hence still prehistorically natural and beautiful river, I decided not to sully the experience by documenting it with technology. And so the only pictures I have are in my head and in my heart.

What pictures they are, though.

Moonlight on the river, guiding me along a smooth silvery path between flotillas of water lilies.

The muted flash of paddles in front of me, a barely discernible beacon drawing me forward into the next moment.

Turning off my headlamp and realizing how much I could see by the light of Nature.

Dipping my hand to discover water warmer than the air.

The surprising scent of woodsmoke from campers who aren't supposed to be there -- not that you can blame them for wanting to be on the river all night.

Orion throwing one foot over the treetops, on his way to the peak of the roof of the world.

Jupiter blazing close to the still-waxing moon.

A huge owl flying silently across the river, a soft dark shape against a sky full of stars.

The calls and responses of at least three more owls in three directions, floating like a banner overhead.

The quiet talk and laughter of friends pausing midway in the journey, rocking gently in the current side by side, sharing chocolates and the last of the Christmas cookies.

I took these pictures with all of my senses, and they are part of me now.

How else could you photograph falling in love with a river?

Dog Love

What is it with dogs? They love me these days.

Some friends have a Border Collie. Bonnie is delightful. She does lots of tricks, including jumping over a stick or through your arms if you make a big hoop shape with them close to the ground. In short, she is as sharp as a tack, except when the herding/chasing instinct takes over. Then she is off like a shot, chasing whatever is moving. This includes any birds or airplanes that happen to fly over. Seriously. It is very funny to see.

I have never done anything to cultivate Bonnie's friendship except be nice to her in a normal visitor kind of way. But she loves me with a capital L. When I show up she wags her whole body and leans against me, looking up into my face with her peculiar lower-teeth-showing-only doggy smile. I greet her and pat her, and it is hardly enough.

One of Bonnie's best tricks is that she will play dead in very dramatic fashion. She will sit at attention, eyes focused on her master's face, waiting for the fateful words "dead dog." When she hears them, she flops over with all 4 feet in the air and a suspiciously mischievous grin on her face.

This is especially great because you can ask her any question that pertains to a visitor and get the answer you want. Got a Navy man in the house? Ask Bonnie, "Would you rather be in the Navy or be a dead dog?" and blam, there's your answer. Got someone who likes to go shopping? Ask Bonnie, "Would you rather go shopping or be a dead dog?" and yes, you guessed it. It's a major parlor trick.

The other day, I was complaining that wherever I went, I always wind up carrying a bunch of things with me. I said I needed a butler, like the royals have, to follow me around and tote my stuff. One of my friends suggested that Bonnie might enjoy that job, and our lighthearted joking led to the inevitable question, "Bonnie, would you rather be J.G.'s butler or a dead dog?" Whereupon Bonnie jumped up and dashed over to sit next to me! Talk about melting your heart.

Another friend has a dear little Sheltie who is as charming and sweet as can be. Again, I've never done anything to curry his favor, except be nice to him. I always greet him when I come to the door. I don't question him about his squirrel patrol techniques, though I hear he is not terribly effective at keeping the squirrels in line. When he is waiting for a door to be opened, I oblige, since I'm the one with the opposable thumb. If he walks past me, I usually put a hand down and give him a little pat.

But the other night when I arrived, he positively capered around me, dancing in a semi-circle, putting his front legs close to the ground and then leaping up in the air as though he was both greeting me and inviting me to play a game. If I was a dog I would not have been able to resist and we would have dashed off together to check on the squirrels. It was the kind of greeting normally reserved for a best friend, I imagine, if you're the best friend of the nicest person in the world.

Somewhere I read a quote that said, "My goal in life is to be as good a person as my dog thinks I am." I've been a cat person for years now, but all I can say is, amen to that. I definitely get it. And it's a lot to live up to.

News?

Lately, this blog hasn't been such a good fit for me. Even after I took a vacation from posting, it didn't really catch fire again.

Other bloggers talk about losing their "mojo," but I've been thinking about this a lot and my issue involves more than that. As near as I can figure it, what has happened is that life has changed, but the blog has not. Or, at least, the blog has not kept up. More and more I find that what I want to talk about is off limits for the blog.

Part of this is because I'm trying to maintain my privacy. I enjoy the freedom of saying what I want without wondering if my neighbor, my boss, or anyone else who knows my name is only a Google search away from knowing my innermost thoughts (perhaps even my innermost thoughts about them). Folks who can cope with that kind of visibility, more power to you! But your approach is not for me.

Part of this is that I am trying to focus on a few areas and create some consistency. Despite the Cafe's promise that "you can never predict what will be on the menu," I pretty much stick to books and reading, with occasional forays into whatever else strikes my fancy. I think y'all expect it of me by now, and the blogging advice I have read encourages a targeted approach. So some things have been simply off topic.

But now, after months of leaving certain things out, I am chafing at the restrictions of what I can't say. Ignoring certain things, I feel almost like I'm telling a lie, and it saps my blogging energy and distances me from you, my bloggy friends. And overall, it makes blogging less fun.

I'm not working up to any massive revelations here, but I do think some catching up is in order. Perhaps you can think of this as one of those long Christmas letters some folks send, where they compress a whole year into 2 pages. I love reading those, even when they are filled with bragging. People reveal themselves when they write, period. I like reading along and seeing what they reveal. So . . . here goes with a long-term update. Draw your own conclusions!

C.S. and I started this blog back in 2008 while I was studying for the bar exam. It was just one of many fun things we did together. If you've been reading along, you've been privy to some of our travel adventures, bookstore rambles, and book award obsessions. Early this year that relationship came to an end, although this archive of those good times remains. I still miss him sometimes, and I imagine he sometimes misses me. Putting that into words, here on the blog that we started together, may be the final step in letting go.

I recently started horseback riding again, and while this will not turn into a riding blog, I may start posting occasionally about the thrills, rewards, and disappointments of spending a chunk of my life around horses. I rode as a child, and also as a young married. When you are born with horses in your blood, they never go away. Ownership is out of my financial reach, but I am half-leasing Travis, who brings me much joy. Isn't he incredibly handsome?

Last but not least, I recently met someone who has all the hallmarks of being someone special. Him I am not planning to talk about much, but merely acknowleging that he exists relieves some of the psychic pressure.

After a long time in dormancy, my life seems ready to grow again. Now that I've come clean about these changes, the blog can grow, too.

I'll leave it to you to determine whether this news is even news. Thank you for listening. I feel better now.

Wrong Number?

I received a bit of a wake-up call this morning, but fortunately, it wasn't for me. Or at least it wasn't the bad news I feared.

The Princess is 90-something in people years these days. She came into my life nearly 15 years ago, a tiny kitten with a giant voice, 4 weeks old and dragging a broken leg. That was 6 cities, 5 jobs, 2 degrees and 1 marriage ago. She's the last survivor of a clowder of 6 cats. She was always the baby of the family, just a teeny bit s-p-o-i-l-e-d. Now that she's an only cat, she's my little shadow. Wherever I go, she's right there at my side or on my lap or at my feet or on the back of the couch behind my head. She still gets around very well on her crooked leg.

Quite early this morning I was having trouble sleeping, so I turned on the light to read for a bit. The Princess stood up from the foot of the bed, but when she tried to walk up for a snuggle, her back end gave out and she just kind of collapsed onto the bed. She didn't seem to be in any distress; in fact, she was purring like crazy. But it was like a knife in my heart. I am already very careful with her jumping up onto and down from things (I lift her whenever I can, and leave little stepstools around to make it easier for her to reach her favorite places). But my fear is that one of these days, that old injury or some other illness is going to flare up with a vengeance.

Like I said, she didn't seem a bit distressed. I figured any bad news could certainly wait a few more hours for dawn to break, so I scooted down next to her and we had some nice quiet time. No reason to hurry the bad news and give up our peacefulness. Worried as I was, I eventually dozed off. And when it was time to get up, the Princess bounced up, her usual perky self, without any sign that she'd had a problem. Even tonight she is zipping around, celebrating the spring breezes by scampering from room to room with her tail straight up in the air.

Maybe her foot just went to sleep. Maybe she was just groggy herself, and the uneven surface of the quilt was too difficult to navigate. Whatever happened, I will be keeping a doubly careful watch on her now. And I will be doubly sure not to take her cozy company and her good health for granted.

That wake-up call--and the foreboding that came with it--weren't for me this time. But the message got through, loud and clear. I don't think we can ever spend too much time with those we love.

Truck Day, Etc.

(photo credit)

It's Truck Day in the Red Sox Nation, of which I am a member by birth. I was a Boston fan back when rooting for the Sox was like rooting for the hero in a Greek tragedy: no matter how well things were going, it was only a matter of time before the misery showed up. Even so, baseball--specifically the fortunes of the Red Sox--was and is my greatest bond with my father.

Now baseball is a strong bond with C.S., too. After all, we met at a baseball game, and our first words to each other involved how he came by the awesome scorebook he was using. With Valentine's Day right around the corner (is it a coincidence that Spring Training opens right around February 14th each year? I think not), let me go on the record as saying I'm really glad we met and that we have baseball, as well as books, in common.

And so Earth begins to turn back toward the sun. Things start to grow again after the long pause and hidden work of winter. The breeze lightens, the weather warms, and the next thing you know, somewhere nearby you can hear the distinctive sounds of batting practice and games of catch.

Time to start checking the schedules, reserving some days off from work, and pondering what kind of sunscreen to buy this year. Ah, spring!