Sad news and new things...

 Two weeks ago, Bravo, our almost ten-year-old English Shepherd, had a bad case of digestive upset. I tried my normal tricks, but he still felt crummy, so we went off to visit the veterinarian. They did all the right things to make him feel better: subcutaneous fluids, anti-nausea medication, anti-diarrheal medication, probiotics, antibiotics, and a recommended bland diet. They took X-rays of his tummy, and he compliantly lay on his back for them to do so. They tested his blood and gave him a physical exam. To my abject horror, the doctor found that his lymph nodes were dramatically enlarged. I know from my many years working with dogs that this can mean lymphoma, an incurable disease. They took a sample from one of his nodes and sent it off. The results were positive, and I am bereft. 

I often quip that Bravo has been my reward for all of the often naughty dogs I've had in my life. He is almost a perfect pet. We can safely leave rib-eye steaks (or any tempting food) on the counter, knowing he will never help himself. He's perfectly housebroken and has been since he was 10 weeks old. He is polite with the customer dogs, affectionate with every human he meets, biddable, and kind. He is trustworthy around infants and toddlers, guards our livestock, and barks politely to announce guests. He's a happy dog, a joy to be around, handsome to look at, and silky to pat. I adore him, and he adores me right back. He's been incredibly healthy his entire life, never having so much as an ear infection. He looks and acts much younger than he is, running and leaping to catch his frisbee. Many dogs of his breed live well into their teens, and I fully anticipated he would do the same. I have looked forward to years more of enjoyment with him. Now with this new diagnosis, I am sharply aware of the limited days we actually have. I cannot imagine my life without him, but I'm having to try. Meanwhile, he is feeling fine and acting completely normal. We are slathering on the love and letting him eat too many treats. We play his favorite games and go for walks. And I try not to cry.  We've shared many adventures. He's introduced me to new friends and brought me happiness in more ways than I can count. I wish he could live forever. 

We've had weeks of bitterly cold weather. Negative and single digits. This brings worry about all my animals. Homer, the "barn cat," has moved himself into the grooming studio during the cold, basking in front of the heater and looking smug. I've taken all the recommended steps to keep the chickens and goats as comfortable as possible, and they have all fared well. The chickens have even been laying lots of eggs, a sign that all is fine with them.  We have the goats' house bedded deep with shavings and straw, so they can snuggle in. I have a camera in their house and peek in at them at night, pleased to see them all cuddled together, sharing body heat. 

When goats are concerned or fearful about something, they stamp their front feet and loudly snort an alarm sound. They do this if they see a strange animal, like a fox, in their pasture, or if an unfamiliar dog visits. On the bitterly cold mornings, I can't help but laugh when I open the door to their cozy barn, and they flood out. They look around, feel the icy air, and in unison all stamp their tiny hooves and snort. They clearly don't approve of the cold and let me know it. I dish out a big breakfast, and that cheers them up a bit, but I know they will be glad when the cold abates. 

My neighbor took this lovely photo of our house one morning after a recent snowstorm. It looks so cozy that if I didn't live here, I'd wish I did. 

It's especially cozy inside, because after two years of looking, I bought a new sofa. It's not only a lovely color (French blue) with deliciously soft fabric, but it's also designed for homes with kids and dogs. If a toddler happens to dump a drink on the fabric, the liquid wipes right off. Every single bit of the fabric can be removed and tossed in the washing machine if needed, and pet hair wipes off like a dream. The cushions are memory foam, and once I get myself ensconced, I absolutely do not want to get up. The 4-year-old Owlet has dubbed it the "Snuggly Cuddly Couch" and has given up the portable crib she's napped in since infancy to rest on the couch at sleepy time instead. Wise choice. 

I treated the windows to new lace panels, and niece Aimee found me pretty "new" end tables on Marketplace for a bargain. She fetched them, freshened the paint, and delivered them to us. What a gal. I think of her with deep gratitude every time I enter the room.  I love the way the space is looking. It still needs a few tweaks to be "just right," but it's definitely headed in the right direction. Cozy, comfy, and practical. 

While life is riddled with wrenching moments of sadness and loss, it is equally filled with beauty, kindness, comfort, and the chance to find things to be glad about. Three pairs of Eastern Bluebirds have arrived here despite the weather to feast at our feeder (more mealworms, please!) and check out the local nest boxes. Their brilliant feathers and cheery song take my breath away and remind me that spring is on the horizon, with the promise of new life, beauty, and anticipated bliss. 

Rest...

 After a few lovely days of "January thaw," winter returned yesterday morning in the form of snow flurries. 

They flurried and flurried all day, a soft, gentle, fluffy snow that exceeded the forecasters' predictions by several inches. The goats, who will not tolerate so much as a drop of rain falling upon them, didn't mind the snow a bit. 

For no apparent reason, I had been laid low by back spasms for two days. My body needed to rest, and Chris declared that rest was what I would do. He made me breakfast. He took care of all the animals. I sat by the fire and drank tea. Then I sat on the sofa and surfed the net. Chris ran all the typical Saturday family errands, hauled in wood, and even went out to clean the goat cozy for me. I have cameras in the goat house, so I stayed in my warm living room and watched him, feeling incredibly blessed. 

My Aunt Pearl used to say, "You found a real helpmate with him," and she was so right. I didn't do anything more strenuous than start a load of laundry and empty the dishwasher. I took a nap and went to bed early. Chris took care of everything else.

The goats always look pleased when they find their house freshly tidied. They were even happier because my guy brought them a treat ball. This is a rock-hard goodie made of oats, seeds, and a sweet substance that holds it all together. It is hung by a rope from a beam in their house, and they nibble and lick it as it swings about in the air. Imagine a big caprine lollipop.  It keeps them happily entertained on these long, dark winter days. 

I felt much better today and was glad to walk out and see and take care of all my animals, throw a toy for Bravo to chase, and breathe the crisp air. More snow is coming down tonight. Tomorrow I'll accomplish all the things I should have yesterday and today, renewed and recharged from the gift of rest. 

Surprise..!

 It was well after dark when I went out to take care of the animals tonight. I stuffed the goats' hay bags full and locked them up safely in their cozy. I checked the little chicken coop and emptied their water bowl so it wouldn't freeze overnight. I peeked in on the big chickens; all eleven of them were calmly nestled on their roost. I locked them in, then went to the side of the coop and lifted the lid that covers the nest boxes. I peered in with my flashlight. The first box has two lovely eggs. The second box had one. I gasped when I glanced into the third box. 

A wee opossum. I closed the lid and hustled back to the house. Rachel had not left for the evening yet and excitedly came out to see. I wasn't quite sure how to proceed, but she didn't hesitate. She took my warm winter gloves from me and reached right into the box, lifting the little thing out. It didn't seem terribly upset by the close contact. 

She gently set it down, and it scurried off across the snow at a rapid rate, disappearing into the darkness. I hope it doesn't come back. I don't want it to get any ideas about my hens, but it was a fun surprise to see it. I don't envy the nearly hairless thing living in this climate, but it seemed healthy and well-fed. May it find shelter and food, but not in my henhouse. 

New Year...

 The wee grands had a "spend the night" with us on New Year's Eve. The four-year-old was all on board. The two-year-old had some misgivings. Finally, I got them both snuggled into bed. I was asked for a story. I made up one about a princess with a well-equipped kitchen who was bored, so she whipped up a big batch of chocolate chip cookies and delivered them to all her neighbors by way of dog cart. The girls loved it and asked for more, so I stretched it out, weaving in mice and crumbs and cats and more until they fell asleep. All was well until around  3:00 AM, when the wee one poked me in the eye, giggling, and said, "PEEK A BOO!" Then she blew raspberries at my face. I didn't get a lot of sleep, but I did get some excellent snuggles, some giggles, and a "This is the best sleepover EVER!" What could be better? These days (and nights) are fleeting, and I need to appreciate them while I can. I am most grateful that their parents so generously share these wee girls with us.

I had a fun New Year's surprise while doing chores. Late last summer, I added some new pullets to my flock of chickens. These particular birds were bred to lay unusual colored eggs. I've had several olive-green eggs (left), which delight me, and now a blue layer has begun to contribute, and they are so pretty. 

In case you wonder, the eggs all taste the same. White, brown, green, or blue... It's just fun to see a variety of shell colors in the carton. I now have shades of brown, white, blue, and green coming out of my very own coop. Like an Easter egg hunt every day. 

I'm past the point of setting resolutions for the new year, or even looking back on the past year to ponder events. But on the first day of the new year, when I woke up to see three inches of soft, fluffy snow covering my world, and the windows framing a sky filled with flakes, I felt almost as excited as the tousled-headed, wide-eyed girl bouncing beside me.  "Lovie! It SNOWED in the night!" I let myself feel the awe and joy. Clean slate, new year, full of wonder.

Merrily...

 We had a perfectly merry Christmas season. I decked the halls the minute Thanksgiving was over because I love seeing all my favorite decorations around the house. 

We decorated gingerbread houses to kick things off. 

Then I trotted out all my Santa Claus figures and a flock of snowmen. 

The Owlet spent many happy hours playing with the Christmas village. It gave a cozy glow to one corner of the kitchen. I especially love the hand-knit mittens that my amazing niece Aimee made for me. 

I had the packages I wrapped all neatly arranged, but then everyone else brought their gifts and tossed them about. Charming chaos! 

On Christmas Eve, we had a celebratory supper with friends. 

My popovers popped! Last year, they flopped. Dinner was tasty, with thoughtful gifts, pleasant conversation, and some good laughs. 

Christmas day found us here with Rachel, Evans, and the wee ones. Santa had filled their stockings, and we had a cozy breakfast, watching snow fall. 

I can't remember it ever actually snowing on Christmas Day. It felt magical. 

Gifts were opened in a leisurely fashion. The littles were delightful, except for a few squabbles about sharing and one memorable tantrum. They liked most of their gifts, though the Owlet handed me an educational spelling game I'd picked out and firmly said, "I not like this toy." She also made me laugh hard when she tried to use her new face "paint" crayons on my cheek. "These not working on your face, Lovie. Your skin is too WOBBLY." I packed her off to draw on her Pop Pop's bald head.  That worked much better. 

There was mess and mayhem, caring and thoughtfulness, easy camaraderie, and delicious things to snack on. I was awash with feelings of gratitude. We had a very merry Christmas. 

Thanks-getting...

 For the past 35 years Chris and I have hosted Thanksgiving almost every year. Some of those years we didn't have many family members around, so we ended up inviting people we knew (some we hardly knew!) who didn't have a place to go. We had some memorable holidays with diverse and fascinating people. 

Since we moved to Maine we have plenty of family nearby(ish) but we always still have a guest or two gracing our table, and that is an added happiness. Having a houseful of people for this holiday is a true joy to me, one I look forward to all year.

. I love bringing out the mismatched China dishes and silverware. I delight in plotting the menu, mapping out the grocery list and making this old house shine. 

This year sister Deb, Rachel and I all commandeered the kitchen on Wednesday and cooked all day. We made stuffing (two kinds) cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, roasted squash for a fabulous salad, pecan pies, spice cake, rum cake and eggnog pie. There was music and laughter and pleasant togetherness. It made my heart happy. Rachel worked circles around us, juggling two wee ones at the same time, we watched in awe.

Brother-in-law John kindly let us task him, "Please reach this? Could you bring in more firewood? Extra chairs from the garage? He was good natured and kind throughout. 

My creative niece Aimee volunteered to decorate the table, and I happily anticipated her inventive flair adding a whole new level of enjoyment. She didn't disappoint. Layers of greens, apples, cinnamon sticks, and lots of candles for the win.     

It looked incredible when the table was empty, but oh! it was even better when everyone gathered around to share conversation as well as lots and lots of food. There were sixteen people to feed, and Deb and I locked eyes and shared a conspiratorial smile when we listened to chatter and ripples of laughter. "This," our gaze said, "This is what it's all about."  

This humorous sign sister Donna gave me years ago greeted guests and helped remind them proper gathering etiquette. My birth family needed this sign, because many a holiday dinner was ruined with heated political debates. I don't miss those! 

Here are a few glimpses of the day. 

The dessert table was a little excessive. I like that in a dessert table. 

This turkey was the flower girl at our wedding. She was six. I still like her an awful lot. 

No one went hungry. We cooked TWENTY POUNDS of potatoes for heavens sake. Enough for plenty of leftovers. 

We may host this holiday, but we get so much more than we give. People bring contributions to the feast, cook, help make the whole experience work smoothly, wash dishes, fill the house with love and, most importantly, hand down memories to the next generation.  There were four little girls here watching us, and I hope someday they will make the effort to gather those they love the best to be thankful together. 

Over three decades of gatherings have been enjoyed around multiple tables, in various homes, with an assorted group of friends and family joining in gratitude for all we have. It is part of what has shaped us, and for that we give thanks. 

Circle...

 My great-niece turned one and was celebrated with a party today. There were balloons galore, decorative unicorns of every kind, yummy food, and lots of guests celebrating. Rachel, the grands, and I traveled to Massachusetts to join the throngs of adoring people who are so glad that Sophie is here. 

I always treasure a chance to visit my sister's place, the home I grew up in. To share it with my grands is the happiest of happy things. This morning, I watched them run down the long hall I once took my first toddling steps in, and my eyes leaked a little. My parents would have been so pleased to know their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren joyfully gather in this home they built. 

Between helping with party prep, I took a little walk outside. I walked down to an area that was once a fenced paddock for horses. When the last horse moved on, my father ordered a bunch of tree seedlings by mail. He found the advertisement in the back of a magazine.  When they came, he sliced the box tape with a sharp pocket knife, and I opened the cardboard package and lifted out tiny sprouted trees, no longer than his finger. He let me help plant them. He shoveled the soil; I gently teased each wee tree from its companions, held it over the hole, and watched him place the dirt around the fragile roots and pat it down. It was my job to water them all one long summer. Over the first years they grew, I used to practice leaping over them, pretending I was a horse, and each small tree was a jump to traverse. 

I remembered all this as I looked at those trees. My neck tipped back and back and back. The saplings I once leapt over with ease now touch the sky. 

The newest family member turned one. The grove of trees I helped plant is sixty or so years old, and my grandchildren are making memories in the place where my life began. The circle of life is plain to me, and celebrated.