thank god for vacations.

I woke up this morning blogging in my head. I dreamt I had 4 dogs, one of which was a St. Bernard and we were trying our best to be evasive of our landlords. So, when little Louie jumped up in bed in the wee hours of dawn and started licking our faces goodmorning, I was trying to remember what kind of dog the 4th one was while, at the same time, blogging a post about how thankful I am that, beginning at 6pm this evening, I will be on vacation. In my mind I kept repeating over and over: thank god!!

And, yes, I am thankful. I haven't left town since Christmas and, even then, it was only for a few days. Now that I'm actually awake, the words are not flowing so smoothly. My back is out--in a serious way--and I think it is hampering an even flow of thoughts through my brain. I tweaked something trying to take the back seats out of the car. Great. By the time I was done with work yesterday, I could no longer bend at the waist. Today it is no better, only more stiff. I'm hoping that floating in northern Minnesota lakes and rivers takes care of it. Right now, that seems like the perfect medicine for everything.

We're going home for vacation, but we'll be hiding out. I love hiding out. The only visitors we'll have will be my mom and maybe my long lost cousin who will also be in town. I'm not going to step foot in public because, I know if I do, I will have a list of social engagements a mile long. Not that it's a bad thing to see all the people I know from the town I grew up in...but I'd rather spend my time at the lake either laying on the dock or in a hammock reading books. Quiet. Sweet, blissful quiet. What will it be like without the constant hum of traffic and airplanes and sirens? I'm afraid I might never want to come back. And stars? Oh, I remember them. I look forward to seeing the few that will be sharing the sky with the full moon. Maybe I'll paddle the canoe out into the middle of the lake for a nice long moon bath. Maybe I'll never be seen again.

I don't know if it's the pain in my back or the stress from the week, but I am feeling rather emotional about going back home. It has been nearly a year since we moved away and if I were to describe to you where I am going I would probably end up in tears. It's strange because, in many ways, I don't miss it there at all. Still, it is the place that holds my heart. It will always be that way. Don't get me wrong...I love the city too and I am glad that I live here. I feel like I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. But, man, there are things about Northern Minnesota that I truly love and look forward to going back to for the next 5 days. India taught me about this love. Funny how one love informs the other.

Anyway...this is just a bunch of gibberish. Never mind that I'm writing just to write. Mostly, I came here to say hello and to let you know that I'll be away from for the next 5 GLORIOUS days. No work. No computer. No phone. No house hunting. No noise. No nothing except sweet relaxing.

Later alligators!!
:)

Love,
Jessie

coookooo for cocoa puffs...

I am thankful to be sitting in a coffee shop. 40 minutes to closing. Write fast. Something Arabic playing. The ceiling fan has a tick. The sky has turned windy, serious, and pink. The thin, thirsty leaves of the trees move calmly in the warmth.

Today was an interesting nightmare and so I have come seeking a bit of peace. Just enough quiet to let the tension out of my shoulders.

You see, the garden shop that I work at is for sale. This is a bit unsettling in itself, but the owner wants to retire sometime in the next 4 years and so she is giving herself ample time to find just the right person to take over her store. She wants someone that will keep it as it is: a little funky and a whole lot eclectic. And she wants someone who will continue to contribute to the community. Sometimes I think I would be a good candidate to buy it except that A) I don't have any money, and B) My parents owned a flower shop. I have no intention of following in their footsteps. Owning your own business is a lot of work. Hard work. I like the idea, but I am also aware of the realities. And I'm not necessarily interested in living those realities.

Anyway, I'm getting off track. You see, there are a lot of people that would like to buy the place, but no one (so far) that has actually committed to it. That is, until yesterday when some lady came in (in the middle of an hour long power outage. Is this darkness symbolic?) and declared that she wanted to buy the place and that she has the funds to do so. She was serious. Very. She didn't know any of the details, but she wanted it. Her and my boss shook on it in a silly sort of way and then the woman continued to babble on in her own wonderful, hopeful, deeply meaningful sort of way. She talked about finally discovering her dream after 20 years of searching and yadda, yadda, yadda. What a great store. End of conversation.

Then she shows up again this morning, a half hour after we've opened, with her dog and several paper bags full of stuff. She hands me her dog and tells me to watch her (um...excuse me?), puts her purse behind the counter, then goes to get more bags from her car across the street. She then begins to unpack them. My boss comes and goes a couple times and chats briefly with her about nothing in particular (not noticing the bags). Of course, I'm leaving a whole bunch out...but it doesn't really matter, does it. The part that matters is that this woman is redecorating the store with her ugly angels, faded prints, and beat up topiaries while I stood there holding her dog. Meanwhile, my heart is beating wildly because I'm thinking that my boss and her have worked out some sort of deal in the night. My body felt vibratey and wrong. Instant headache. I knew right then and there that I did not like this woman and that A) I would lose my job due to the business selling, or B) I would quit before working for that woman for even a minute.

I start watering plants, even though they don't need it, only because I don't know what else to do with myself. By this time my boss is gone and working in her office. So I ask the woman: "So...is your stuff for sale, or....?" She says: "Oh, I don't know. I suppose I never thought about how this would work." And at this point something starts feeling even more wrong than before and so I wait approximately 20 seconds to make a graceful exit...then head straight to the office where I walk up to my boss and ask: "What is going on?! That woman is upstairs redecorating the shop with tacky paper mache angels from the 80's. " My boss: "What?" We exchange bewildered looks. Me: "Do you know anything about this?" My boss: "No." Me: "Well, it's your deal, not mine. I'm going to the bathroom." At this moment I am very glad to be the underdog. Do you blame me? And so my boss goes upstairs to tell the woman firmly, but nicely that this isn't how it works. The lady asks: "Oh, have I over-stepped my ground?" Um...yeah?

To make a long story short, a potential buyer was lost--or at least that is what the crazy lady told me to tell my boss. Let me just take a moment to say: THANK GOD!!!

In summary: the woman is a nutcase and thought that the shop was hers just because she said she wanted it. Oh, the mind. It is an interesting thing. I mean, she seemed relatively normal at first. I work for a woman who can lift anything and is intimated by nothing--but I think it's safe to say that both of us were feeling completely frazzled for the rest of the day.

Right now I'm just looking for a rock to hide under and this coffee shop is that place. Geez man...can't I just have a normal life? Even just kinda normal? I've been trying to ignore this impending lack of job security and have been doing a very good job of it...until today.

Before leaving, the woman bought $130-some dollars worth of stuff, left some of her own things, and put her half dead roses upside down in the vase that she also left behind. Right now she's probably at home crying over the loss of her dream and casting voodoo spells on all of us.

My question is: when is the ground going to quit shifting under my feet? Gah. I need a break. Please, Universe?

pre-writing.

Once again I feel the need to blog even though I'm not sure what I'll say. What is this curious desire to write? What is it that pulls me back, over and over again, to this little blue blogger box? I suppose, in part, it is to make sense of the thoughts rattling around in my head and, in part, to connect with the people I now consider my friends. Asking myself "why do I write?" is sort of a stupid question, but it is one of those questions that most writers/artists/thinkers seem to enjoy (including myself). It is like asking: why do I eat or breathe or shower? Well...there are worse addictions one could have.

At the moment I am sitting outside. The twittery sound of birdsong is louder than the whir of distant freeway traffic, but just barely. The dogs are asleep at my feet and I can feel the grass between my toes. It is hot out, but I am sitting in the shade of 3 pine trees. The cup of coffee sitting next to me is holding down a stack of essays that I am about to start working on. I know I've already written about this scene--but it is becoming such a familiar one--this probably won't be the last time I describe it to you. This here, is what I call "pre-writing." I thank Peter Elbow for teaching me this, and Natalie Goldberg, too. But anyway...

Yes, I am still working on my thesis. It seems hard to believe that I have not finished it yet...but it is not so bad anymore. I am almost done with it and, these days, I actually look forward to the time I am able to carve out in order to work on it. This is my sacred time (Mondays) and, despite difficulties, I let nothing get in the way of it. As another writer-friend likes to say: I'm on "sacred cow time."

Sometimes I wonder what I will do when I am finally done with my thesis. What will I write about when I no longer have a destination for my writing? In daydreams concerning topics such as this, I usually imagine myself writing short nonfiction pieces for publication (or not for publication (whichever). I am no longer bent on proving myself). In writing my thesis, one thing that I've learned about myself in terms of writing is that I am truly in love with the genre of creative nonfiction. Often, when applying for grad school, you get to choose from one of three categories: fiction, nonfiction, or poetry. I've always waffled back and forth between poetry and nonfiction, never knowing where I best fit. Now I realize that I am a healthy combination of both--but my first and truest love is in creating prose. I derive great pleasure from crafting a good sentence. I am in love with punctuation and word choice, rhythm and rhyme and long stretches of syllables that extend from one side of the page to the other until, finally, an entire paragraph is formed, and then another and another and another. In this way, I am able to transform miniature moments into something that can be shared. I don't really care about getting published so much as I like the idea of my writing having a place in the world, a destination. After all, it feels good to have a purpose in life, don't you think? It feels good to have a "home," a place for things to rest or be received--on more levels than one.

Completing my degree will, in many ways, take the weight off of things--but, without grades or deadlines or the incentive of finally attaining a diploma, what will drive my work? From where will I excavate ample amounts of focus and inspiration? Frankly, I find this thought mildly intoxicating. I am excited to see where I end up once on my own. But let me not forget:

"The journey is the destination." ~Dan Eldon

urban ninja gnome:

(or: life at the garden shop on a slow day)

spectacles of nature.

The tree outside our house, the one that stretches its limbs over our roof and far into the sky, is in full bloom right now. I came home for lunch today to find hundreds of butterflies feasting on its blossoms. They flitted and fluttered through the air all around me. They rested on the ivy covering our house, opening and closing their wings, so softly. They danced circles around one another. They took my breath away. I have never, in my whole life, seen such a spectacle.

Neither has Louie.

When I returned home again after work, the tree was quiet...until I looked more closely and saw that all of the butterflies were still there...only sleeping.

Or perhaps waiting for the storm?

The rain eventually came in big drops.
And I stayed outside to enjoy it.

Sunday Scribbings: Eccentricity

I sat down with nothing to write about. I am outside, once again sitting up to the old wooden table that graces our backyard. Next to me is a coffee cup, a book on writing, and a whole row of potted plants. My favorite is the chocolate mint. Louis runs full speed across the yard with a pine cone in his mouth and water from the kiddie pool spraying out like a burst of broken crystals behind him in the morning sunshine. Pure beauty. Happiness. My wolfie lays lovingly at my feet. This is a good way to start a Sunday morning. It is how I've been starting every day.

To have a lack of blogging topics is extremely unusual for me. Actually, I don't remember the last time that I was at a loss for things to say. I even went so far as to ask V. last night: "What should I blog about?" Gah. What a ridiculous question. Anyway, he was no help. This is what it feels like to swim the surface of contentment. There has been an even-ness to my days brought on by large doses of heat. Life at the garden shop has been truly enjoyable, but working in upper 90 degree heat takes its toll not only on the body, but the brain (is the brain really separate from the body??). I feel my brain cells cooking like all those hot house flowers I keep watered all day long.

Needless to say, I feel a part of my life. And that is worth the physical discomfort. Being outdoors has always had that effect on me--my whole life. Yes, you could say that I'm a bit of an eccentric in that way. In the past I've taken this love to extremes--and I'm willing to do it again in the future. Someday, I'll be the old lady in the woods that lives in the crazy looking shack without running water or electricity. The one with lots of dogs and cats, a ferret, and hopefully a wolf or two. There will be a raven named Edward that comes to my window for food scraps and conversation. I'll have an painting wall outside where I'll hang large canvases and paint strange paintings. When I'm finished with one, maybe I'll leave it hanging there to look at, maybe I'll sell it, or maybe I'll just put them out in the woods (and other unexpected places) for someone else to find and ponder over. The rest of the place will be covered in a mosaic of homemade tiles, crystals, and broken glass. I've already started the collection. ;) I'll wear old flannels from Minnesota paired with sparkly fabrics from India. I'll swim in rivers and lakes. I'll collect herbs and fruits and berries from the woods. I'll sing out loud with the birds and recite Shakespeare to my dogs and take long, long walks with no particular destination. I'll ride a bike with a banana seat rather than drive a car. I'll talk to myself and enjoy the conversation. I'll collect things, pretty things, and line them up on the windowsills. I'll smoosh wild flowers in my journal, strange journals, and I will have lots of them filled with maps and drawings and words. When I die, someone will discover all of this and make a documentary about my life and work. Or maybe not--anyway, this is not the point. My hair will, most often, be messy and standing on end.

I will collect rain water and build a tree house and learn the time table of passing trains. I will have strong muscles and a big heart and I will take care of animals that need my help. In the winter, I will listen to the sound of snow until I learn to understand its language. I will make things for people to help them remember who they are. I will share pots of strong coffee and, when I laugh, I will laugh down deep from the bottom of my belly. I will sing in public and ask people what they dream about. I will learn the rotation of the stars, take naps on the bare ground, and sit on the roof and read books.

This strange life as an old lady is easy for me to imagine (a little too easy?) and, assuming that I outlive my husband (as most women do), I don't doubt that my life will end up an unusual one. My great grandma lived to be 105. I have great faith that I will live to be just as old. I've never said this to anyone before, but I've always felt like my great grandma and I have a lot in common. She was the story teller of the family, the adventurer, the one who found the most contentment in life. And that was her secret to old age: happiness. She was a good role model and I am grateful that she was a part of my life well into adulthood. I've always believed that I would grow to be a very old woman--but I definitely don't want to spend all those extra years playing golf or bridge (or whatever old ladies do), that much I know! But wait a minute....why wait to be an old woman to live an eccentric life? Middle age eccentric? Definately.

"I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; to live so that which comes to me as seed goes to the next as blossom and that which comes to me as blossom, goes on as fruit." ~Dawna Markova

Find more eccentrics here.

dog life:

Bucket Head

Anu and I--she's still my biggest baby.

"You people make my aaasss twitch."

My wolfie, Anu.

Louie and "Pinky," his favorite new "girlfriend" that he picked out for himself at Petsmart. Poor "Lucy" is but a distant memory.

coffee brain

My brain feels scattered. I drank too much coffee and I feel nervous. I accidentally went to work 2 hours early because I was thinking of next week's schedule. Anu got attacked by a raccoon in the back yard last night and got bit on the nose several times. She isn't current on her rabies shots because she wasn't feeling well a few weeks ago when we brought her to the vet. She seems fine, a little rattled, but fine. Still, I'm worried. Louie is oblivious to everything and is asleep at my feet. He's just happy that I came back home so unexpectedly.

I'm also nervous that my hours are going to be cut at the garden shop now that the busy season is coming to an end. Maybe they won't--but, like I said, I drank too much coffee and I'm nervous...about everything. I paid my bills this morning and that always makes me nervous. One thing that I am learning about myself is that I am fearful of money. I am afraid of not having enough. I'm afraid of having too much. Money makes me feel disoriented. Yet, these days, I feel the need to think about it and to find ways to improve not only my relationship with money, but to find new ways of bringing it into my life in a healthy way--through endeavors that make me happy. I'm only writing because it feels good to write. It's therapeutic. It calms me. Maybe it's not the coffee...maybe it is a lot of things.

Really, what it comes down to is that I need to take a few deep breathes and return to center. There are incredible opportunities opening up for me, but in order for them to materialize I need to believe in myself--truly believe. Not only do I need to believe in myself, I need to start taking action.

I read a post today by Jamie about "leaning into it." And that's what I need to do. I need to devise a plan of attack and then I need to just lean into it and see where it takes me. I have a vision....and it is very specific. The only thing I am not sure of is how I will get there. These days, I feel like I am working on a very deep level. It is hard to explain. I am shifting molecules within myself, within the universe. It requires a lot of periphery thinking. It requires a lot of oxygen and sunlight, journaling and art making.

I attempt to move confidently forward with my heart wide open. It is scary and thrilling all at the same time. I feel vulnerable to the elements of life--yet I am focused on perseverance. This feeling...it reminds me of biking day after day cross-country against winds so high that, at times, it was difficult to stay upright. I focused on the road just beyond my front tire and, in this way, moved forward, a thousand miles. It reminds me of the day I crossed Thorung La Pass high in the the Himalayas--step by step, one foot in front of the other. It was a slow ascent, but with each step I felt myself travel deeper towards my center.

These days I am climbing another kind of mountain; I'm crossing another kind of country. Giving up is not part of the repertoire, but moving forward requires a great deal of postive focus...not to mention, large doses of faith.

He won't quit growing!!!

Just think...last week he fit in this little bed perfectly. Little Louie aint so little anymore! Oh, but I LOVE BIG DOGS!!! :)

the questions on my mind...

I've come outside to be with my wolfie and think. It has been a hot, strange, and windy day--but just now the temperature dropped. Storm weather. Dark, oily clouds fill the sky, mixed with patches of blue and white, cloud-filled light. One thing that I've noticed through my writing is that, once again, I have taken to watching the sky. I started doing this when I lived out in the country and it seems to be something I do often, especially when I need to figure out my place in the world. Something about the sky helps me to better place myself in the grander scheme of things. The sky grounds me.

Today I worked at the bookstore. Since the job shift several months ago, I cut back to one day a week, plus doing all of their artwork. Between working at the garden shop, the bookstore, working on my thesis, and doing design work. I have been extremely busy, but happy. Today, however, sucked. And so did last week. I want to write about what is on my mind, yet I don't know where to start. If I were to try anyway...

The bookstore I work at is a truly magical place. It is a children's bookstore filled with art and animals and unusual surprises at every turn. I have loved every minute of working there...and yet...lately, it has left me feeling very unfulfilled and, at times, downright irritated. The days drag by so slowly that my shifts have been starting to feel the approximate length of eternity. I love my co-workers. I love being surrounded by books. I love the community. I love the animals. I love a lot of aspects about my job...but, lately, gah... It has been so incredibly BORING!!! To be chaotically busy and bored at the same time is a very evil mix--and, with summer now here, the chaos will only grow.

I only work there once a week because it is all I can afford. The pay is HORRIBLE and so, in the end, I feel like I've done little more than volunteer my time. Volunteerism is great in theory but, let's face it, it's still retail.

One thing that I am grateful for is that the bookstore has kept me actively involved in art making. If it wasn't for my job there, it would have been all too easy to let art fall by the wayside. I've never wanted to be the kind of artist who doesn't actually make art (and this is something that happens all too often), but the bookstore kept that from happening. All the times that I felt like I was too busy to paint or draw or create, I would end up with a request for a mural or a poster or a chalkboard drawing or something....something that got me into my studio...something that "forced" me to put my other work aside, put on some music, brew a fresh pot of coffee, roll up my sleeves, pull out the paint, the pastels, the colored pencils, and CREATE. Yes, the bookstore kept me connected to that part of myself.

But now???

I don't know. Working there less has had the unexpected effect of disconnection. I feel out of touch with all of the new books coming in and I don't have time to actually keep up with the reading anyway. Even if I did, these days, I would rather be reading adult books. Picture books are great...but lately I am so hungry for a deeper level of content. Not to mention, I rarely even see the same customers anymore.

This past year, children's literature has been the balm that helped heal the wounds caused by grad school. But, oy...I think I feel another transition coming on. The question is, when will I allow this transition to take place? When I moved to Minneapolis, I made a list of "dream jobs." They weren't jobs that would make me rich or successful, they were jobs that I felt would make me most happy. Oddly enough, those are the two jobs that I got. Yes, I believe in the power of letting the universe know what you want! And, yet, I never intended either of those jobs to be my "forever" jobs. They were the jobs that I wanted to help me "decompress" from a rough patch in life. And so they have.

If I were to be honest with myself, I would admit that what I really want to do is return some of my time and energy to the making of art. Not chalkboard drawings or window murals or silly posters for kids--but real art--my art.

I felt a not-so-subtle shift in myself today. I was talking to another artist about her work when it happened...when I realized that it was time to return to the work I need to do. Really, what I felt was bitter and a little bit angry, jealous and inspired all at the same time. The feeling was short-lived and intense... but these sorts of emotions are a serious sign of something important going on under the surface. I mean, come on. The problem is that it is the bookstore's busy season and we are already seriously understaffed. Granted, the reason they are understaffed is because they don't pay enough. But despite low wages I am still in love with the place and I still feel a sense of commitment to it and to everyone that I work with.

I can't do everything--even though I am trying to. I know it is not possible to do all of the things I want to do. But how do I gracefully move on? Is grace even possible?

My questions are: HOW? And WHEN? And will my choices ever amount to anything in the end, anyway?

Louie's First Day of Work

Today is Louie's first day of work. The first Thurday of every month is "Dog Day" where Vinny works. The place gets packed out with dogs of every kind, size, and shape. Oh, my little Louie...what a little man! :)-

Sunday Scribblings: "The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse"

It used to be that whenever I bought a Sunday paper I would go straight for the travel section. Only after thoroughly absorbing the photography, articles of interest, and airfares would I move on to the arts section and, finally, the pet section of the classifieds. These days, however, I go straight for the realty section. As a matter of fact, today I didn't even look at the travel section. It still sits, untouched, on the dining room table where it will probably stay until the next recycling day rolls around. It has been this way for weeks, maybe even months.

I'm not sure when I traded the idea of travel in for real estate, but it seems to have happened when I wasn't paying attention. It might even be due to the accumulative effect of too many white walls that surround me in this rented bungalow. I don't know, but one thing I am sure of is that Vinny and I want a house that we can call our own. I want to paint and garden and do the sorts of things that make me feel like I belong to a place. And that is something that we do not feel here.

These past two years have been made of transitions. I moved from the country to a small town and to a small town to a big city--and, with each move, the only thing that I have been sure of is the loss of stars.

You see, I come from a place where the nights are so dark that the stars alone are thick enough to swallow you whole, a place where the Milky Way ropes itself through an impenetrable firmament, a place where the effects of a dancing aurora borealis is enough to steal your breath away. I come from a place of pine and poplar, sugar maple and giant oaks. I come from a place of mist and marshes, dark soil and blue lakes, from a place of owls and moon dogs and glacial moraines and walleye and white-tailed deer. I come from a place with a short growing season, a place of extremes. And sometimes...sometimes I wonder why I ever left that place at all.

But then I remember: I left for a lot of reasons.

Since moving to the city I feel like there is a part of me that is only observing myself from the outside. I am lucky because we happened to find a house in the city that is bordered by woods. Daily, I walk the ridge and see myself placing one foot in front of the other. The unpaved terrain is rougher up there and there are fewer people. That is, of course, what brings me there. It is the place that feels the most like "home"--the place where, for a moment, all of my selves merge back into one.

Last week, while working at the garden shop, I met an elderly gentleman from New York. We started talking about life and books and writing and I ended up telling him about my project and how I was trying to write about the ways in which we struggle to find our sense of place. It turns out that he is working on a book of his own and, although his is photography, there is a common thread between our projects. Maybe it is even a common thread that runs though all of us. He shared with me quotes from his journal. One of them, by Scott Russell Sanders, read:

"I cannot have a spiritual center without having a geographical one; I cannot live a grounded life without being grounded to a place." ~excerpt from Staying Put: Making a Home in a Restless World

These days I haven't quite figured out where I belong. Or maybe I haven't figured out where it is that I want to belong. I lack a geographical center. I live in a house that is not my own, in a city I do not yet understand. I work and walk and eat and breathe and do all of the things that I need to do--and yet I don't quite belong to any of it. Vinny and I go back and forth between wanting to find a place in the city, somewhere close to the center of things, and a deep desire for the privacy and space that we once knew. With one, we lose the other. Despite our best efforts, there seems to be nothing "in between." There are the suburbs but, no. I cannot stand even the thought of the dumb-numbness of strip malls and chain restaurants and developments that all look the same.

And so I continue to search. Meanwhile, the newspaper's travel section goes untouched. I've spent nearly an entire life consumed by a desire to travel--and I did just that. But then, one day I found a place where my spirit felt at home. It was late winter when I found it. I drove a long ways, to the very end of the universe, and then tromped across a snow-crusted field until I stood looking out towards a valley of black spruce and bare-boned tamarack. The spine of the ridge beyond was punctuated by an unbroken cover of trees that, before long, I would end up falling in love with over and over again. I never imaged myself living in a field, but that particular expanse of space was as mighty as an ocean--full of fireflies and sunsets, wind and wolves and wildflowers. I have since left that place and, maybe it is because of this, it seems that roots have become more important to me than wings.

"Tell me the landscape in which you live and I will tell you who you are." ~by Belden Lane, excerpt from Landscapes of the Soul

*Find more "town and country" here.

slow starts...

It's 10 am. I feel greasy, I need a shower, and I have to go to work soon. I pour myself another cup of coffee because it feels good to be actually still sitting here. Once again, I am surrounded my all of my sleeping animals. When this happens I feel like there should be angels singing. Or maybe it is just my heart singing.

There is a woman who parks outside of our house every day to take her big yellow lab for a walk in the woods. A few weeks ago she met Louie and gushed about how she wished she could get a puppy too. She pulled up a few minutes ago and guess what jumped out of her truck. Yep--a puppy! I had to laugh as she struggled with her jumping dogs and an over abundance of tangled leashes as she set off down the trail. I bet I look just as comical trying to get my own dogs to walk straight. I had to hold myself back from running outside to meet her new little one. She looked like her hands were full enough. Anyway, my hair is standing on end--I would hate to scare her with such a bad case of bedhead.

It's cloudy and I'm not feeling very energetic today. I want to stay home and read books while laying out in the hammock. Lately, this is my constant desire. I am currently reading a half a dozen books and want nothing more than to finish even just one! Oh, but they are some good books. I love working in a bookstore for this reason, but my stack of "to-read" is getting dangerously high. When will I ever have time to read this many?

Oh books, sweet books...puppies and books. What would life be like without such sweetness?