Three

1. I don't really mind taking the dogs out several times a day. I don't mind getting them to sit, I don't mind herding them into the garage and putting on their leashes, I don't mind making them wait while I put on my coat and boots and hat. It stopped being a pain long ago and started being a habit that is just sometimes mildly annoying. Like flossing. I like that it is something my husband and I do together--it is probably strange/gross that I look forward to taking the dogs out to poop, but it is true. We put on our coats and shoes and walk through the garage to the backyard at the same times every day. We call across the yard to each other, we see the rabbits, we comment on levels of snow, we make mental notes of which lights are on in the elderly neighbor's house, because we worry about her.

I always take Cab, he always takes Monk. Cab is stronger and has even pulled me down while wearing a training collar (not lately, because he is Slowly Learning and so are my arms), while Monk is more difficult to lure into the snow to pee and/or poop. They don't go as promptly if we mix it up. If we pair the wrong human to the wrong dog, we will probably regret it.

Cab and Monk each have a side of the yard they prefer. Monk goes to the right, close to the big bush by the shed, while Cab prefers the left of the yard with the big tree.

Rituals, no matter how basic, are rituals. Even I need a few, to give shape to the day and familiarity to the passing of time.

I like seeing the same piece of sky, the same tree, the same grass, every day at the same times. 6:15, 12:10, 3:00 or 4:00 or 5:00, 7:00, 10:00. On weekends, 12:00. Give or take.

I think my favorite times are the first and last ones. I enjoy seeing how the day is starting, and I enjoy going out when the neighborhood is dark. I love how smooth the undisturbed snow rolls before us in our neighbors' yards. I want to stretch out my palm and press it into the dips and swells that rest quietly yards away. I love looking up at the dark sky and seeing where the stars have moved. I always find Orion first. I note his position, and how he is angled. I think, every night, of a trapeze. I think of forever tumbling, tumbling, tumbling; falling through that sky, never hitting bottom.

When we first moved here in the summer, the night trips out were loud. Insects and birds hummed wildly, the air was thick and warm. I hated how the grass was wet and sharp against my ankles. I hated how I wasn't familiar with the trees and sheds. One of the very first nights here I had a vivid dream about my husband and I being shot to death upon bringing in the dog. The memory of that dream haunted me everytime I stepped off the patio into the dewy, itchy yard for weeks. I would feel my breath catching in my throat. I would spin around over and over, convinced something was lurking just behind my shoulder. Monk would feel my fear, and press up against me, or lunge at the darkness with his hackles raised.

Nothing was ever there.

The fear passed.

Now I enjoy stepping outside, the familiar routine, the brief escape from ceilings and walls. Even when it is ten below, I enjoy stepping outside to stand and wait and be quiet. I think that is what, at first, I missed most about smoking. Every once in a while, I had a reason to stand outside, to connect with where I stood, to just be quiet and observe, outside of where I had been.

2.

Dear Sister,

You are getting married today, and I hope that it is beautiful and everything you wanted. I
hope you realize I will be thinking about you all day, wanting everything good and
happy for you. I hope you guys will always grow together, and laugh together, and challenge each other, and learn together. I hope that your lives combined will be rich and full. I hope you
know how much I miss you and think about you. I will always be here for you, because I can
never stop being your big sister.

I love you so fucking much,

Sister

3. It's Friday. Should we do questions? I think we should. This week, well, is about over. And sometimes that is about as good as it gets, right? If it were socially acceptable (and safe, and weather was always good, and there were no outside reasons NOT to, etc, etc,), would you choose to go forever without a bra, or go forever without shoes? How often do you wash your hair? Are you reading a book right now, and if you are, how long have you been reading it?

I think I would opt to go forever bra-less. And I wash my hair every other day, as it gets dried out if I washed it every day. I sort of look forward to no-wash days, because the hair is easier to fix (usually) and I don't have to have wet cold drippy hair.

I'm currently reading Willa Cather's The Professor's House, and it's a short easy read. Except I have been working on it for three months now, because, well. I don't sit down to read often, lately. And I'm a fast reader.

So that's pretty ridiculous, to have to admit.

Go,
black sheeped