Saturday is my traditional sleep-in day, but I woke at 6:00 with my head full of dreams, and got up to write them down. For weeks I haven't really remembered them, just the fuzziest outline and sometimes one detail (the night before I wrote in my dream journal "A flimsy tray, a shoddy paint job when viewed up close."). Last night's was one of those satisfying dreams that went on and on, involved flooding and long conversations and an Eastern European city and twins and adventures.
Gray November beach with Clover, early — one of my favorite kinds of beach. She played with many dogs, even big, bouncy puppies, and was only ready to leave when she heard a distant scary sound (blasting? Morning fireworks?).
I wish you could see how sleepy the sky is already now, at 4:15 pm, how tired the branches of the trees are in my neighborhood, still shedding gold and brown leaves. The only thing that's missing is crows! Where did they go?
"Asteroid Day was co-founded in 2014, by Dr. Brian May, astrophysicist and lead guitarist of QUEEN."
Other items of note:
Adam walked over for dinner last night, and I made a delicious low-FODMAP meal (one food left to test, and it's APPLE). My brother walked over for dinner last night.
It is a teenage lifeguard's job to show up for work before 7am (how early? 6?) so he can shyly ask middle-aged ladies with dogs if they could possibly come back in 8 minutes (when they say dogs allowed on the beach from 7-9, they mean it).
As I was driving home from the beach, a woman on a scooter flew through a stop sign and screeched to a halt, almost hitting my car, dropping her scooter. I hazard-lighted, jumped out, and helped her pick the scooter up. She had on platform sandals and light khaki pants, and they were barely smudged from the fall. She promised she was okay. It was definitely her mistake, but in retrospect I worried that she thought I'd run the stop sign. (Reader, I did not.)
I am fasting for fasting blood work in about an hour, and I am hungry. I am also a dumbdumb: why didn't I schedule it for 8:00 instead of 10:00?
On the beach, a sweet puppy named Townes, browned butter-colored with patches of white, a white heart on top of his head. "My boyfriend just learned to play Pancho and Lefty on his guitar," said the puppy's person. "That song makes me cry," I said, my eyes welling with tears.
I raked leaves all weekend, revealing sweet-smelling dirt and the surviving crocuses just barely peeking through the earth (the ones the squirrels didn't eat in the fall). A cluster of tiny green shoots had exploded with purple blossoms by the end of the day, like magic.
Someone in my elderly next door neighbor's house was playing the violin. I couldn't hear it, but I could see through the window.
I took off my jacket! Ate my lunch in the yard! Even made an afternoon iced coffee! Fifty-five fucking degrees!!
Spooky old-time children summoning the devil in the park near my house. "Fessenden Park, 1938" (1938). Neighborhoods - Portland Press Herald Still Film Negatives
Oh hi, I didn't see you there. Coup? What coup?
We went to the beach yesterday with plans to meet a dog friend (actually two dog friends and one human friend). It was a bright, brilliant, 38 degree day in January, and the tide was low, low, low. As we approached the normally (in winter) empty parking lot, the heavy traffic alerted us to the fact that we were not the only people who had decided to go to the beach. Reader, there were so many people there. Like, a 90-degree-summer-day amount of people. I actually don't think I've witnessed that many humans in one geographical area since March 2020. Luckily, the beach was enormous, due to the low, low, low tide I mentioned. We were spectacularly distanced from the other humans, and we had a lovely time walking and walking on the beach. Mark has a new (to him) Apple watch, and it informed us that between our morning Eastern Promenade promenade and our beach saunter, we walked 17,000 steps.
Clover hadn't met these dog friends before, and they got along great. They ran and dug and smiled. One of them found a stunningly large pile of discarded Doritos on the beach and later threw up on my shoe.
I accidentally left my phone at home on this morning's beach walk, always a good thing after the initial panic (long ago, before my first iPhone, I imagined a world where all of us would have smart phones that weren't accessories, but required devices, like a remote control that was necessary for us to function. Like when you lose the TV remote and can't remember how to make it do anything using just the buttons on it?).
Always a good thing, but not pictured:
A snowy owl, a huge lady* that looked like this, perched atop of the chimney of a beach house, basking in the sun.
Five horses, with riders, strolling down the beach. Not strolling — what do horses do that's slower than a trot? That. Clover was investigating their presence, sniffing their hoof prints in the sand, long before we finally saw them. She was so good, sitting reverently as she watched them go by.
Also, why are horses allowed to poop at will on the beach and no one scoops? Is horse poop, like cow poop, more quickly composted and less...bad...than dog poop? I could Google this, obviously, but choose not to.
That feeling when you turn back after walking miles along the beach, and the spot you came from never seems to get any closer, and at some point you realize it's fine, what could be a lovelier purgatory than walking forever on a beach with the sun shining and brisk wind and your best dog and best person beside you?
That feeling when you get back to the rocky spot you passed an hour earlier and realize the tide's come in too high and you're going to have to retrace your steps for a mile, exit the beach, and follow the road back to your car. BUT THEN you see the snowy owl again, moved to another sunny spot, and you run into the annual Christmas bird count folks* too. And everyone's waving Happy New Year from yards away.
And we made it to 2021, which is something! Clover rang in the New Year from the basement, where for some mysterious reason she skittered off around 10:30pm. When I got up I thought she had come back to bed in the night and was still there with Mark. She scared the crap out of me emerging from the dark when I was getting cat food out of the pantry.
I have zero cause for complaint. I'm extremely superstitious about mentioning this, but my loved ones are safe and healthy.
But here I go: this is the year in which a predicted snowstorm is likely to cancel Isaac and Edna's scheduled COVID-19 test tomorrow. They also have a test today, but they will have to wait longer for its results, and they're waiting in a generously donated—but very cold—space. This is the year that is keeping most of my beloveds, including my sweetest girl, far away.
Lucky: to have a kid who could drive here, to have a friend who would offer his empty house for isolating. To have enough money to feed ourselves and also buy out the frozen section of Trader Joe's for said kid's quarantine. To have a warm puppy and a warm catfriend and lights on a perfect little tree and batteries for window candles and a tube of almond paste for macaroons in the meantime. To have a car WITH HEATED SEATS and a beach ten minutes away, to walk in the cold wrapped in a warm coat.
Things I observed recently:
Crows congregating in a circle, something happening in the middle, but what?
A man wearing bright yellow trousers smoking a pipe over his lowered mask.
A sweet pit bull in a sweater gazing up earnestly at me, a loving, begging face.
Clover at a loss, looking like she forgot something, searching for Mark across the beach, on a day we'd gone without him.
A police car running a red light, no lights or sirens on, just coasting slowly, brazenly through it.
One lone bird trapped inside Trader Joe's (I keep thinking and worrying about this bird, days later).
Running on the beach the other morning with Mark and Zoë, who outpaced me, and Clover, who ran back and forth between the three of us, I wished I had my phonecamera. There was thick fog, and it was lovely seeing them gradually vanish into it in the distance. Plus, plovers everywhere, the water, the dunes. But it's awkward to fit a phone in the pocket of my running pants* (pockets are full of empty poop bags and dog treats anyway), and freeing to be free of it for a while.
We ran and walked and ran and so did Clover, stopping to sniff other dogs occasionally and run in circles with them. We stretched afterward on the sand and breathed in the fog and the sound of the waves and gulls, lucky lucky lucky.
Today, my favorite thing was the poodle with the mohawk. And my least favorite thing was the guy on Congress Street with the sign that said
Reminding myself of the chill I got the first time I got a New York Times breaking news email that was coronavirus-related but didn't specifically mention coronavirus. The assumption that 100% of everybody knew exactly what they were referring to. And then a Portland Press Herald headline: NEW CASES SURGE. Just the fact that there was no need to specify cases of WHAT. Isaac ventured out to the grocery store for the first time in a while, and he wore his suit to do it. It was an event. I've been going the opposite route, hair scraped into a ponytail for maximum mask ease. Gray mask. For a while I was carefully applying mascara before I went into the world, because we're all 100% eyeballs now, but the last few times I didn't even do that. It's all about comfort, and pockets for keeping my debit card handy. Last time I went to Hannaford, I got carded for my tiny box of cooking wine, and I had to scrabble around in search of my wallet and then rifle through it for my driver's license (these masks, they hamper downward peripheral vision, have you noticed?). The whole time I was thinking Really? Do you see these eyeballs? I'm fifty-two goddamn years old and I'm buying 12 ounces of bad white wine. We've had some days warm enough to open the windows, and it's made this whole situation feel a little easier, although from the look of things it's also made people feel like it's probably fine if they meet up with friends and stand close together, and in the case of my cigar-smoking neighbor, smoke stinky cigars en masse, defiantly. Even Isaac and Edna can't stay away from Christian, who comes by in his sharp outfits (brightly colored jackets and crazy shoes, velvet and suede and satin) so they can take long, socially-distanced walks together and sit, spaced apart, in the back yard. Gus has stayed with us long enough to celebrate his eighth birthday! He naps so deeply these days, buried deep enough in sleep that I have to put a hand on his side to make sure he's breathing. At night, he snores more loudly than ever. He's taken to eating dirt sometimes, seeming a tiny bit confused at others, but mostly he's still 100% Gus. I took little Clover to the beach this morning. I like to think that we both looked at this cottage and dreamed of living there, a step away from the sand, with the constant sound of wind and waves.
(Updated to add links) Oh I keep meaning to write something here, but I find myself scribbling in a journal instead (literally, scribbling little sketches of stuff, i.e. dogs, as well as writing words and lists and so on). Here's what's been happening in my house/life:
Isaac and Edna are here, in limbo as they wait to learn how online instruction will work for the remainder of their semesters. It's a bizarre, sad way for Isaac's undergraduate career to end.
Even after searching the stores for flour in a frenzy, once Mark had come home, victorious, with a bag from Whole Foods, it took me a few days to decide what I wanted to bake and to actually start baking. Here's what we've made so far:
Socca, eaten with two friend eggs on top (chickpea flour required)
No-knead bread (this is rising right now, and if it works out we'll eat it with this soup tonight)
Isaac whipped up some focaccia last night, topped with rosemary and flaky salt
It was a more innocent time.
Good things:
Bare footprints in the sand on the beach
A V of Canadian geese flying north overhead
Clover in her new bed, looking like she's asleep in the arms of a stuffed animal
The calming properties of a piece of buttered toast
A video of a man playing Moonlight Sonata on a piano for an elderly elephant's listening pleasure
And finally, notes on getting a massage, which I jotted down over a week ago, which now feels like the distant past (when will we be able to do things like get a haircut or a massage again?): It sure is weird right now, at this moment in history, to be doing something that involves a stranger putting their hands all over your body.
Walking on the beach this morning, I coveted certain shingled, modest cottages (million dollar cottages, right on the beach, but otherwise modest). Just imagine waking up every morning and smelling the ocean, hearing the waves. Walking the dogs on the beach right out the back door...in my pajamas!
But every so often there's a newer, bigger, seriously ticky tacky house. Sometimes sort of castle-esque. Kind of a beachside McMansion type house. Which makes me wonder if the people ever stand on the beach, looking at the contrast of their house and the others, and think, "Does this house make me look like an asshole?"
Tomato? Hmm. Actually, do you have any other flavors of ketchup?
I live in a house with two fluffy animals, and as I have no little kids and am obligated from a wish to live a long life (and procrastination) to jump up every 45 minutes or so from actual billable work and do some other activity (which might also include making myself an iced coffee, washing breakfast dishes, cleaning something, pulling weeds, and of course futzing around on Facebook or whatever), I actually brush them both daily. Many times daily, and Mark does, too. Gus especially is just molting this summer, and Theo's coat is doing something weird where it suddenly feels matted but then you realize you can grab the chunk of "matted" hair and just pull it out all in a satisfying clump. Oh, the sweaters and sweaters I could've knitted from these two, if only I knitted and would ever do such a thing.
So when it's really hot it's nice because cat and dog hair just kind of floats around in the air and sticks to your sweaty face and body.
I have vacuumed up bags and bags of my boys so far this summer. I am so glad that Zoë, girl of All the Allergies, isn't here right at this very moment to be breathing in hair and dander.*
Gus: molting, and also defending his territory, which extends as far as his eye can see. His other Pyrenees thing is an underlying firmness in sticking to his own decisions about what to do, regardless of what some person might be instructing him to do (or not do). He's just so cheerful about it, it's honestly hard to get mad. The other day, Mark called him to come out of the water at 8:55, five minutes before the beach becomes Humans Only. Gus decided, "Nope." Instead, he waded, up to his armpits in the ocean, back and forth, pretending not to hear his name, gazing sideways at Mark from time to time, for an additional ten minutes. Hey, it was hot out!
Other funny Gus thing: if I say to him, "Where's the Master?" he goes looking for or running to Mark, all excited. If I say, "Is that your Master?" Gus gazes lovingly at Mark. Mark kind of hates the "Master" thing, but I'm just continuing a family tradition starting with this cartoon. I speculate that Gus thinks of me as "that nice lady who lives with Master and me."
I hereby give you permission to cheer yourself up, on occasion, with whatever form of ice cream makes you happy, by the way.
Banana splits, tra la la.
Or...
Soft serve as big as your face? Sure!
*She is in Switzerland this weekend, presenting at a conference, matter of fact. Back to Mysore on Sunday!
Cold rain, damp dogs, birds in the blue-gray sky. It's the kind of Monday that keeps tempting you, all day long, to take a nap.
And then there's work, and tea, and laundry to fold and rough spots on the kitchen wall that need to be sanded, just one more time, before we can finally paint. Because paint comes first, and then the ceiling, and then the tile... Don't you worry, one of these days there will be some visible change in there and I will take a picture of it!
Missing my babies. It's only a week and a half until Thanksgiving break, though.
We love the fog. Well, Mark and I do--this guy loves everything.
Here are some of his dog pals. Don't they look like characters in a children's book about a bunch of dogs? One of these days I'll actually write that book...
I get to live in a place where the sky comes in colors like this! That stripe of blue, that blue. The silver sky, the silver-gray ocean. There's a lighthouse in this picture, for heaven's sake.
And yet, politically it's feeling yucky here in Maine--here in this country I suppose. Assuming Vermont stays Vermonty, with single payer health care coming and everything, my dreamy browsing of little farm houses has moved in that direction. It's kind of my second choice, aesthetically, of the Perfect Place.
Like this house, for example:
But mostly I'm trying to be here, right now, where I am.
Back home by the ocean, and a morning with the sky pebbled with these funny clouds. The beach was tiny, the tide as high as it could be, and six big dogs frolicked and splashed and played with a buoy (can you get more Maine than that?). Mark and I voted, which is always fun. My fingers are crossed. I keep imagining the sad result of four more years of our dreadful, mean-spirited, potty-mouthed governor. It might mean we really and truly find some way to move to Vermont.
It's a shivery, blustery day. The kind of day a person might think, "Some people live in the desert. Some people live in Florida. Some people live places where spring starts to show its face in February, where flowering trees are what March is all about." I'll admit, I feel a little complainy today as I watch the flurrying snow blow sideways past the window and huddle in my warmest wooliest sweater wishing we had more pellets for the stove. Drinking so much tea, for the hot cup in my hands.
A few days ago I bought flowers at Trader Joe's,* and after I put my groceries in the car and returned my cart, I came back and didn't recognize my car because there were flowers in it.
If you look carefully--really carefully--at the photo above, you can see there's a cat in it.
*Also, I had my favorite cashier at TJ's, the one who finds any excuse he can to give you a high five.
He waited for friends on the beach this morning, but it was just so cold. First there were some dogs that are a little standoffish (to them, he's just a pup, and they growl a warning when they see him galumphing toward them). Then he was overjoyed to see a real puppy he's met before, but she was just leaving and he only had a chance to tumble and roll her across the sand for about five minutes. Also, her owner said, "Oh, Gus. We know Gus. He likes to hump her."
Did I mention how cold it was? Better twenty minutes of beach than no beach at all, I say.
Did I mention that I'm on a doctor-prescribed diet in an attempt to cure my irritable innards? No, I'm sure I didn't because that is the most boring subject ever in the whole history of the world. I am trying to look at it all glass-half-full, but I can't help but note that many of the things I can't eat right now are the things that sustain me, normally: garlic, onions, beans, soy, wheat, honey, apples, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cabbage, cauliflower, mushrooms... Yep, pretty bad. I only mention it because I had a funny dream that involved the Wii game Just Dance, some characters from American Horror Story: COVEN, and me devouring a falafel sandwich like an animal. I mean, just shoving it in my mouth, gobbling it so fast that by the time, in my dream, that I realized I was eating at least two forbidden foods (wheat, chickpeas), it was far too late.
