Sheila Reacting to the State of the World – Photo: L. Weikel
Sheila Speaks For Me
The wind is howling outside, banging and clattering our wind chimes, making our window panes rattle back and forth and our front door occasionally burst open, not unlike Kramer making an entrance on Seinfeld.
Both the melodic clanging and the <<kloop kloop>> of our bamboo chimes outside sound so wild and undisciplined, I wish I could just stand on the edge of my porch and allow all the garbage of the world to whisk itself into the ethers.
If only it were so easy to clear away the old away.
Cleaning Out
Beginning during the days between Christmas and New Year’s, I’ve been sporadically binge-cleaning. I’ve donated a lot to charity, given away a fair share to family, sent some off to recycling, and thrown a bunch of stuff away entirely because it’s old, out of date, practically in tatters, or just astonishingly dumb to allow it to keep circulating in my inventory.
When I listen to that roaring wind blowing down the 611 corridor and into my living room, I’m hoping it will serve to further clean me up, clear me out, and coalesce The Tower’s presence and utterly necessary process in my life.
Everything is Changing
Beyond my personal needs and experience, today, with the official opening of the Senate Trial and the concurrent revelation and exposure of new evidence of – and rulings on – the impropriety (if not outright illegality) of certain behaviors of DT, it feels like these whipping winds are arriving just in time.
They’re stirring up, clearing out, sweeping away the lies upon lies we’ve been told for years now – the denials and demands that we not believe our own eyes and ears – by a myriad of actors, a tragic number of whom have taken oaths to act on behalf of the good of our country. And I wonder, if you look around in your own life: are there people or situations about which you’ve been told lies or, perhaps worse, have been lying about to yourself?
Have the north winds arrived with sudden, sweeping gusts, blowing away the unnaturally warm air of obfuscations to bring the cold clarity of truth?
It can be chilling on many levels to realize trust has been broken. That our faith in what we believed was true was, in fact, misplaced.
If any of these thoughts or feelings, worries or suspicions ring true for you during these tumultuous times, then perhaps you, too, feel like Sheila speaks for us all.
Sheila, our Boston Terrier, is requiring frequent ‘waterings’ throughout the day and evening in order to minimize accidents. It’s a simple function of age and, according to Karl’s theory, perhaps a reaction to the colder weather.
We keep our home on the cool side during the winter (some might say freaking feezing), and so when she leaves the warmth of our living room, which we keep toasty with a fire, she’s like the rest of us: being cold makes you have to pee. And she can’t hold it as well as she used to.
All of this to say that when I took Sheila outside a few minutes ago to pre-emptively relieve herself, I was bowled over by the half moon dipping low into the western sky. It’s stunning!
Smaller Earlier
Earlier this evening, in fact it was so early in the evening it barely registered as evening, we took our usual (2.2 mile) walk ‘around.’ We were both shocked by how dark it was at only 5:30 p.m. and even more unpleasantly surprised by the fact that it was distinctly drizzling. Nevertheless, we persisted, determined to get at least some semblance of movement clocked into our systems for the day.
What was particularly odd, though, was how it felt we were in two different realities at the same time. A fine drizzle was indeed dropping from somewhere above us, yet even further above, we could see the half moon. Yes, there was some haziness surrounding it, but it was actually shedding a surprising amount of light on our path.
So it was weird. How was that moon – and only a half moon, at that – managing to shine through the cloud or fog that was dropping a steady drizzle upon our heads and light our way?
While I felt the urge to try to capture this juxtaposition, I didn’t even want to try to photograph the moon in her cloudy undergarments. This modesty was made even more compelling by my total reluctance to take my iPhone out of my pocket and expose it to the drizzle. No, I knew there was no great shot to be taken, even though I yearned to share the moment with you.
Sheila’s Revelation
Which leads me back to my surprise at how much larger the moon looked a few minutes ago when I took Sheila outside.
The sky has cleared up dramatically and stars were clear and twinkling brightly. Two bands of parallel clouds framed the moon, top and bottom, almost making the half moon appear as a note on a musical staff I was only privy to partially view.
I tried to capture the beauty of what I saw, but I know what I’m sharing barely hints at the quiet loveliness.
Nevertheless…I was thinking of all of you when I stood in wondering appreciation of the setting half moon. Catch it tomorrow night before bed if you can.
Don’t believe a word Mommy says; I can hold my water – Photo: L. Weikel
This is what greeted me when I returned home this afternoon.
I don’t think the title to this post poses a legitimate question. Not if you take a close look at her mug. I’m pretty sure Sheila is not too subtly giving me the proverbial paw and asking me what I’m gonna do about it.
It was there. She was bored. It reminded her of her puppyhood. Case closed.
Did I leave her anything extra to eat when I left? No? It seems I was gone an awful long time. She was concerned. Stressed.
Oh, yeah – that snack bag of treats she took out of my jacket pocket, ripping the inside of it as she dug at it in a frenzy? They were old. Stale. I could’ve packed a higher quality treat in that snack bag, to be honest. She’d worked up an appetite teaching that stuffed owl a lesson. Rude bird. And then forcing her to play hide-and-seek in my coat pocket? Just for a snack? A snack she deserved?
She’s OLD, dammit! And half blind. And deaf. How could she have lifted a paw against that evil raptor?
Really, that owl was looking for trouble. It’s been taunting her for months – maybe years; hard to say – her perspective is canine. And a girl can only take so much before her paw is forced. These weird stuffy things need to be shown who’s boss. She’s boss.
Disavowal – Photo: L. Weikel
Ick. No. Don’t put it near her. She doesn’t want to look at it.
As many of you know, we are Lords and Masters of two Boston Terriers, Sheila and Spartacus.
Yeah, right. If you believe that, you’ve never had a Boston in your life.
In truth, Sheila and Spartacus rule the roost. The cats, Precious, Tigger, and Cletus, would probably dispute that declaration, but I’m going to stand by it for now.
Sheila is my pride and joy. (Oh man, I can’t write a single such sentence without feeling guilty that I’m not including all of them in my praise. It’s ridiculous, the hold they have over me in my desire that they all feel loved and cherished. They’re worse than my kids.)
Walkabout – AGAIN
As I wrote about in my Declaration post, Sheila has recently taken to heading out on her own for a walk should we take too long getting our show on the road. This has created some serious freak outs on our part, since traffic on our country roads can be brutal. Not only are people not expecting a little black and white to be trotting up the road by herself, they’re usually barreling along at a good clip themselves.
Both Karl and I have really tried to be vigilant. We keep an eye on her whenever we let her outside to ‘take care of business,’ and we’ve made a point not to put her harness on until we’re ready to leave the premises. That’s because we realized that she seems to make the connection between ‘harness’ and ‘walk,’ and would think (given that she’s mostly blind and quite deaf) we’d left without her if we lollygagged too much after getting her suited up for a walk.
She apparently doesn’t need her harness on anymore, though, to feel the call of the wild side.
Thus, I was not prepared to have to go sprinting up our road barefoot when our young, across-the-street neighbor ran into my yard to tell me she thought she saw Sheila out walking by herself.
Needless to say, I threw my laptop aside and took off at top speed. It was approaching ‘rush hour’ and I knew the danger was real.
So Many Good People
As I tore past the house where the dogs live that ambushed Spartacus a few months ago, my heart fell as I realized a truck advertising home renovations was stopped at the intersection that leads to High Rocks. I broached the vehicle and a young guy in the driver’s seat pointed ahead and up the hill. “That your dog?”
A little breathlessly, I replied that she was indeed my dog, and started to explain the situation. But as I looked ahead to where he was pointing, not only did I see his this guy’s friend (hereinafter Chaser 1) jogging after Sheila (who was moving at an incredibly spry clip), but worse, I saw two vehicles crest the hill and start heading toward us.
Just at that moment, Sheila veered from the right side of the road, where she’d been jogging (JOGGING!) and heads into the center. Into the center of the road! Into oncoming traffic!
Without thinking twice, I started shrieking, “No! Wait! Watch out!” Standing in the center of the road myself, I started frantically waving my arms to get the attention of the oncoming work vans. (I swear, all the craftsmen who live and work near us were heading home for the day at the same time.) Both vehicles slowed down considerably, but I nearly threw up when I saw Sheila quite obliviously trot right toward the lead vehicle. From my perspective, it looked like she bumped her head right up against his passenger tire.
When she did that weird head fake into the tire, she eluded Chaser 1’s grasp and skirted the van, obliviously resuming her jaunty trek up the side of the road again. Chaser 1 was then joined by Chaser 2 (the driver of the second van that had crested the hill coming toward us), and between them, they managed to head her off.
I could tell Chaser 1 wasn’t sure whether he should pick her up, but I called out (between huffs and puffs at this point) that she was harmless, wouldn’t bite, and was just a stubborn old lady who obviously wanted to take her walk early today.
Spartacus Joins the Fray
Just as I’m freaking out because I see her lunging at the tire of the closest van, Spartacus comes tearing up behind me, running so fast I could hear his toenails digging into the macadam. Ugh. Obviously, I’d not even thought for a moment about him when I took off to find Sheila. Bad mommy.
He was a good boy, though. After sniffing the men who’d just helped me corral his mother, he listened to me, stayed off the road (sort of, for the most part), and sniffed his mother approvingly when Chaser 1 transferred her into my arms. Sheila just panted and, I swear, wore the biggest Boston grin on her face that I’ve seen in quite a while.
She knew she’d been the center of attention – and she loved it.
There it is – a little ‘attitude’ – Photo: L. Weikel
All’s Well…
As I profusely thanked Chaser 1 and Chaser 2, another truck crested the hill towards us. A mid-50s-ish guy with blondish-gray curly hair poking out from under his visor cap and striking blue eyes, asked if everything was OK.
“Just an ornery old dog who’s half blind and all deaf working her will,” I replied, barefooted and panting a bit myself. It only occurred to me later that maybe he thought I was describing myself!
But having stayed up until 4:00 a.m. to write my post last night, I have to tell you: that little incident with Sheila today both freaked and wore me out.
This is Sheila, my Boston Terrier’s, favorite time of year. Why? Because she delights in the opportunity to indulge in a diet of crunchy greens, and for a few days (perhaps a week?) each year, there are an abundance of such ‘crunchy greens’ just waiting for her to discover them.
Young Love Gone Wrong
I know, it’s unseemly to make light of the grievous massacre that occurs each and every year at this time.
I’m actually not sure if it’s a ritualistic ‘crossing of the road’ that drives this species specifically at this time of year to cross the road in droves – consequently getting smooshed in droves by oblivious human drivers.
Or is it the heady euphoria (pun intended) of mating with one’s beloved, knowing deep down inside that once your primal urge to pass along your genetic material is sated, you will literally get your head bitten off by your partner in gratitude for your winged passion?
Roadkill Buffet
Whatever the cause, Sheila is delighted to offer her services as canine cleanup crew.
No kidding, it probably took us 15 minutes longer than usual to get around the circuit (the walk around – 2.2 miles) precisely because Sheila was busy prying up dead bodies from the macadam surface and relishing her favorite annual delicacy: Praying Mantis (PM).
Honestly, it was tragic how many Praying Mantises did not make it from one side of the road to the other.
One, however, was entirely affronted when Spartacus (Sheila’s enthusiastic son, who actually doesn’t care for the taste of Praying Mantises and would much rather prefer a random crushed hickory nut) ran up to it to determine whether or not it was alive.
BACK OFF! – or – Come At Me!*
Indeed, it was very much alive, thank you, not only whirring its wings at him in indignation, but also ‘putting up its dukes’ in a bellicose and authentically pugnacious attitude. Not having a taste for PM to start with, and not necessarily looking for a fight with anything for a second thing, Spartacus was easily swayed to leave it the heck alone. (*This is a ‘PG’ translation of my perception of just what that PM was saying to Spartacus when he went up to it and sniffed it.)
I immediately took its photo, trying to capture the indignation.
Of course, as I stood there, no fewer than three automobiles came through and passed us. The fact that we were seeing untoward carnage as we walked, necessitated I break my usual rule of non-interference. So after nudging the Praying Mantis failed to get it to move to the side of the road, I decided to gently grab one of its wings to toss it into the grass beside the road.
Aiding and Abetting Survival
This effort seemed to work well enough to at least save this one, very full-bellied, Praying Mantis. (I only noticed the girth of its abdomen when it landed almost upside down in the tall grasses beside the road.) I’m hoping it was a female, so I can imagine having saved millions of nymphs.
Anyway, since the primary lesson of Praying Mantis is ‘stillness,’ I’m going to close this post out and find some stillness myself – with my head on my pillow.
While the Circle of Life can be harsh, I at least took some comfort in Sheila’s exuberant appreciation of these “Zen Mantises.” (You know, the ones that were “one with the road.”)
Not everyone who aims to cross the road makes it to the other side. But at least there’s a lovable Boston Terrier willing to run cleanup on Tory Road.
Praying Mantis – Closer to the side of the road – Photo: L. Weikel
This is probably going to be TMI for many of you. But that’s what happens when you’re writing blog posts 289 days in a row. Some days you just get stymied for something to write, and stuff gets personal. It’s an unintended consequence of the 1111 Devotion.
Honestly, though? It’s not just the number of consecutive days I’ve written. Another contributing factor to my ‘having to go TMI’ is that Verizon Wireless sporadically, haphazardly and maddeningly sends photos around the world a couple of times before delivering them, via email, to my laptop. This ‘long way home’ for my photos occasionally means that I will send myself one or two that I’d like to include in a post that evening – and they mysteriously do not arrive until 10:00 or 11:00 a.m. the next day!
It’s ridiculous. And there’s neither rhyme nor reason to it (as far as I can tell). It’s happened before – many times – but this is apparently only the second time I’ve mentioned it in a post. I’m surprised by my restraint! Ha ha.
The transfer lag time means that I can’t take advantage of photos I deliberately took during the day so I might share them with you (and by extension, give me something to write about). So…we all lose when VZ Wireless drops the ball.
The Original Premise of This Post
Back to my initial proposed over-share: An unintended consequence of my engaging in this Act of Power, this daily commitment to writing a post every night, is the fact that I have not taken one long, relaxing bath in the evening, even after a really hard day of physical work or even after a massage.
And I have to tell you: it’s been a sacrifice.
I used to love taking a bath before bed. Sinking into a tub of steaming water that’s had Epsom salts generously heaped into it, plus some aromatic oil to indulge the senses… Oh yum. And those hot baths with Epsom salts do work wonders to remove the kinks and soreness of lawn mowing or weeding.
Baths Cannot Be Short-shrifted or Compromised
The reason I’ve had to give it up is precisely linked to the fact that I just glanced at the time and see that it is 12:54 a.m. I will need to go to sleep as soon as I publish this (and ‘share’ it on my FB pages). I will be too tired to take a bath tonight.
And I refuse to take one earlier in the evening because I become completely relaxed when I take a long, hot bath. There is no way I have any desire to fight all of my bodily instincts in order to drag my consciousness back into the requisite hyper-awareness I need to write my posts. (Believe it or not!)
An odd, unintended consequence of my 1111 Devotion indeed.
Oh – and since I didn’t acknowledge the completely fabricated “Dog Day” (or whatever it was called yesterday) by posting a photo of my pups online, I’ll add this one again ‘from the archives.’ Here’s to Spartacus and Sheila!
I need to ‘fess up and make the following declaration: I NEED TO GET WALKING AGAIN!
The sad, sad truth is that I haven’t logged more than 2.3 miles (which I walked on Monday) in a single day since Sunday, August 4th, when I walked 3.7 miles. That’s simply unacceptable.
I did have one day that yielded interesting stats, though. Check it out:
In my defense, my most compelling excuse has been the oppressive heat and humidity that’s been blanketing our area. And for all you who live anywhere near me, you know the operative word here is, in fact, blanketing. It almost squeezes the breath out of you when you walk out the door and feel the heaviness of the air put the squeeze on you like those new weighted blankets I’ve seen being advertised.
Blame It On Sheila
And I don’t dare take Sheila. She’ll keel over. In fact, the old girl has given us a scare a couple of times recently, just deciding she’s going to ‘go on walkabout.’ We put her harness on, turn away to get her leash or pack some treats in a bag to take along on the walk and suddenly discover she’s decided to start the walk without us.
She’s never been like this! She’s always been the one we could consistently rely upon to stay on the porch and not wander off.
And what makes everything exponentially worse about the situation is that she really and truly is deaf – and pretty blind, too. The cataracts look pretty complete in one eye, and not insignificant in the other eye as well.
We can only guess that she (a) knows the way by rote, as she’s walked it so very many times throughout her life; and (b) her nose, combined with her recollection of the ‘usual’ walk itself, is her guiding light.
Nose Trumps All (and gets her in trouble)
Speaking of that nose, though… I think that’s what got her in trouble the other day.
Karl and I thought we might sneak in a quick walk (the 2.2) on Monday morning, before either of us plunged headlong into our day. We put on the pups’ harnesses in anticipation, even though we had yet to pick out cards for the day.
As we were choosing our cards, we suddenly realized that Sheila had wandered off. It’s weird. She and Spart are always around. We don’t pay constant attention to them – they’re just part of our lives. Sitting on the couch, cuddled on their outside pillow, basking in the sun on the grass when we’re outside, etc.
So it was all of a sudden that Karl looked at me aghast and asked, “Where’s Sheila?”
I looked around, my eyes surveying in a smooth search of the perimeter all of her usual haunts. No Sheila.
DARN it. We’d only minutes before joked about how we’d have to keep an eye on her, since we were putting her harness on. We were pretty sure she only went on walkabout, though, if we happened to leave her out on the porch by herself.
Well that was debunked almost immediately.
You Search One Way, I’ll Search Another
Karl, based on an experience he’d had right before leaving to pick me up at the airport Sunday morning, jumped into his car to do a sweep of our walking route.
Spartacus and I, on the other hand, headed back behind the barn. I was calling her, even though I knew that was fruitless, and also clapping my hands. Clapping seems to be the most effective and reliable way of getting her attention lately.
So I’m out there calling and clapping, calling and clapping. I go all the way back behind the barn to the wildflowers I pictured in last night’s post, checking in the tall, tall grasses, stopping now and again to see if there was any movement or sign of my Sheila.
Nope
Reluctantly, Spart and I head back up to the house. I just keep calling and clapping, calling and clapping.
Then I hear it: an unfamiliar rustling sound. I step off the porch. It sounds like it’s coming from the garage. I keep calling and clapping, calling and clapping.
More rustling. As I get closer, it now sounds like it’s coming from outside the garage. Perhaps the grove of trees just beyond it?
That’s when I encountered this:
Yes; apparently Sheila’s nose had diverted her into the garage, where she scored an empty bag of chips Karl had squirreled away while painting when I was at Amadell. Busted!
And there was Sheila, pretty well stuck. I’m sure all my calling and clapping had motivated her to come out of the garage – but her internal GPS was distorted inside the chip bag. While she may have known she took a wrong turn and been frustrated, I have no doubt her stress was significantly ameliorated by the yummy salt, fat, and chip crumb heaven she found herself in.
(Spartacus kept sniffing and licking the back of her head the rest of the day.)
Well, it’s not as if she’s exactly ‘speaking’ for me in the above photo. Rather, the expression on her face captures my general energy level right about now.
I took this photo of Sheila yesterday. She was hanging out on the porch, and the day was becoming hotter and muggier by the minute. I snapped a shot of her ‘in that condition’ because I had the feeling that, one day, it might provide food for thought (or fodder for a post).
I did not think that day would arrive so quickly.
Nevertheless, thank goodness I took it.
I had an extremely long day today, and I’m decidedly running on one cylinder, if that. The good thing is that by working so long in a session, I didn’t spend any time thinking or fretting about the news or what new incendiary tactics might have been engaged today..
I imagine nothing much has changed. Same outrage, different day.
It’s just sad that we’ve all become so used to this as our new normal.
We managed to get back on the proverbial horse today, Spartacus and I. We walked. Gratefully. Without incident.
That does remind me, though. The next chance I get, I’ll have to take a photo of the Wolfhounds that now bark at and chase us aggressively all along their masters’ property line (as it follows the road). They live on our road but are only now on our route when we take ‘the longer way.’
These dogs are massive and there are five of them. All appearances would indicate that they would all enjoy an evening snack on some tasty Boston Terrier. Honestly, I can’t tell if they’re just big talkers or if they would try to eat him for lunch. But they sure do bark a good game.
Recent Days Have Felt Distorted
It felt great to be walking again today. Although I did walk on Saturday (I’m pretty sure I even posted a photo of the lonely empty path before me – without Spartacus or Sheila leading the way), it’s felt like I’ve been away from my ‘habit’ a lot longer. I can’t quite explain it. The last few days have felt like they passed through a thick jelly-like atmosphere. It’s sort of felt like I was trying to run in a swimming pool.
The clouds were particularly magnificent this early evening. They caught in my chest, filling my heart with awe.
And you are all probably on to me by now: When I run out of words, I post photos.
Some Days Silence is All One Can Muster
Karl and I were silent during most of our walk today. The majesty conveyed by the clouds felt like it would be profane to make small talk when surrounded by these massive intermediaries between the Upper World and the Middle World.
And with practically every step we took, these Beings shifted and parted. Danced and obscured. Pretended they were bringing wild winds and whipping rain.
It’s at times like these that I feel so small.
Bank of Clouds – Is that a Silver Lining? Photo: L. Weikel
“Sheila’s ‘Saucy Cocoon’ Look” – Photo by L. Weikel
A Day to Cocoon
Oooh, today’s post ‘count’ seems like it should be an auspicious. Day 101 with 1010 days left to my 1111 Devotion… Actually, it turned out to be a cocoon day.
From casual observation, it seemed like everybody else was feeling it too. The weather forecast once again was calling for it to get pretty slippery and slide-y out there. But I sensed a more generalized willingness to embrace the forecast. For instance, our school district canceled school for both students and the administration right out of the gate. That doesn’t happen often.
An Unexpected Wave of Closures
Then I received a notice that our bank was going to close at 1:00. The bookstore would also be closed. Even Owowcow decided not to open!
Inasmuch as I had no intention of driving anywhere (I’m not even sure Good Girl will start; there is that to consider), I could only applaud the wisdom of those closings – and marvel that they were taking place at all.
It seems to me that I’ve grown up in and lived in a society that values money over all. Capitalism rules. Working ‘hard’ is The American Way. And that can-do spirit always seemed to translate into stores staying open through thick and thin, from morning ‘til night, in abysmal weather or the most exquisite days of summer. It has resulted in people driving on roads that would be better left to be plowed when the snow stopped – and getting hurt, or worse, as a result.
So I was surprised. And as a person who works with people on all sorts of issues and feelings and conditions, it made me especially happy that people were choosing to stay home and cocoon. Because I feel that is precisely what all of us need, want, and actually require in order to get through the coming days.
Grabbing the Unexpected Opportunity for a Cocoon Day
I hope that, if you were anywhere in the vicinity of this snowstorm (with a coating of ice on top tonight, apparently), you took this unexpected day home from work to cocoon. To make something warm to eat, maybe drink some hot chocolate or a hot toddy (which are pretty yummy) and allow yourself to get lost in chapter upon chapter of a book you’ve been yearning to immerse yourself in. Perhaps take a walk, or try your hand at picking a card and noticing how it might apply to your life.
I know I wrote about this in my Snow Day post. But I can’t emphasize enough how insane our relentless focus on working is; on putting in the hours; on sacrificing ourselves, and often our marriages and family life, “for work.” It wreaks havoc on our bodies, our minds, and our emotions. But most importantly – and tragically – it wreaks havoc on our souls.
Which brings me to the magic about a day like today. It’s different than a weekend. Weekends tend to be as dramatically over-booked in our hectic lives as our weekdays – if not more so. It’s obviously better than a sick day, too (assuming, of course, we felt great today).
Cocooning Couture
Pictured above is Sheila, our 15 ½ year old Boston Terrier. She cocoons on a regular basis, and is a wonderful teacher of the artistry inherent in “cocooning correctly.”
Indeed, the photo above is her “Saucy Cocoon” look. Shortly after it was taken, we threw her coat on and practically had to drag her outside for our walk, heartless beasts that we are.
It was hilarious to watch her literally drag her feet. She did not want to take a walk late this afternoon. She kept trying to herd me into going back. (Which, by the way, is an amusing thing to witness: a Boston Terrier trying to act like a herd dog.)
She kept thinking we were going to change our minds and go back home. Cocoon. (I kept hearing her trying to mind-meld me. COCOON. MOMMY, COCOON.)
It Starts With Us – and It Takes Practice
Nevertheless, we persisted (to co-opt a phrase). We walked all the way around our usual route, past High Rocks, enjoying the muffled quiet (and dramatically reduced car traffic) that accompanies a snowfall. And in spite of the ice patches, crunchy snow, and the piles of slush she needed to navigate, she was clearly happy we’d insisted she join us. Her gate was spry and jaunty by the time we got home. (She gave up the mind-melding and efforts to turn us around after about a quarter of a mile into our walk.) Spartacus, of course, was all dog the whole way – simply delighted we were all together; happy to be alive and part of the family.
I’d like to think our society as a whole is starting to embrace the wisdom afforded by taking the occasional cocoon day. But even if it isn’t, we need to remember: it starts with us.
Hopefully, we’ll get at least one more day this winter to take a page from Sheila’s book, Cocooning Correctly. Will you sport the Saucy Cocoon look as well as she does? She makes it look easy, but I assure you: it takes practice!
