Category: MerryThoughts

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Borrowing Joy

I began meditating in 2020. That is to say, I began meditating daily. I had been doing those Oprah and Deepak Chopra 21-day meditations or, rather, starting them (but usually not finishing) for several years. But I had never gotten into a meditation habit, and certainly not without music and someone leading it. Too impatient. Too many things I wanted to be doing. Too many thoughts and ideas. I cannot say what changed in me but somehow I now meditate for 25 minutes each morning. I put this in my list of positive things that came from Covid. Did it? I don’t know. But then a) I have no real schedule or place to be in the morning and b) it finally seemed like a pleasant and good thing to do when pleasant and good things to do were scarcer than usual.

One of the teachers I’ve listened to, Tuere Sala, on Ten Percent Happier, gave a short talk and led a meditation on “borrowing joy.” The idea is that if you are not feeling particularly joyful and you just can’t get there on your own, you think of someone, person or animal, that exhibits joy frequently. And then you “borrow” joy from this role model. You imagine yourself as that joyful being, you picture what joy looks like, embodied by that particular being, and you put yourself into that picture.

This was a no-brainer. Miles. My dog Miles is the most joyful being I know. Just this morning in the woods he went racing up to a total stranger, his body curving in excitement and his stumpy tail going a million miles a minute. She was, of course, charmed. And then later he did the same to another woman who marveled at what a wonderful, friendly, happy dog he is. “Yes, he is,” I said. And then, to be polite, added, “Thank you.” But I don’t know why. His joyful self is no reflection on me. He just is. He is exuberance and enthusiasm embodied. Merriment, gladness and delight. My beautiful Miles.

He had been given away by a breeder (he is rather large for a miniature poodle) to a woman who had adopted several children and who ultimately decided she could not keep him. The breeder had said that he had a gentle soul. Oh yes. The most gentle soul ever. He would rather do anything than be an alpha dog. He leans to go one way and I say, “Let’s go this way.” And his face lights up as if this is the best idea ever, as if to say, “Oh yes! That way is so much better! I love that way!”

He is the best role model a person could want for joie de vivre. The perfect being from whom to borrow joy. My Miles. You are welcome to borrow his joy, too, if you need some.

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Astonishing! Spring

Spring is upon us and I think just about everyone has a feeling of buoyancy once Vernal Equinox arrives. Even though here in mid-Missouri only a very few trees have buds on them, we all feel that little buzz of excitement, knowing that things are happening. Within those branches and down in the damp earth many tiny bits of thing are very busy doing whatever it is they need to do in order to pop out, to spring! Those mechanisms, those mysteries of growth and emergence–bud, leaf, blossom–are known only to the few who study such things, and I am not one of those, not much of a studier. I am just happy to look and love and maybe imagine the tiny goings-on.

“Let me keep my distance, always, from those

who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say

“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,

and bow their heads.”

― Mary Oliver, Evidence: Poems

Now the grand adventure has begun. Oh, the looking, the searching, the joy of discovery on our little expeditions into yard, garden or woods! We look for the first this, the first that of the season and the first ever this or that. I remember so well when I saw my first Shooting Star–not a thing in the sky but a wildflower–on a trail called Shooting Star. I was with my sister, who was visiting here in search of birds and anything lovely. I’d always thought that trail was so named for sightings of the celestial type of shooting star from the bluffs there. No. The bluff was full of wildflowers. Shooting Star is one of those wildflowers I’d seen in my book and always wished I’d find in the wild. In person, as it were. And then, that April, my sister and I saw it together.

Just before official Spring, I’m casting my eyes to the ground on familiar woodland paths in search of the wildflowers whose whereabouts I have come to know. The east side of a certain hill is the first place I look with camera and mental notebook. And I am not disappointed. Shyly, they begin to show themselves. Tiny, delicate False Rue Anemone leaves, barely out of the ground, are my first reward. Toothwort leaves, too, and pretty soon a tiny row of buds hanging on their stems like socks on a laundry line. They will open by afternoon, I think. But I am a morning treasure hunter, so I will wait for the next day. I get a little burst of excitement with my first Trillium, first Blue-Eyed Mary, first May Apple, one after the other and another. I write these things down in notebooks. Yes, I count myself lucky.

Here’s a lovely Wendell Berry poem that I like to read every spring. I love every bit of it (though my feelings about outhouses are mixed) but I love especially his list of sins, for they are similar to my own.

A Purification

“At start of spring I open a trench
In the ground. I put into it
The winter’s accumulation of paper,
Pages I do not want to read
Again, useless words, fragments,
errors. And I put into it
the contents of the outhouse:
light of the suns, growth of the ground,
Finished with one of their journeys.
To the sky, to the wind, then,
and to the faithful trees, I confess
my sins: that I have not been happy
enough, considering my good luck;
have listened to too much noise,
have been inattentive to wonders,
have lusted after praise.
And then upon the gathered refuse,
of mind and body, I close the trench
folding shut again the dark,
the deathless earth. Beneath that seal
the old escapes into the new.”

― Wendell Berry

The old escapes into the new. What a lovely phrase. I hope this spring finds you hopeful and as he says, “happy enough.”

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Storybook Day

This morning I awoke grumpy. Rufus had fidgeted, scratched and rearranged himself in my bed for the last two hours of my sleep. And those two hours had been arbitrarily changed from 4:30-6:30 to 5:30-7:30 because of Daylight Savings Time. Not a fan. Now the sun is rising at 7:20. Grr. But I’ll not labor over that or burden you with my many thoughts on that subject. It was also a very gloomy morning, no crack in the deep cloud cover for brightness or blue to poke through. I thought, “This could be a storybook day if only there was even a tiny opening or two in those clouds, or clouds chasing each other across the sky, or perhaps a fall of rain or even a thunderstorm.” And then perhaps cookies would be baked.

Storybook days are those blustery, cloud-thick days, like we do have often enough in March and November. They invite nostalgia for childhood and for my sons’ childhoods. They make me want to fill up little books with pictures and scribblings, things pasted in, perhaps. Or maybe I’d mess about with small pots of paint or decide to write something, pausing now and then for an oatmeal cookie with bits of chocolate inside. These are days when I can imagine a squirrel named Russell having tea and crumpets with a couple of young rabbits (Olivia and Charlotte) and a dashing red fox called Leroy, all well-mannered and polite. Perhaps they’d tell of a recent adventure. Or plan one!

I took my dogs out the door for a short walk around the neighborhood, observing the various newnesses of near-Spring–Naked Lady shoots, spiky gumballs lying around, broken acorns on the ground, as well as wondering at the disrepair of a grand old house on Broadway–why? And then guess what? A light drizzling rain started up! Voila! Storybook day. This really put a spring in my step and improved my attitude. Once again nature proves that just about any day is better when you’re out in it than when you’re just inside, feeling crabby about the clock and judging the day by its cloud cover.

I’d like to share this beautiful writing from Pema Chodron, something a friend sent me when I was laid up with broken bones and could not do anything, not even read a book. It was hugely comforting.

“On a day of silence like today, when things are very still, you may find that you are feeling grim and doing everything with a grim expression: grimly opening the door, grimly drinking your water, concentrating so hard on being quiet and still, moving so slowly that you’re miserable. On the other hand, you could just relax and realize that, behind all the worry, complaint and disapproval that goes on in your mind, the sun is always coming up in the morning, moving across the sky, and going down in the evening. The birds are always out there collecting their food and making their nests and flying across the sky. The grass is always being blown by the wind or standing still. Food and flowers and trees are growing out of the Earth. There’s enormous richness. You could develop your passion for life and your curiosity and interest. You could connect with your joyfulness. You could start right now . . . Acknowledging the preciousness of each day is a good way to live, a good way to connect with our basic joy.”

I hope you find lots of little ways to connect with your joyfulness on this day and all of them.

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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The East-Facing Window

I am an early to bed and early to rise kind of gal. One of the things I love about waking early is watching the sun rise each morning. Luckily, I have an upstairs bedroom with a pair of east-facing windows, so not only can I sometimes view the moon in the eastern sky at night but invariably I see the sun coming up.

While I do so enjoy the changing of the seasons, I can’t help but love the early rising of the sun best, so that at this time of year I’m happy to see it coming up earlier and earlier each day. One year I kept in a small appointment book a record of the rising and setting of the sun, as well as notes on seasonal things like my first notice of singing frogs and cicadas, sightings of various wildflowers and trees budding out, as well as leaves changing colors and first snow. I have wanted for several years to be able to know the first and last day of katydids’ and cicadas’ singing, but I’ve never quite managed to pin that down.

But here I’ve wandered. I think having an east-facing bedroom window is a beautiful thing. Even if the dawn is not spectacular every day, it is different each day and it marks a beginning. It’s lovely to watch the start of a brand new day.

“This is a wonderful day, I have never seen this one before.” – Maya Angelou

I have a goal–a dream, really–of building a deck on the east side of the house, as well. It would come off of the dining room with, ideally, French doors. Morning sun and evening shade in summer. Perfect! I imagine dinner parties spilling gracefully out to the deck on a balmy evening. Light laughter and ease. Watching the moon rise over the neighborhood. The floaty curtains blowing in with the breeze. Cicadas, katydids, crickets, and frogs serenading. Ahh.

Of course, this scenario does call for a rather larger dining room than I have, to accommodate those French doors and all of that spilling. Still. It’s a picture I have had in my mind since I bought the house in 1991. I’m feeling like a version of it will happen soon. And when it does, there will be a party.

As things stand right now, I do have my east facing bedroom, dining room, kitchen, and studio windows, from whose vantage point I can see and hear all of those lovely things. And though my bedroom is tiny, I would not want to give up that eastern view for more room.

“You have slept for millions and millions of years. Why not wake up this morning?” – Kabir

I hope you wake up tomorrow and say, as Anne Lamott’s grandson does, “This could be the best day ever!”If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website.

And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”
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Bicycle Bicycle!

The tunnel at Rocheport MO on the Katy Trail

Last summer my son visited from NYC for three months and we bicycled together a lot. I had been meaning to bike more after my last visit to NYC and Montreal, where I rode city bikes with my boys. So I got my bike fixed up. But that was November and I only rode twice before it seemed too cold to ride.

I say “seemed” because now I’ve learned that it is not often that it’s “too cold” to ride or do anything outside, at least in mid-Missouri. I rode one chilly day this fall and decided 45 degrees was as cold as I could do. Wrong! My son is back here again and we rode the other night in 28 degrees, with no sun and plenty of wind, at 5:00 p.m. Now that was cold! Bone-chilling, even with my newly purchased windproof/waterproof gloves, wool gaiter and hat, and shoe covers I’d inherited from a friend. Brr. But! Still fun!

When I get on my bike (I say “my” although it is a super-cool bike on longterm loan from an apparently very good friend), I feel like a kid, zooming down the street, whatever the temperature. The freedom! The air in my face! Though when it’s cold or very hot, I hesitate to go, I always end up wondering why I was reluctant. Because every time I leave my driveway, standing up on the pedals and sailing down the street, I feel so free and happy! It’s worth those first few minutes to get out there and feel like a kid. I could easily come home and build a blanket fort in the living room for the way it makes me feel. With baloney and ketchup saltine cracker sandwiches.

I am certainly not a big time cyclist like others, not by a long shot–but maybe I don’t need to be. My sons have taken many long, challenging rides in all kinds of places. Cole, for example, cycled the coast of Vietnam by himself last winter and is now hoping to one day cycle the entire coast of Taiwan. My friend Julie rode 3,000 miles in 2019! And loads of people ride across Missouri or Kansas or the U.S. or Europe every year. I have done none of those things and maybe I never will. But I have fun the minute I get on that bike.

“When the spirits are low, when the day appears dark, when work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking.” – Arthur Conan Doyle

My longterm loan super-cool bike, resting by a creek
My first bike was a turquoise and white girls’ bike with fenders that rose to a peak down the middle. It was a surprise birthday gift, my Dad’s idea, a thing I had not asked for or even dreamed I’d get. We girls used to try to ride our big brothers’ bikes and we were neither welcome nor very able to do it. So I was thrilled to have a bike of my very own. And then when we moved into the City, just a mile or two from Forest Park, we girls zoomed around the neighborhood on our bikes, getting all scratched up through bushes, and up and down little hills. There was definitely gaiety involved then.

Now, at 69, I want to do everything my body will let me do, all the things I can that feed my soul. I want to be outdoors as much as possible. I want to camp and hike and mess around creek beds, rivers, lakes, and the ocean. And I want to ride my bike!

“Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of riding a bike.” – John F Kennedy

I hope you take as much time as you can for fun and whatever sort of adventure feeds your soul.If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. Finally, you’ll find past letters and poems on here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”
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Home Sweet Home

I made a rough watercolor of the cabin my sister and I stayed in at the bottom of the Grand Canyon 3 years ago.

My brother sent a photo and news video recently about a house we lived in as kids (below). There had been a fire and the friends and neighbors were rallying to help out the family. That house was not much when we lived there, and the story brought back a flood of memories.

We moved there when I was 7 years old. It was a tiny little house in a rundown neighborhood on the outskirts of St. Louis. But we had loads of fun there. I remember that very well. The house had an upstairs, more of an attic, divided into two parts. My three brothers had the side with a sliding door and we four girls shared an even tinier space with no door. We girls slept head to foot in two hospital beds our Aunt Marie, a nurse, had acquired. And we had a ton of fun, even in that tiny room. We played a sort of football game on the beds with rolled up socks, a game I’m pretty sure I made up, dubbed Hike 44. Though we were jealous of the boys’ “bigger” bedroom, we enjoyed invading their territory when they weren’t around.

Our house, sixty years after we lived there.

We’d moved there from a house my parents owned, in which all seven of us kids slept in the same bedroom. That neighborhood was nicer, though, and there was a white fence across the front and a patio my Dad had made in back, with large squares of different colors of concrete. Apparently, Dad had intended for us all to move back to California, where he was from, and he sold that house. But something fell through and we were stuck. So we moved into that little tiny rental, where Dad used to say if you were sitting on one side of the living room you’d be touching knees with whomever was sitting on the other side. We lived there for three years.

There were two houses past us to the east, and beyond them an empty lot that we took advantage of, for all sorts of adventures. Another great feature was the ditch on the other side of the house. All for our fun. We played cars and trucks in that ditch, dared each other to jump across, and had even more fun when it rained, making little streams, dams, and lakes. There were many times when I couldn’t bear to go in for dinner. That is also the house where we girls played the game of being witches, wearing a blanket or sheet on our shoulders and running around the yard, under that characteristic Midwest pre-thunderstorm green-grey sky. As tiny and cramped as that house was, we had all kinds of fun there.

I photographed this interesting house on a trip to Montana with my siblings.

Across the street from us were Mr. and Mrs. Fredericks, an older couple with no children. I was a very shy little girl, but for some reason I spent time at their house, just on my own. They had a sink in their basement, which I found very unusual, and she pronounced it “zink,” which was also interesting to me. One time I bragged to Mrs. Fredericks that my waist was 24” (apparently not bothered that made me a rather chubby little girl). She couldn’t believe it and said she’d give me a quarter if it was true. She took out her measuring tape and I got my quarter!

I bet my parents were pretty unhappy to have landed there with seven kids all crammed together. I’m pretty sure I would have been, had I been the adult. I might even have felt a bit desperate. I wonder if they knew how little it mattered to us kids?

It was just one of the four houses we lived in when I was growing up and definitely the lowliest. But it was still home to us kids and I have many fond memories of living there.

“You haven’t really been anywhere until you’ve got back home.”

― Terry Pratchett, The Light Fantastic

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you like this letter, you’ll find past letters and poems on my blog. And if you know someone who would enjoy these letters, go ahead and forward this one!

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Mexico, Revisited

Having just last week expounded upon the notion of uitwaiien, I’ve decided this week that I need to go to Mexico, at least in my mind. Last year at this time I was in Akumal, Mexico, with my childhood best friend, who lives in Texas and whom I only rarely get to see. She works in travel and arranged a complimentary stay for us in a luxurious resort there. That trip was such a beautiful time for me. A gorgeous beach with perfectly lovely turquoise Caribbean water that broke way out in the distance, resulting in a gently lapping sparkle of sea on pristine white sand. Completely comfortable temperatures day in. I have kept Akumal as a weather location on my phone just to imagine I might be going there soon. Day after day, the temperature is around 82 degrees. Ahh.

My friend had some business to do, but I mostly lounged on an umbrella-covered chaise or a fabulous covered “beach bed,” gazing at the sea and sky. Endlessly. I found I was unable to read or nap or shut my eyes at all. I was simply mesmerized by that beautiful water and its gracious conversation with the shore. It was a meditation. When Anne and I were together on the beach, we chose not to talk all that much. We were easy with each other, as always, after all the years since we were 13. And I was perfectly content.

I came home utterly, totally, thoroughly, wholeheartedly relaxed. I felt like my heart had sprung wide open. And as often happens when I travel, I found a tiny heart-shaped memento–this time, a piece of coral–in the water. I brought it home and placed it on a little table in my bedroom. I press my finger to it as I pass by. And my Romantic (with a capital R) heart took it as an omen. (Nothing to report as of yet.)

Living here in the Midwest, I long for the sea. I do. I long for it, even though I grew up here. I know many Midwesterners who feel pulled to the mountains. Okay. Gorgeous. Sure. Awe-inspiring. Yes. But not my heart’s resting place. Mountains, I feel, block the view. Nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. 😉

I love a broad, expansive view, of fields, hills, woods, sky, water, any of those, with water right at the top of the list–my heart opener. If I was going to uproot myself, which would be hard, as I do love the Midwestern landscape, it would have to include proximity to a large body of water.

So here I am, in a particularly bitter cold February in Missouri. I accept it, as this is my home and this is what we have here: four seasons, each with its own unique beauty. But while meditating, I often envision that beach at Akumal with its glistening water. Quietly out and back, out and back, ever and always, teaching the art of doing nothing (another Dutch word, niksen). Intruding thoughts go poof! into that blue sky, to be carried off by a gull. Ahh.

So where do you go, in your mind, when you need to escape to someplace else? What is your heart’s resting place? I hope you have one. I imagine we all do, although some wander off to theirs more often than others. One day, I hope to get my actual physical body back to mine.

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you like this letter, you’ll find past letters and poems here. And if you know someone who would enjoy these letters, send them here!

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Uitwaiien!

The sun even looks cold up there.

According to Dictionary.com, “The Dutch compound word uitwaaien means ‘to jog or walk into the wind, especially in the winter, in order to feel invigorated, relieve stress, and boost one’s health.’” It is pronounced “out-vahyn.” I prefer my incorrect pronunciation, OOT-vahyn, since it’s more fun and sounds more like I imagine Dutch to sound. Naturally, upon learning it, this word immediately appealed to my love of language and newfound sense of adventure when it comes to cold weather. Also, I like saying it and so it has become a new addition to my vocabulary.

At this writing, it is 3 degrees, “feels like -11.” The sun even looks cold up there, barely showing through the clouds. Calls for an adventure of some sort, I feel, begs for uitwaiien. I took Miles on a longer than usual neighborhood leash walk, but really? That’s it? Knowing Miles and his preferences and having learned that pajama days are not what they’re cracked up to be, I took care of things at home with a view to going back out for a hike. First, I swept the powdery snow off the front steps, walk, driveway, and car. I filled a dish with warm water and put it on the railing for the birds and squirrels. Yesterday, in anticipation of 2-4” of snow that didn’t materialize, I hauled a 40-lb. bag of black oil sunflower seeds home from the hardware store and filled up the birdfeeders.

There’s the sun in this photo, too, barely visible.

I warmed up my boots, gaiter and mittens on the grate, fed Miles and gave him the anti-inflammatory that his older dog body now requires, and got ready to go back out, handwarmer and treats in my pockets. Exciting! Miles was happy and commented that he was surprised I would go back out in the cold. Oh ye of little faith!

We headed across the bridge with a spring in our step, me practically running to keep up, and even though I was game for a nice little uitwaiien, I imagined it to be a short one. Just a quick, invigorating swing around the meadow. But Miles talked me into going onto the ridge perimeter path and then, even, the ridge trail itself.

I don’t suppose you need to know the whole route.

Suffice it to say we had a lovely hike on this very cold day. Of course, “very cold” is relative. An Iowa friend wrote that it was -15 degrees there, actual temperature! That is a very cold day. I might not feel quite as chipper at -15. I don’t imagine I could live farther north. My eyelashes had little balls of ice on them as it was. But I did not even crack open the handwarmer and Miles, with his curly coat and high degree of energy, was full of all the happy adjectives you could name, and he probably would even be so at -15. He is a great role model for exuberance, in any weather.

The view from the bridge
My friend Julie and I have played singles pickleball this winter in 30 degrees. She carries “little bottles of heat” with her and on New Year’s Eve we had hot chocolate with a little Bailey’s. As she always says, no matter what the weather, “We’re outside and we’re having fun.” The great thing about playing outdoors in winter is that playing hard warms you up, so you can play longer, instead of the other way around.And so, uitwaiien! It’s invigorating and fun! I haven’t gone in for those cold showers or baths that are supposed to be good for your health but I am open to newfangled ideas and I might try it. Why not?

I hope if you are not already a fan of uitwaiien, that you try it out. We have a really cold week coming up that is providing plenty of opportunity, beckoning us, calling each of us by name, “Come, come! Be a polar bear!”

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you like this letter, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”
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Daemons

I’m reading Philip Pullman’s latest novel, The Secret Commonwealth, the fifth book in his fantasy series that started with the trilogy, His Dark Materials. I love these books. One of the things I love most about them is that every human in their world has a daemon, an animal that is essentially a part of but at the same time apart from the human. Though they look and move about like animals, they speak, feel and think like humans. The pair are two sides of a coin. They are one–but two.

I love this idea. Imagine! What might it be like to have a part of yourself as a physical being that you can hold, curl up with, talk and plan and mull things over with, share your deepest fears and feelings with–the closest companionship ever? In this volume, someone mentions with horror that in other worlds (ours), people go through their whole lives alone. That sentence gave me a jolt. Yes. We are essentially alone.

But then I do have my dogs.

There’s that joke about a person noticing their neighbor talking to a cat. And then it goes, “I went home and told my dog, and we had a good laugh about it.” I do discuss many things with my dogs, my heart’s companions. They are so tuned in to humans, and they have been for centuries.

Whenever I go out of town, I’m told, Miles gets a stomach ache; and I look for signs of him in the dogs I meet when I travel. I love Rufus very much, but Miles feels more like he could be my other half; and he pays very close attention to everything I say. The cynic might say he’s waiting to hear the word “treat,” but I like to think it’s more than that. We do love many of the same things–playing in the woods, messing about in water, lazing around on the couch, meeting new people and their daemons, taking fast walks around the neighborhood, even tearing paper! And eating. We both love to eat and we love treats!

Sadly, these sorts of daemons are only with us for a few short years. And that’s the difference and the heartbreak. Philip Pullman’s daemons are with their people for life.

“When we cannot bear to be alone, it means we do not properly value the only companion we will have from birth to death – ourselves.” – Eda LeShan

Here’s a vintage card, one that people interpret in wildly different ways from what I meant!

It’s nice for me to think of you out there, reading this. I hope you, too, have a sort of daemon, imaginary or real, to accompany you through your daily life. And if you don’t, I hope you can come up with one. Imaginary or real.

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you like this letter, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”

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Pajama Day

We had freezing rain and ice covering everything one recent morning and I knew I would not want to drive to the woods with Miles and thought, really, I did not even want to risk walking on the icy streets. So I decided to have a Pajama Day. I was pretty excited about this idea, as I know people have them and I had always thought I would like to, too, if it weren’t for two dogs staring at me all day long. But now I had an excellent excuse. Not even Miles wanted to step out the door.

I turned up the furnace, had a second cup of tea, and sat on the couch under a thick wool blanket with the dogs, reading my new Mary Oliver poetry book. All very nice and cozy. Rufus liked it, as he likes to be on a soft surface (preferably a lap) in very close proximity to any available human.

“No animal, according to the rules of animal etiquette, is ever expected to do anything strenuous, or heroic, or even moderately active during the off-season of winter.” ― Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows

But by noon or so, I really did not want to be in pajamas any longer. And then, by late afternoon, I was quite tired of being in the house and I told my brother, who has remained pretty much homebound since March, that I was going a little stir crazy. I am used to going outdoors multiple times a day. I’d even played pickleball in 30 degrees on New Year’s Eve. My friend and I always agree that even if it’s cold, we’re outside, we’re moving, having fun, and it’s wonderful to be doing all of those things.

The next day I went out with the dogs, though the day looked pretty much the same as the previous day–everything covered with ice, the sky solid white with cloud, temperature at 27 degrees. And yet, I felt a huge Ahhh as soon as we stepped out. Went to the woods and feasted my eyes on the icy everythings, pressed my cheek and my whole self to my big beautiful tree, and had a lovely ramble along the creek. Once again, I am reminded that, however the day looks from inside the house, it’s almost always nicer to be out in it.

“When you’re sad, Little Star, go out of doors. It’s always better underneath the open sky.” ― Eva Ibbotson, A Countess Below Stairs

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. And if you like this letter, you’ll find past letters and poems here.

It’s nice for me to think of you out there, reading this. I hope you get outdoors as often as you possibly can this winter. As my friend Sally once said, “There’s no bad weather, only bad clothes.”

Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”