On Solstice, Greg built a successful fire; Christina made it magical with the addition of colors; M and J and I all oohed and aahed appropriately. We all, I think, appreciated the evening and the weather and the colors and the light, while we laughed about the pieces of paper we were burning. Sticky notes instead of origami, but the symbolism remained the same. A metaphorical burning of the dead past, releasing the regrets and the grief and the anger; a kindling of a living future, inspiration and hope and wishes for positive change and transformation.

One wouldn’t want to toast marshmallows over that fire, but it was lovely for gazing into and thinking profound thoughts of the future and past.

A highlight of the evening was the opossum who visited, sending the dogs into such major derangement mode that they had to be put inside, so the opossum could placidly wander the fence line. The opossum flat-out did not care about the dog hysteria or the people taking photos.

This opossum did not care about us at all.

Post-Solstice, we held Early Christmas and it was the first time I’ve had a classic Christmas in… a long time. Christina called at 5:45AM to say Christmas was beginning so Sophie, J and I hopped in the car — we were all awake already! — and joined C, G, Riker, and M for present opening, breakfast, and stockings.

The dogs got presents, too, of course. Sophie’s favorite is a big alligator.

If I am so fortunate as to have another Christmas with the same excellent companions, I am going to have to step up my present game, because wow. My favorites were not the biggest: C gave me a magnet that says, “It took me halfway through to realize my life story has an unreliable narrator,” which I adore, and G gave me a candle labelled, “Smells Like a Best-selling Novel” (that actually smells like the ocean), which ditto the adoration. (Also cookies, a game, socks, candy, a t-shirt, a Disney MagicBand+, eyeshadow… an abundance of unwrapping fun!) And J basically listened every time I mentioned missing something left behind in California or needing something in our current kitchen, and gave me all of it: cookie sheets and salt scrub and small bowls and a microwave popcorn popper. I gave him a book. A good book, that I think he’ll enjoy, but yeah. Fingers crossed that I’ll have a chance to do better next year!

For breakfast, J made a delicious GF cross between a quiche and a shepherd’s pie, and G made home-made GF bagels that were the best bagels I’ve had since a trip to NYC in 2017. Mmm, I want one now. Maybe for lunch, because I might even have the ingredients (flour and Greek yogurt, basically).

My bagels, so delicious.

In the evening, my dad and step-mom joined us for an extremely classic Christmas dinner: prime rib, mashed potatoes, green beans, cassava rolls (which are the best GF crescent rolls I’ve ever eaten), and two types of pie. I ate way, way too much — I’m pretty sure I was five pounds heavier the next morning — but I enjoyed every bite.

It felt like Christmas was over, but actually, it was yet to begin.

On Christmas Eve, I sat next to my dad for the candlelight service at his church, listening to the sound of his voice — so familiar — as we sang the same Christmas hymns I’ve been singing with him since I was a child. On the other side of me, my step-nephews tried to smother their out-of-nowhere giggles while they took turns poking one another with pens. I would never have predicted that moment: I will remember it forever, with gratitude that I got to experience it.

And on Christmas Day, with Christmas officially over, J and G and C and I played games and ate gluten-free pizza all day long. Seriously. All Day Long. I had pre-made the pizza crusts from a new-to-me recipe site, and we took turns making pizzas with them, so mine was goat cheese, tomatoes, basil, and spinach, while J’s was sausage, mushrooms, and onion and G’s… well, okay, I forget. The crusts were not as good as Christina’s Brazilian cheese bread pizza crusts, but they were a lot easier to make. I think the recipe maybe gets the timing of the cooking a little wrong — I’m going to be experimenting with longer & lower times & heat — but I suspect that I will enjoy every experiment. And I’m definitely going to try other recipes from that site, too.

J’s pizza, because I forgot to take a picture of mine. I was too eager to eat it!

As for the games, I think the best was Abducktion, which we only played once, but which I’d like to play again. We also played Tokaido, which was… pleasant? I enjoyed it, but I don’t think any of us are going to be rushing to play it again. Our third game was the Princess Bride game and it was long, fun, and probably aimed at a younger, less strategic audience. We had only one moment where losing seemed even remotely within the realm of possibility, and even then we course-corrected quickly and wound up with an efficient win. I can think of a couple ways that we could make it more challenging if we wanted to play again, but I think the chances that we will are probably pretty low. We still have a couple new games that we didn’t even get to try so there’s another game day in our future. Yay! (Links are affiliate links, because I’m trying to up my blogging game.) 

Speaking of upping my blogging game, I’ve been spending a lot of time researching social media and marketing in the past few weeks. I got to Florida two months ago, thinking that I would find myself a “real” job, given my need to pay real rent. I started looking and fairly quickly realized that maybe ten years of self-employment, spent more or less 24/7 with an extremely active dog, wasn’t setting me up well for a routine 9-5. I mean, I think Walmart would probably hire me — I’m not unemployable — but what it would cost me in doggie day care for Sophie would probably equal my paycheck. Example, I could be a dog-training apprentice at PetCo for $12/hour, while spending $33 to keep Sophie busy. Um, probably not efficient.

And then once I’m back to sitting in my room at my computer all day… well, doesn’t it make sense to do something that I will enjoy? Feel good about? Obviously, it also needs to be something that will pay the aforementioned rent and ideally set me up for a more secure future, but I think I’m more suited to being an entrepreneur than an employee. So I’m spending my work days mostly learning right now, with a lot of contemplating of my options and planning for the future. It won’t change this blog — this is going to stay entirely personal, my own record of my memories of my life — but my business blog might get more active with publishing related posts, and… well, I’ve got some other ideas, too. But I’m not quite ready to write about them yet. I’m feeling optimistic and cheerful, though. Eating my vegetables, being strict about bedtime rules, and trying to walk more, too. Those things are connected, I know!

I’m planning to post again on New Year’s — the classic looking back/looking forward post — but if I don’t get it together in time, I wanted to thank you for reading — as I close out 2023, I’m so grateful to know that you’re rooting for me!

Have a very, very happy New Year!

 

Things I’ve done in the past ten days: visited the Magic Kingdom, wrote with my friend J, hung out with my friend L which included going out for Mexican food with Sophie, listened to Christmas music at my dad’s, ate shaved ice at a downtown Sanford food truck event, went to the local writer’s group (excellent, again!), had a delicious gingerbread latte from G, tried a couple new grocery stores (still searching for the right one), and played a lot of ball in the backyard with Miss Sunshine. Like, a lot.

Things I have not done: written anything worthwhile.

I bought a book from Amazon recently, called, “Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times”  (<-affiliate link), and I have barely started it, but I think I might be wintering. Conversely, I might just be dealing with some seasonal and situational depression. Or perhaps it’s a little of both.

Things I am doing: eating my vegetables, pushing myself to take walks, working on setting myself up for sleep success. The last is still the hardest, made newly more challenging by sharing a house with other people who live on different schedules. The beep of the microwave at midnight is almost the only way I know that one of my housemates is still living here — he and I are on completely different schedules. I assume he can hear the sounds of me making coffee at 5:30AM, and wishes he couldn’t. So it goes. I do try to be quiet, and I think he does, too, but it’s a small house.

More things I am doing: pushing myself to get out, pushing myself to reach out to people, contemplating possibilities for my future. And really trying hard not to worry or ruminate. I had a slight setback on the ruminating when Suzanne sent a package to my brother’s house; he forwarded it on to me and it turned out to be a plastic bag containing old earrings of mine that I’d given her when I decided I was not going to wear earrings anymore. And a rock. Um… ??? Yeah. I have no idea. I’m trying not to ruminate about it anymore, helped by my housemate saying, “Well, that’s weird!” when I told him. Right! I thought so, too! I guess I needed the validation, ha.

The Magic Kingdom was fun. And also hard. I spent so much time there with R when he was little. Adult R probably doesn’t even remember most of our time there — he would have been too young — but we used to go straight to the Dole whip place and have pineapple ice cream for breakfast, then up the Swiss Family Robinson treehouse, which he loved. Eventually, we’d make our way to Tom Sawyer Island. He didn’t like rides much until he was six or so — or maybe five, just turning six? I went to a conference in Orlando in October 2001, and afterwards spent a couple days with R at the parks. We camped at the campground in my parents’ RV, and rode around on a golf cart, visiting all the different playgrounds and swimming pools. That year Disney was empty (9/11 had happened about six weeks earlier and people still weren’t flying) and we had a day in the Magic Kingdom where we went on ALL the rides. On Goofy’s Barnstormer, the little kid roller coaster, we went three times in a row. After our second time around, the person running the ride just let us stay in our seats and ride again. I would guess that R doesn’t remember that at all. I do, though.

By happenstance, though, my day at the Magic Kingdom coincided with the visits of two sets of… well, people in t-shirts. The folks in the red t-shirts were there with the Gary Sinise Foundation’s Fallen Warriors project. In other words, they’d lost a loved one in the military. The folks in the green t-shirts were with Make-a-Wish. There were a lot of red shirts, not so many green, but plenty of both, potent reminders that loss is part of life, and that we’re all allowed to be happy and have fun despite our losses.

Still, Florida in general is far more filled with reminders of R than California was, unsurprisingly, and so I’m experiencing those feelings of loss again. Which isn’t to imply that I’m not always experiencing them in some way, but they’re more intense here. It’s the holidays, too, of course. Grief is always more pronounced this time of year, no matter how much you think you’ve recovered. The last couple of years, S & I did a solstice ceremony of lighting a flame and burning origami cranes and snakes, representing the things we were hoping for and letting go of, which I guess will be a reminder of loss now, too, if I try to continue it on my own. I might anyway, though.

Moving on!

The holiday event at my dad’s included live music, tons of people in colorful sweaters, Christmas cookies and candy canes, a nativity scene with live goats and a cranky baby, an angel moving in slow-motion, Victorian carolers… but also a Grinch, I guess for the people who weren’t quite in the holiday spirit. I am doing my best to get in the holiday spirit, helped by lots of plans for upcoming fun events, a real Christmas tree for the first time in eight years, a Harry Potter advent calendar that my housemate is sharing with me, and presents needing to be wrapped. And I’m not going to be a Grinch. I’m going to be grateful for all that is good, eat my vegetables, take good walks, and get plenty of sleep.

J, my new housemate, told me I was a good influence the other day. I laughed, and simultaneously cringed. My immediate internal reaction was something like, “Oh, no, I’m so boring!” That was not what he meant, I know, but I’ve thought a lot about it since. I’ve also written a lot about it since, but I keep deleting everything I write. Apparently my feelings on the subject are quite complicated.

That being so, how about a post with a lot of pictures?

I’ve always had a tendency toward indecision leading to inertia when it comes to things like putting up photographs, but I’ve been really determined to make my new room cozy and homey. My two recent additions:

The big nesting event of the weekend:

On Friday night, Sophie and I went to downtown Sanford’s Christmas tree lighting event, with Christina, Greg, and J. That was fun, although the music was surprisingly… okay, well, a polite word might be jazzy, but the honest word would be Muzak-y.

Afterwards, we went and hung out on the patio of a nearby bar, and planned future fun events, like a trip to the Magic Kingdom (taking place tomorrow), and a game-movie-pizza day for later in the month. Sophie roamed a little, but mostly hung out by the table, peaceful but alert. It was so nice to be sitting outside, on the first day of December, with my most lightweight hoodie tied around my waist because it was too hot for it.

Apart from some pictures of food, that about covers it for my photographic adventures of the past week or so. In life without photos, I also got to hang out with my friend Joyce one night — we wrote, but also visited thrift stores — plus I went to small business Saturday in downtown Sanford, plus the farmer’s market, plus… hmm, maybe that’s it. Well, plenty of walks with Sophie around the neighborhood and a lot of time in the backyard throwing the ball. I’ve been researching local jobs and thinking a lot about what I want to be doing with my life. But that’s getting into “good influence” territory again, and I have literally been working on this blog post all day long — it’s now 7:20 PM! — so I’ll save those thoughts for later.

Tomorrow, the Magic Kingdom!

Wednesday, back to Cici. I swear I will get her out of the pickle she’s in someday. Someday!

 

 

 

I spent a good long while last week struggling to find out why pieces of my website were breaking. The commenting feature had been misbehaving for weeks — I couldn’t even leave comments myself without getting error messages! — and the RSS feed had stopped working sometime in August.

Unfortunately, there were no flashing red lights on the dashboard, saying, “This! Here! This is what’s gone bad!” Even the error codes weren’t much use. Eventually, though, I found a Q&A from around five years ago that attributed the specific error code I was getting to a plug-in problem, so I started deleting plug-ins. This is… well, undesirable. My web site is not fancy, so all the plug-ins that I use are serving a purpose. I did eventually find the one that was causing the problem (I think), and uninstalled it, so fingers crossed I’m done with that waste of time.

Sadly, if the problems continue, the only plug-in left to delete is the one that lets me send posts via email. It would be nice if I could save the addresses, and reinstall either that plug-in or some other that does the same thing, but if you’re used to getting my posts in your in-box and you stop hearing from me for… well, some length of time greater than a couple weeks, because I do try to post every week… you might want to come back to the actual blog and see if you need to subscribe again.

It did feel like a waste of time, too. I tried to convince myself that my blog is useful! Fun! An important part of my business model (hahaha)! But it’s closer to a waffle-maker than a car in terms of practicality. No one needs waffles. They’re just kinda nice sometimes. Whereas if your car breaks…

Speaking of cars, we had some torrential rain several days ago. If I’d been in Serenity, it would have been one of the fun maraca days, where I felt like I was living in a musical instrument because the rain made such a powerful set of rhythms on the roof. As it was, I mostly ignored it, and never once, not even for the slightest half-second, did I wonder, “Hey, did I open the back car windows for Sophie when I last drove the car? Could I have left them open?”

That was a mistake.

Yes, I could have left the windows open. Yes, I did leave them open!

There were puddles in the car. Literal puddles. The mats on the floor of the back seat were full-ish, the little receptacles by the door handles on the interior of the doors were overflowing. Ugh.

Fortunately, my housemate, J, found me a tiny space heater, a long extension cord, and a bunch of towels, and I spent the greater part of a day drying out the car. I was nervous enough for the first hour or so that I checked on it every ten minutes, but as it became clear that I was not going to set the car on fire, I’d give it a half an hour at a time or so, and then move the space heater to a new location. It worked surprisingly well, actually. The car is dry and there is no smell of mildew, whew.

Still, what a waste of time! Also a waste of time — the literal twenty minutes I spent reading about the parts of car doors, trying to figure out what the heck those receptacles are for and/or actually called.

But moving on, I read a fantastic book this weekend. Not a waste of time, at all: Reasons to Stay Alive, by Matt Haig. (That’s an affiliate link, since I have recently been reminded of the impracticality of my blog.)

It is probably not for everyone. But if you struggle with depression and/or know and love someone who struggles with depression, it is a combination of a memoir about depression and a self-help-ish guide to recovery from depression. It’s definitely more his personal story and his personal advice then anything overly prescriptive: his advice on drugs is basically ‘if it works for you, you should do it, but I didn’t go that route,’ which obviously resonates with me, since I also haven’t chosen that route. But I picked it up mostly because I’ve been researching how exactly people go about writing memoirs, having been struggling with my own for a year now, and yet once I started reading, I just kept going. A totally worthwhile use of time, IMO.

And now I’m going to try to use some more time in a worthwhile way and get back to Cici. I’ve been super stuck and I finally realized while walking Sophie this morning where my wrong turn came about and how to fix it. So nice to have a plan instead of just a blank accusing page in front of me!

… a tiny little Sanford story.

I took Sophie to the downtown farmer’s market. Lots of people, lots of sunshine, lots of other dogs. She was being her usual delightful self, a little curious, a little bouncy, but very good in a crowded place. We were waiting in line at the hummus stand (excellent hummus), behind a guy with a dog that was probably a yellow lab, maybe mixed with some golden retriever. Not the super fluffy kind of golden, but a nice-looking dog, who was also waiting patiently.

A young woman walking by spotted the dog ahead of us in line, and crooned to him, “Aren’t you the cutest thing ever?”

I cleared my throat.

She glanced over at me, looked down at Sophie who was looking back at her, head cocked, turned back to the yellow lab, and said, apologetically. “I’m so sorry. You’re the second cutest thing ever. Which is still very cute!”

I laughed, the guy with the yellow lab laughed, she laughed, and on we all went with our days.

But days later, it still makes me smile.

A hawk was sitting in the tree in the front yard when we left for our walk the other day. It didn’t bother to move when I tried to photograph it, just stared at me disdainfully. 

Down the street, a vulture was snacking on a dead opossum. It didn’t bother to move, either, even though it was on the ground. It wasn’t wrong, though. I was certainly not getting close to it, and even Sophie was wary enough to keep her distance. Vultures are pretty big, really.

Later that same day, I opened the back door of the car, and a tiny frog was perched in the frame. I shooed him away without taking a photo, but belatedly realized the set of three would make a terrific little Florida slideshow. This is what it’s like to live in Florida: hawks in the Spanish moss, vultures and opossums on the street, frogs living in your car.

Sophie’s favorites are the squirrels and the lizards, though. I think the first time she ever saw a squirrel was at my brother’s house in PA — she followed it across the street without even hesitating at the side of the road, proving, alas, that I am not sexier than a squirrel. Since then she’s gotten better, but she still loves to chase them. IMO, they’re way too complacent about her. They flip their tails at her and chitter, which is fine, but sometimes they sit on the ground and yell at her, which I really think is probably a big mistake on their part. So far they’ve been lucky, but if she can catch one, she will.

Yesterday, we went downtown with friends and hung out at a sidewalk cafe for a while. People were setting up for an event later in the afternoon, so there were food trucks and live music and lots of people wandering around. It was fun to sit at the cafe with her and watch the world go by. I was pretty charmed by the number of people who reached down and rubbed her ears with barely a pause in their own walking. Like her ears were just a magnet for their hands, no conscious volition involved.

She was pretty good for an hour or so, but she got increasingly antsy, putting her paws up on my leg, and staring at me imploringly, and finally I decided maybe it was just too loud for her. We headed home, on foot, but had barely gotten more than a block away when she found a patch of grass with obvious relief. Oh! I am impressed, I think, that she defines “sidewalk cafe” as “inappropriate pee spot.” I would have thought outside was outside, but not so much for her. Grass is required.

Last week, I was a little worried that she was sick — she seemed very low energy to me. But if she was, she’s recovered, because I’ve had to hide the balls again. Today was almost five miles of walking, plus two stints of ball-throwing, of at least half an hour each. And if she can find a ball, she’ll bring it to me and suggest we play some more. All the playing, all the time.

We are not quite in our groove yet — little bits of a routine are starting to take shape, but I’m still feeling not quite settled. Example: I haven’t really figured out where I’m getting my groceries. In the past ten days, I’ve been to Costco, BJ’s, Aldi, Target, Save-A-Lot, Walmart, Winn-Dixie, and Fancy Fruit & Produce, all of which had things I wanted, none of which had all the things I wanted. I don’t want to have to go to half a dozen stores to find my staple foods, which maybe means settling into some new staple foods. But I don’t know what that looks like yet. No more pupusas or smoked salmon from Costco (too far away, the drive doesn’t make sense), no more GF bread from Arise, no more fresh eggs, but what will I be eating instead? So far, a lot of veggie hash, which, yay, good for me, very healthy, but also, bah, there’s only so much veggie hash one can eat. I’ll figure it out, I’m sure, but I haven’t quite gotten there yet. Still, it’s only been three weeks. It’s kinda weird sharing a kitchen with gluten-eaters, too. I’m trying to be careful, but it’s only a matter of time before I forget and wind up with a cross-contamination reaction. No big deal, of course, a gluten reaction isn’t fatal to me, just annoying. But I do prefer to avoid it if I can.

I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time today browsing time tracking tools and writer apps. I’m trying to convince the BBE to build me the perfect time tracking writer app, one that’s a lot like Highland 2, without all the screenplay writing focus. I want it to include the word counting, the sprint timer, the bin, and the notes, but I’d really rather not have to learn a new set of markup tools. I hate things that have the “oh, it’s so simple, you just have to remember that an equals sign means you’re writing a synopsis and that a synopsis is the same as a note and that if you want to start a new chapter, you should use a hash tag, but use more hashtags if you want smaller headings and the double bracket tool…” Um, no. Just stop now. Simplicity was gone as soon as I started having to remember symbols instead of words. But I would really, really like a writing app/time tracking app that let me have timed sprints and word-count reports, that sounds so handy.

Should I have spent all that time actually writing instead? Oh, probably. But I am making progress! I’d say I’m getting back to it now, but somehow my day has turned into evening. But I’ll be back at it in the morning!

 

Yesterday I went to a writer’s group meeting in Sanford. It was excellent!

I’ve been to a fair number of writer’s groups over the years and most are not excellent. Most are more like, “Well, maybe it’ll be better if I get to know people.” Or sometimes, “That was tedious, but maybe the topic at the next meeting will be more interesting.” The one in Arcata was, “Wow, they’re all so young and enthusiastic.” My favorite one in the past was often, “That was fun, but we didn’t talk about writing much.”

The meeting yesterday was focused: we did talk about writing. And the attendees were a great mix of published authors, debut authors, and writers who wanted to work on their writing without necessarily planning on publishing. In a really weird coincidence, there were four first-time attendees (of whom I was one) and all of us had the same name. I was the last to arrive, and when I introduced myself there was a burst of laughter and surprise — it was confusing, then amusing. My name does not usually cause hilarity.

The meeting format was introductions, followed by a creative exercise, followed by thirty minutes of solo writing time, followed by a check-in. I was not particularly optimistic going into the meeting — “creative exercises” in the past haven’t really tended to be my thing — but I was willing to try. So glad I did! This creative exercise was awesome.

Maybe it was just that it was something I needed at that exact moment, but the exercise was one about personalizing your inner critic. There were a whole series of questions, and I really wish now that I had saved the sheet the questions were written on so that I could quote some of them. I did a quick google search trying to find the exact questions, but the topic “inner critic” is a rabbit hole that would take me hours to work my way out of, so no go.

Basically, though, you start by thinking about the voice of judgement that you hear in your head and what it says to you, and then you think about who it resembles/where it comes from. One woman, for example, discovered that her voice reminded her of girls from high school. Then you try to make it a character, describing its appearance and some random things about it, including what it eats for breakfast.

We did this in writing, in fifteen minutes, and quoting from my own brain dump, my inner critic is:

Santa Claus, but from the perspective of a small child. Enormous, red, scary — a stranger whose lap you’re supposed to sit in, who’s judging you and can see you all the time, everything you do, even while you’re sleeping. And if you fail to be perfect, he will publicly shame and humiliate you by putting coal in your stocking…

What does my inner critic have for breakfast? The souls of small children, obviously.

Earlier in the meeting, during the introductions, I had said that I have five unfinished projects currently, all of which I’m stuck on because halfway through they go incredibly dark and I don’t want to be a dark writer. After I shared my inner critic exercise, I think it was the group leader who suggested that perhaps it was time to embrace a genre switch. Ha.

But it was really fun. I had a great time. The group only meets once a month, but I’m definitely putting it into my calendar to do again. Meanwhile, it’s time to start persisting on Cici. Yes, she’s gone dark — Why, oh why, are my sentient otters being tortured? They were supposed to be fun! — But somehow I am going to make it through the darkness to the other side. As Christina said when I was whining to her, you can’t have light without darkness, anyway.

I’ve been exploring new walks with Sophie around our new neighborhood, but I think we’ve settled into our morning routine. It’s about a mile and a half, across one busy road, and then down a friendly street and around a small park. Sophie gets to be off-leash for some of the walk, on-leash for the part that involves streets with cars that drive too fast, and she seems happy with the first, tolerant of the second.

This morning when we headed out, there was a little chill in the air. I was wearing a lightweight hoodie — it not having even crossed my mind to check the weather before leaving the house — and I shivered a little, but but by the time we made it home, the sun was already warming up the day.

By 10AM, Sophie and I were in the backyard, me with computer and Chuck-It in tow. I’ve spent the vast majority of the day sitting in my new, reasonably comfortable, reclining outdoor chair, with my laptop on my lap, pondering Cici. The Chuck-It is on the ground next to my chair and when Sophie brings the ball close enough, I throw it for her. (We’re having a tiny power struggle about how close the ball needs to be before I’m willing to throw it, but she’s going to figure it out eventually.)

My outdoor office is not quite perfect: I’m going to need to start experimenting with mosquito repellents, because this is Florida, after all. But I bought two chairs so that my writing friends could come hang out in my backyard with me, and set up Sophie’s dog bed between them, so I’m looking forward to some peaceful sociability back here.

Some peaceful, warm, sunny sociability. I am not, of course, sitting in the direct sunlight. I’m under the shade of some huge trees that I think might be live oaks. I’ll have to see if I can get Apple Photos to identify the species for me. But they’re draped with beautiful Spanish moss and their leaves are green and there is not the slightest hint that this might be winter. Of course, come summer, assuming I’m still here, I will probably be a lot less willing to work outside. As I remember from when I lived in Florida last, when the temperature gets much past the mid-80s, my hands will be sweaty enough that it’s hard to type. But there’s plenty of shade, so maybe I’ll still be able to enjoy it.

And if not, maybe I’ll love my office set-up in my bedroom. My room is not big, but it’s actually not much smaller than the tiny house was and unlike the tiny house, I don’t have to treat it as a kitchen as well as a living space. So I’ve ordered a small desk and a comfortable office chair, and they’ll get here tomorrow. I’ll set them up right by the front window, which looks out on a lovely green space, so I’ll have a view while I write. Yep, a room with a view.

Speaking of kitchens — I LOVE having a real kitchen. Counter space! Two sinks! Four burners! A full-size refrigerator! It’s cozy and cute and full of other people’s belongings, (I have two housemates, three if we include the owner of the house who doesn’t live here, but left the kitchen fully stocked) but I have been making myself thoroughly at home.

Today I made one of my housemates come rearrange the cabinets with me, somewhat with the excuse (true) of wanting to have my spices on shelves where I can easily see them, but also in the hopes of getting rid of anything truly ancient. We wound up organizing all the leftover containers — more tops than bottoms, of course; stashing some things likely to be less-used on shelves above the fridge; and discovering lifetime supplies of cumin and turmeric. I think there are three almost full and one partially full bottles of turmeric. We also tossed anything with an expiration date of more than two years ago, which meant emptying out some jars that had been sitting on the counter and moving them to free up more counter space.

At one point, I said, apologetically, “I’m not really a clean freak,” and then I stopped myself and said, “And if I was, that would be totally fine.” I’m not, especially when compared to my mother and grandmother, but it is true that I like living in an organized space. This space is more organized today than it was a week ago, and cleaner, too, and that’s not a bad thing. It doesn’t quite feel like home, but it feels like it might someday feel like home, and that’s… well, that’s lemonade.

Next week, my friend J will come write with me, and sometime soon thereafter, I hope my friend Lynda will come write with me, too. I am going to have to get some real lemonade to offer them, but I am already grateful that I get to spend time with them and that when we part, it will be with “when can we do this again?” instead of “I might be back next year.”

Yeah, I am liking my lemonade.

 

 

Back in 2010, I wanted my mom to get a dog. I was convinced that a dog would be good for her, for all the reasons that dogs are good for people, not the least of which is that dogs give us unconditional love and everyone can use a little more of that. I was talking to rescue groups, trying to find the right dog for her, when she pre-empted my search by buying a puppy at a flea market.

At a flea market!

Okay, yeah, I was a little horrified by that, but the puppy was a ball of golden fluff and adorable, and even if it was a puppy mill puppy, well, it was in need of a good home, too. She and my dad named the puppy Gizmo, and had all the fun with him that a new puppy brings.

At that point in time, I had really only known one dog well — Zelda, my Jack Russell terrier — and so my standard for dog intelligence was unreasonably high, a fact that I was not aware of. You can’t know what you don’t know, right? I had to live with a few more dogs before I realized that my expectations were unreasonable. At the time, though, I thought Zelda was a normal level of smart and Gizmo… well, Gizmo was charming.

Maybe the first time Gizmo came to visit us at our house in Winter Park, the dogs were running around the backyard and R was worried that Gizmo would fall in the pool. I confidently said, “Oh, no, he won’t do that,” just as Gizmo ran straight out over the edge of the pool and into the water. R jumped in after him — in January! — as I was still dithering in surprise. Even now the memory makes me laugh.

Which is nice, because you know what is coming, right? No one writes this kind of post except when they’re saying good-bye. Gizmo’s been declining for a while, was in congestive heart failure, and on Friday, after another round of tests indicated that something new was wrong (maybe liver, maybe kidneys), my dad and stepmom made the painful decision to help him go.

I nearly said it was a hard decision, but you know, I don’t think it was hard. It was time. But painful, oh, yes. Because Gizmo — my mom’s dog — actually turned out to be my mom’s last major gift to my dad. He was still a puppy, not even a year old, when she died. The hospice where she spent her last weeks allowed animals in and I can remember Gizmo lying next to her on her bed while she stroked his fur. But she was already letting go of the world, and she handed Gizmo off to my dad knowing that they would take care of one another after she was gone.

They did. Gizmo was maybe not the brightest dog (Zelda was tough competition), but he was the quintessential good dog. Loyal, loving, affectionate, playful, sweet, and completely 100% devoted to his person. If you wanted to find him, you never had to look much farther than two feet away from my dad. He was sociable and friendly to other people, always happy to say hello, but my dad was his person, and he was my dad’s shadow.

I gave him a bath last week, and I’m so glad that I got that last chance to rub his fur and tell him what a good boy he was. Because he was such a good boy. Such a good dog. He will be missed. He is already missed.

I’m not moving into my new house until the 1st, so I’ve been hanging out in Christina’s guest bedroom this week, both busily managing the business of a move — how many different places do I need to update my address? — and not at all busily recovering from a period of upheaval. It feels simultaneously relaxing and stressful, because the upheaval is not going to be over until I’m sleeping in my own bed, on my own sheets, with my own tea mug waiting to be used, but meanwhile, there’s not really a lot for me to do.

Except play ball with Sophie. And more ball with Sophie, and more ball with Sophie. In the tiny house, I always put the balls away the moment we returned from the park, because Sophie, in possession of a ball, is a persistent little monster. I can remember when she didn’t know what to do with a ball and had absolutely no interest in returning it to me one way or the other. That day has long since passed. The other day, I discovered three balls next to my leg when I finally stood up. She’d been bringing them to me hopefully, and when I ignored one, she went and found another. Riker owns a lot of balls  — and doesn’t appear to care about them at all — so Sophie has been amassing a collection of them in the guest room. We do play every day, but she would play all day, every day if she could. She needs a swimming pool! (Zelda used to play ball by herself in the pool, dropping a ball in, letting the pump current take it away, then jumping in and swimming after it.)

The big excitement, if it can be called that, has been the AirDotShow Tour. Christina mentioned it to me in a text as she was on her way out to Halloween Horror Nights at Universal. Totally casual, just:

C: FYI, there is going to be an air show in Sanford this weekend so the planes may be practicing over the next few days. Don’t worry, we aren’t at war.

Me: Lol, good to know! Probably wouldn’t have been my assumption, given that Sanford doesn’t exactly seem like a prime target for bombing runs but I guess you never know in this crazy time. 

Later,
Me: Those planes are seriously loud. 

And still later,
Me: Okay, and you were totally right. It sounds like the end of the world.

I have innumerable photos of blue sky over the house, from my failed attempt to catch a picture of the spiraling fighter jets or the team flying planes or any of the things that were making such incredible, incredible noises. This was the best I ever did.

I stopped trying after that, because this was the teeny-tiny plane that’s in that image.

The jets were bigger, but also so much faster that my little square of sky was always empty by the time my phone clicked for the photo. I wouldn’t exactly call it entertaining — at least not for those of us who got to listen to the incredible noise for four days running — but it was interesting.

Of course, I have also been trying to write. I am determined to finish Cici 2, and it’s going to happen, but it’s happening slowly. My real issue is that my daydreaming time has been taken up with worrying and ruminating, neither helpful. And really, I should be fair to myself and say “worrying” = “planning” and “ruminating” = “processing.” There are things to take care of — health insurance, driver’s license, etc. — and planning for how and when is not “worrying.” And “ruminating” — well, a lot happened and I know that letting myself feel my feelings about it is emotionally healthier than stuffing my feelings. Although it’s not even that so much as just trying to figure out my feelings.

Example: I keep laughing when I remember that one of Suzanne’s first moves was to unfollow me on Instagram and remove me from her followers. Seriously! Is that not so impressively petty? So… well, juvenile? Like we were teenagers or something. And honestly, it makes me laugh. I think I should probably feel badly about it, but I just don’t. It’s too stupid, and like a character in a bad novel.

And then I remember that my last encounter with her, presumably ever, will be her handing me legal papers kicking me out of the tiny house, when the car was already three-quarters packed and it was clear that I was almost gone. Like what is the point of that? Just throwing some salt on the wound? Gratuitously mean for the sake of being mean?

And then me saying, “Can I say good-bye to the dogs?” and her responding, “I’ll send them out. In ten minutes or so?” and me nodding. And then, honestly, I want to cry, because… we were friends for a long time. And I’m certainly grieving for those dogs that I loved, that I will never see again, but I’m grieving for the friend, too.

I guess it’s really just like a divorce — a person you cared about grew into someone that you stopped caring about, and when you say good-bye for the last time, it’s with the memories of who they once were. Impressively petty and mean is who I will have to remember her as being, but once upon a time, she was fun and cheerful and my favorite adventure buddy. I’m going to remember her that way, too, I just don’t quite know how yet.

Thus, the ruminating/processing.

Thus the not quite progressing enough on Cici.

And now I’m going to go back to writing Cici, because there are plenty of hours in the day left, and I will finish this book. Someday! Maybe even someday soon!