Tag: dogs

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Cicada Summer

They brought him out to the waiting area, saying, “He misses you!” “I know!” I replied.

I have loved the song of cicadas for a long time. I mean, really loved. But the bloom is off that rose. Let the katydids come and the crickets hum. But this year I’ll be glad when the cicadas have died off.

It’s not been a great week. I just spent my Sunday morning, not in one of my personal churches–woods, lakeside, studio–but at the vet hospital with Miles. As an older dog he has kidney and pancreas issues and as a dog who is young at heart, he loves to hunt cicadas. In his younger years, it did not bother his healthy body to snack on them. But this year he’s like an addict, eyes glittering, panting, keening to get out the door and follow their call.

Staring at the door . . .

And so this year he got sick. By yesterday I was fearing the worst.

This morning I was doing my journaling in bed, dreading the experience and the cost of taking Miles to the vet hospital, a thing I’d decided must be done. My last experience had been terrible. I knew it would be expensive. So I started strategizing about how I could pay for it. Another Open Studio? It would have to be a VERY successful one. A big (I hoped) sale of paintings? I just felt like I had to do it.

And then, suddenly, as often happens when I write about a thing, I leapt from worry and dread to gratitude. I realized how lucky I am to have this resource, less than 10 minutes from my home. I have everything I need very close by. I would come up with the money. I felt hopeful and somehow even confident that if I took him there, Miles would be fine.

I bet there are cicadas out there.

So, two things.

a) I have often, as I read or think about gratitude, thought, well, it’s easy enough for me to list many things for which I’m grateful. But how easy would it be for people who are very sick, or who have loved ones who are very sick or struggling? Sure, I can make a list every day. But what about all those people in the midst of war, refugees, the sick and grieving? Gratitude must be very hard to come by.

b) Writing. Journaling. It is SO good for you. Try it! It can change your whole day.

P.S. Right now Miles is doing better. We’ll see how the week unfolds. Cicadas have fallen in my Love Scale, even though it’s not their fault animals love to eat them. And I’m sure they would rather not be eaten. But I’ll be happy when they’re gone.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ― Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

“I am my own querencia. I am my own home. I am my own sounding board. I am my own soulmate. And what a beautiful feeling to carry with me…” ― G. Severino, On the Verge

“You think those dogs will not be in heaven! I tell you they will be there long before any of us.” ― Robert Louis Stevenson

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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Miles’ 14th Birthday

Miles, my sweet and stalwart companion, turned 14 on August 19th. He is 73 in miniature poodle years. I will turn 72 on August 27th, so we are almost the same age. And yet I feel in such better shape than he seems to be.

I worry about him all the time. He is covered with lypomas (fatty tumors) and seems to get another new one weekly. I feel like they impede his movements, though I’m told they do not. He struggles both to lie down and to get up from lying down, both of which he does many times a day, as he follows me around the house. He seems to have trouble finding a comfortable place to lie, as well. I give him three different medications for his aches and pains. Do they help? At all?? I can’t see it, if so.

And he is the younger of my two dogs. He seems to have gone from hale and hearty to OLD in a very short time.

On his 5th birthday

Such is the heartbreak of loving animals. Their lives are just too short.

For his birthday I gave him extra canned food for breakfast, carried treats in my pocket for our walk, and since he loves other dogs, took him to the dog park so he could meet lots of them. And then later, he had presents to open. He loves opening packages. All fine enough. But I watched all those young, fit dogs running and swimming, having a wonderful time, and wished that my darling Miles could join them and have that kind of fun, himself.

I have accepted my own aging much better than I have his. I’ve slowed down, too, but I really am doing fine. I can walk much farther than he can and do just about anything I really want to do. I rather enjoy calling myself an Old Lady and I’m even, mostly, proud of it. Oh, I worry about my brain sometimes, but my body still serves me well. His? Not so much. And he can’t talk or joke about it. He can’t say, “Oh, I’m fine. I really am fine. Don’t you worry your tiny little (old) brain about it.”

And Rufus, with his terrible history as a stray, the broken leg, his heart murmur, spinal stenosis, and Addison’s disease, well, of course I understand why he has issues. And he has done very well, considering. So I can accept this and actually feel grateful for how well he has done for all these years.

So this thing of acceptance with no strings attached? There, I’m stuck. The Buddha taught that fighting against the realities of life creates suffering. I am here to say, “Okay, Buddha! You’re right!”

You, reader, might be expecting a possibly uplifting conclusion right about now. I’m not sure what it can be, other than that I will just keep trying to accept what is, as we all must, even for those innocent Others. I’ll love on Miles and do what I can do for him. And try to practice acceptance.

“You think those dogs will not be in heaven! I tell you they will be there long before any of us.”― Robert Louis Stevenson

“All his life he tried to be a good person. Many times, however, he failed. For after all, he was only human. He wasn’t a dog.”― Charles M. Schulz

“A person can learn a lot from a dog, even a loopy one like ours. Marley taught me about living each day with unbridled exuberance and joy, about seizing the moment and following your heart. He taught me to appreciate the simple things–a walk in the woods, a fresh snowfall, a nap in a shaft of winter sunlight. And as he grew old and achy, he taught me about optimism in the face of adversity. Mostly, he taught me about friendship and selflessness and, above all else, unwavering loyalty.”― John Grogan, Marley and Me

If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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Here in the Neighborhood

Three times I’ve seen a Great Blue Heron

in the little stream of a neighborhood park.

What can she be finding in there?

No fish, that’s for sure.

It truly is at most a stream, a trickle.

Is she just wanting a drink?

Granted, that could be had.

But nothing more.

As my dog and I approach

she lifts her great heavy body

off those spindly legs

with amazing grace and ease.

Perhaps she prefers our humble stream

for just a drink

Quiet, secluded, less traveled by loose dogs and coyotes.

I am, of late, also preferring this civilized little park

to the wilder places we love that are also

loved by copperheads,

where a friend’s dog recently was bitten.

A yellow lab, he spent two nights in hospital.

My dog is too small and old to survive that

and I am too much in love with him to

weather that, knowing it was my poor judgment

that brought about his misery and possible end.

We will, instead, hang out with the lovely Great Blue Heron

right here in our neighborhood.

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Hibernating

Do you find yourself sleeping more these days? I do. Lord! Lately I’ve had marathon sleeps–8 or 9 hours night after night–with record amounts of deep and REM sleep, according to my Fitbit. And then, too, I could easily nap in the afternoon–not at all like me. More like a bear. Or Miles.

At first I put it down to the busyness, stress and exhaustion of the last few weeks, getting ready for my solo show, visitors and Thanksgiving. Maybe I’m just catching up? Or what about allergies? Perhaps now that I get weekly allergy shots I’ll sleep rather than sneeze my way through the winter.

I rebelled against the change to cold weather, as usual, but now I have to admit I’m loving this late fall–the bare branches of trees against a sky that’s bright blue, solid white with clouds, or bursting into color at dawn. But wait a minute! I haven’t been seeing the dawn lately. Day after day I’ve been fast asleep. Just thinking of it now makes me a little wistful for my bed.

I love the early sunset and the long nights, being in for the night by 5:00, preferably in pajamas by 7:30, bed by 9:00. I love the coziness of lighted windows and porches in the dark. One does not even have occasion to use the word “cozy” in spring and summer. I’m almost disappointed that we’re already so close to the Winter Solstice, the return of the light and longer days.

So for now everything about this time of year feels just right. We have four very distinct seasons where I live and each has its own beauty. Oh, I might be singing a different tune when the temperature is 1, feels like -10. But that can be an adventure in its own right. Can we get through it?? There’s always some reward. Right now the reward is that I have a bed and dogs to share it with. I make my own schedule, so I really can sleep for hours if I want. How great is that? Life is good. Sleep is good. Zzzzzz.

Here is one of my favorite passages from the excellent J.M. Barrie book, Peter Pan.

“Mrs. Darling first heard of Peter when she was tidying up her children’s minds. It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day. If you could keep awake (but of course you can’t) you would see your own mother doing this and you would find it very interesting to watch. It’s quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on Earth you picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek, as if it were a nice kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. When you wake in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out the prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on.” ― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Think of Mrs. Darling as a part of you, doing this for yourself every night. Wouldn’t it be so nice?

If you’d like to see my new paintings online, go here. If you’re looking for my cards or art, you’ll find all of that on my website. If you enjoy these letters, feel free to forward this one to anyone you think might like it. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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Leaving

Sweet Rufus’ latest malady is terrible allergies.

I am traveling this week, which means not only that I’m having to steel myself for actually flying in an airplane once again but I’m leaving my dogs at home. This is very hard for me, always, even for one overnight. While Rufus spends most of his time in Oliver’s company and seems happiest there, and he won’t look devastated when I leave, he does have all kinds of health problems and issues, so that it’s hard for me to leave him.

And then there’s Miles. Well, Miles is really my dog. He is lying on the rug right here by me, at the moment, as he often does. He is a one-woman dog. I am his person. He gets a stomach ache whenever I leave. He sees all the telltale signs of any upcoming travel, and then he worries and frets and gives me that look. When will you come home? Will you ever come home? Maybe not. This might be the last time I’ll ever see you again. And then what?

Darling Miles

And I fret, as well. Does Oliver tell Miles he loves him, every single day? Probably not. Who am I kidding? No. Never. Will he kiss him on the nose? No. Will he let Miles give him a French kiss? No. Oh dear.

And Miles has gotten visibly older and has some difficulties, as well. He has a bad neck and sometimes, especially lately, a limp. I can hardly bear to see this.

Lately, though, Miles has spent a little more time in Oliver’s room, and that gives me some reassurance. Still, the looks he gives me on the leaving day, oh, they’re hard to bear. Almost always I want to take my bags back upstairs and settle down on the couch with him. Once or twice, I have.

If I were better organized I would put here a poem that this drawing goes with, a poem called “Do You?” It is about being away from home and seeing other dogs that make me think about my own two messy dogs, waiting for me back at home. But I am not organized and I wrote those Daily Poems for over a year a long time ago and marked them only with the date, which makes them very difficult to locate specifically. So I give up. I am, after all, getting ready to travel! I’m stressed! I cannot do everything! What do you want from me??

If you are particularly interested in finding it, you could search through the Daily Poems in my blog. Please do let me know if you find it and where. I would appreciate it.

“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.”

― Groucho Marx

“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.”

― Will Rogers

“Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.” ― Mark Twain

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. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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Christmas Past Present & Future?

Although winter, the cold, and all the clothes one has to wear try my patience, I do love Christmas. It was, of course, more fun both when I was a child and when my boys were little. I have lots of fond Christmas memories. But even now I love the whole idea of it, the lights, the special meals, the carols, the gift buying, the secrets, the festive atmosphere, and of course, the cookies.

When we were kids, on Christmas Eve our aunt and grandmother would come over and we would be sent upstairs while Santa arrived. My dad would do the “HoHoHo-ing” at some point and soon after, we were called downstairs again. Wow! Presents were piled under the tree. I’m not sure why, but at least as far as I knew, none of us ever wondered how my parents knew just when Santa would arrive or why Santa would have been okay with them being there when he brought the gifts. We just enjoyed it as it was. And one year, my sister Pat claimed she had seen a sleigh and reindeer in the sky!

When Cole was still pretty little, he asked for and received a dog for his birthday. I still have the note he left for Santa that year, and I get it out every Christmas so I can hold it and smile over it. “If you have a extra bone we have a new dog.” So modest and so sweet. Peter, on the other hand, suspecting that I was Santa, left a large onion on a plate on the mantel, rather than cookies. Santa left him a note that said, “Dear Peter, Thanks for the onion, but onions give me gas and Mrs. Claus hates that.” I ended up making that into a Christmas card. He also rigged up some bells on his stocking one year, with the idea of catching Santa in the act.

We have always had dogs, but Miles is the one who has loved Christmas the most. He has a good nose, so he found the stockings filled with treats quite intriguing. But more fun, since he loves tearing paper, he likes to help open our gifts. It brings a bit of zaniness to Christmas and a rather jolly mess to the living room floor.

Miles in the wrappings and Rufus in his Santa hat

Now our Christmases are usually cozy–just me, Oliver, Miles and Rufus–but we have a good time. (Miles gets to open the gifts.) Once in awhile, Peter or Cole will come in from NYC, and once in a great while, both! But not often. And one day, I’d like to be in NYC at Christmas time. But it’s a difficult time to travel and now even moreso. I think we all wonder, will it ever be as we all remember? I like to think it might be even better.

I have an adorable six-year-old piano student from Greece. His mother told me he was ready for Christmas, as he had written his letter to Santa. I asked him in an animated voice, “Are you going to go see Santa?” and he said solemnly, “No. Coronavirus.” Sigh. I hope Santa brings him everything he asked for. And I hope you get everything you’re wanting this year, whatever that may be.

“One can never have enough socks,” said Dumbledore. “Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.” ― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

“One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas day. Don’t clean it up too quickly.” ― Andy Rooney

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. And if someone forwarded this one to you, you can sign up here to receive the letters right in your Inbox. 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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Our Birthday Month!

August is my birthday month. Mine, that is, and Miles’. I like having my birthday towards the end of the month because then I feel entitled to celebrate all month long. And since Miles’ birthday is also this month–on the 19th–it’s extra great. And his is coming up this week.

I know the exact date of his birthday because he came from a breeder. I did not buy him myself. He was given up to a woman who routinely called breeders to ask if they had any dogs they were planning to give up. Her idea was to save the dogs from being put in the pound or worse. Miles is supposed to be a miniature poodle, but he is rather large. He’s taller and beefier than miniatures usually are–a great size for a dog, I feel. But I imagine he was not a very good advertisement for that particular breeder. So she gave him to the woman and then that woman could not keep him and passed him on to a gal who finds homes for dogs.

Miles with a new toy when he was one.

As it happened, I got Miles on his half birthday–February 19th. He was exactly six months old. And having been in a crate or a variety of crates and other enclosures for most of his six months, he was quite exuberant to be out. I can still see him, in my mind’s eye, on the day I met him, bouncing with excitement at the end of the leash. And then, on our first walks in the neighborhood, he tried to go up the walks and front steps of just about every house we passed. “Who lives here?” he was asking. “Is this our house? Is there a dog inside? Can we go in? Can we??” He sure was a happy dog. (He still is.) The breeder had reputedly said, “He has a gentle soul.” And he really does.

So we have two birthdays to celebrate this month. I usually get him a large rawhide bone for his birthday and then he gets a slightly bigger helping of dinner, even though he’s watching his weight. I like to sing “Happy Birthday” all throughout the day. To be fair, I sing it throughout the day on my own birthday, too. Miles gives me many kisses and his usual super soulful, loving looks. Same as every day, as he makes a fuss over me every day of the year. Every time I come home from anywhere, he acts as if I’ve been gone for weeks. Still, even twelve years later. That’s my darling Miles.

I wrote this poem after having traveled, as I often do, to California to see my siblings. Miles was not quite three years old then.

Home

How simple a thing it is to be at home
again where one’s heart is
to occupy one’s own bed, the covers skimming
one’s bones as they are known to do
the familiar clock and lamp at the elbow
the special mug for tea now full, now empty
to see the neighbor’s green house outside the window
to feel upon one’s thigh the known weight of a beloved dog
whose two baby teeth lie downstairs in a small blue bowl
where they could be found, admired, touched
whenever one wanted.
How simple, how simply grand.

I still have those two baby teeth. 😉

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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Sleeping Dogs

I decided not to call this one Sleeping With Dogs, even though that is really what I intend to write about. My two small dogs sleep in my bed. Miles has a dog bed at the foot of my bed, but definitely on it. Rufus, who is a Very Small Animal, wants always to be near a human, and he gets under the covers with me, not infrequently ending up with his chin on the other pillow.

He is a sweet, dear little dog, a cuddler, the one who will curl up with the parents of my piano students on the couch or with anyone at all who visits. Each person thinks they have an amazing special bond with him, but he is just pretty much like this with everybody. During his Grindstone days he found a young guy reading by the creek in one of those low beach chairs. Before I got there, Rufus had gotten on his lap.

Here’s how he was back in the day, in the woods, so full of life that he once chased a coyote all over the place!

Rufus has many health issues, which is why you never hear me mention him on these adventures with Miles. He is too tired to go. Back in the day he could run like a cartoon character with wheels for legs. He was the fierce Alpha, always bossing Miles around and trying to boss others, too. Now he is an old man, and how quickly that happened! He had a hard start to life and then we found each other and he’ had a wonderful life but now he is a tired old man with many problems. He has Addison’s disease, which is a pretty big deal in itself, requiring a shot every month and Prednisone every other day. He has a previously broken leg and back (part of the unknown hard life) and spinal stenosis. So the vet said don’t let him jump off of things!

My son and I put our mattresses and box springs on the floor so Rufus would have less far to go if he tries to jump before we have time to stop him. Because we certainly don’t intend to make him sleep on the floor, all by himself! Sheesh! My chiropractor gave me what I believe was the Stink Eye when I told him about this. “You sleep with your dog?” he asked, putting an unpleasant tone to the word “dog” and intimating that I curl up with him in a dog bed on the floor. I did not mention that there are actually two dogs in my bed.

Good vantage point from which to guard the house from intruders. See who’s closest to the door?

Also, Rufus has an enlarged heart and gets fluid on his lungs, so he takes meds for those things, too, one of which is a diuretic. Oh boy. So now, in addition to his nicknames of The Little Man, Little, Ittle (for short), Rufe, Rufle, Rufelly Dufelly, he is sometimes called Mr. PeePee Pants. I think you can guess . . . old man, tired, twice daily diuretic . . . Still, we haven’t kicked him out of our beds. It’s too sweet to have him there.

Little Dog’s Rhapsody in the Night – Mary Oliver
He puts his cheek against mine
and makes small, expressive sounds.
And when I’m awake, or awake enough

he turns upside down, his four paws
in the air
and his eyes dark and fervent.

“Tell me you love me,” he says.

“Tell me again.”

Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Over and over
he gets to ask.
I get to tell.

***

I found that when I Googled “pee pads” many such things popped right up! There is a solution for just about anything, I suppose. Or, at least, a coping mechanism, as we all know only too well. Coping mechanisms became our Best Thing last year, if we were lucky. And plucky.

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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Big Adventures

Whew! Miles and I had two completely different adventures this morning in the woods. I had worn my new boots, since my old, worn out pair are no longer waterproof and I was intending to cross the creek. I love the back part of the park (“The Back Forty”) very much but because of all the rain I hadn’t been able to get over there yet. There is a slope back there that I call Bluebell Hill and I was thinking it’s probably about time for the bluebells to be popping up.

When I got to the creek, Miles was gone, off again on another of his secret adventures. But this time I felt sure I knew where he’d gone–to find and gnaw on a deer leg he’d found back the other direction. And I thought I could go and see the flowers and then find him over there. I thought we could both do what we wanted this time and then I’d find him.

In my adventure I was richly rewarded. Wow. Bluebells were out in full force, pushing through the fallen leaves, along with Dutchmen’s breeches, trillium and false rue anemone–a magic carpet of wildflowers. Walking through there, even quickly since I was thinking about Miles, my heart ached with how pretty it is. I took many pictures, none of which match the wonder and magic of the place, the flowers, the perch above the creek that I so love, the meandering path. No. Not even close. You can’t hear the birds when you look at the pictures, for example. You can’t tell that everywhere you look there’s something tiny and beautiful to see. You don’t feel the cool morning air on your face or smell the fragrance of damp earth and rich, ripe spring.

“Waldeinsamkeit is a German word that refers to the feeling one has while being alone in the woods, usually a sublime or spiritual one.” Dictionary.com

Sublime, indeed.

Meanwhile, Miles was having a different sort of adventure. I headed towards where I imagined he had gone but did not find him there and pretty soon my phone rang. He had found a woman, showed her his tag, and asked her to call me. (I’m sure this is how it went, as he is very smart and he knows all about cell phones.) She was at the complete other end of the park and she’d put him on a leash (not at all a part of his plan). I asked her to hold him until I was across the creek, where I could call to him and he’d hear me, so that’s how it went. He loves to go off on his own but he really really wants to come back and tell me all about it. Pretty soon he came racing up. All out of breath, worn out, wet, desperate to find me, legs trembling, the look of worry in his eyes. Bad mother. And the smell of death on his breath. Bad dog.

I gave him about two million treats and tried to get him to lie down and rest for awhile, but that only lasted about one minute. And we headed back, each of us rewarded once again by nature’s bounty.

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.” – Thornton Wilder

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 invite them to sign up for them. 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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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 did not 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.”