Still working.

I think I maybe had a big breakthrough on my poem. Feels so good.

I got to hold Naomi today. She was awake and it was wonderful.

Don't bother telling me she's too young to be looking
up at me. She was totally looking up at me.

Bruiser was philosophical. Possibly filled with ennui.

'I'm lying on your sweater because life is meaningless
at 5 p.m. in the summertime.'

It was a great day. I still couldn't come up with a good blog post, though.

so, you know, play around with a photo booth app
and whatnot.

Nightwalk.

It's too hot for a walk. This is an objective truth.

Bruiser's desire for a walk literally makes him blurry.

But Bruiser is quite clear that he needs a walk. At 10 p.m., the time is now. We held him off for maybe 45 minutes after that, just to let the temperature fall a few more degrees.

there's AC in that house. just fyi.

So we gather our character and our fortitude and the leash. 

'Let's get a move on, you guys.'

We take a short route. Bruiser isn't as young as he once was (unlike the rest of us, whose youth springs eternal, although a mite grouchy with the heat, not that anyone's counting).

the moon, acting predictably beautiful.

Full, or almost full, moon--it's a beautiful night. Point conceded, Bruiser. Now let's get in there and make the most of that swamp cooler.

You guys.

This is pretty much how it is at night around here.

Bruiser thinks it's just about time to get outside for our nightly walk. I also know that it's time. But first I have to send five billion emails and put up the new week's homepage and rewrite the rubric and make a new rubric and try to get my arms around all the things that need to be done before the end of the semester and figure out what to wear tomorrow and make about five billion lists.

Luckily I have a comfortable chair. Also, this picture doesn't even show the extent of my squalor. C'est la vie, Bruiser. C'est la vie.

(thanks for the pics, Walker!)

Top 10 things about being home.

1. I located the following in my kitchen, without having to give any of it a thought: box of pancake mix, egg, milk, sunflower oil, maple syrup, griddle, plug for griddle, butter, knife. My favorite mug. A yellow plate.

2. I slept till the blessed hour of 10 a.m.

3. The comfortable bed in my study.

4. Quiet morning.

5. Buying groceries for the week.

6. The sounds of my son's friends downstairs.

7. Going to my daughter's for 'hodge podge bbq,' her words, and eating outside while the children played and ran around, as if it were spring or something.

8. Bruiser, ever faithful, ever waggy, ever at the door when I'm carrying the groceries in from the car.

9. My bed, ever faithful, ever cozy, ever the best night sleep guarantor. Well, usually.

10. The whole street has burst into bloom.

(the item that is without number): Seeing the historian at the airport, and when I woke up. Taking a walk in the morning and evening with him and Bruiser. Listening to him at his desk in the next room. Watching television together.

Tomorrow: work. But today: home.

The Hightouchmegastore Guides for Living #189: Sleeping With Dogs.

1. First, acquire a very, very very very large bed. The breadth of the bed should be akin to a broad savannah, such as where the lions roam.

2. Divide the bed into as many people and/or animals as will be sleeping in it. Preferably, divide these sections with something that a dog cannot knock over, when the dog inevitably turns over in the night with a giant sleepy sigh.

3. Get into your section of the bed. Let the dog get into his section. Drape a drapery across the dog, if that's how you roll. Adjust the covers. Turn out the lights and drift into a blissful, blissful slumber.

4. If you have a smaller bed, you are screwed.

5. Wait: if you have a smaller bed, you must not allow your tender and sentimental heart to be stirred by the sweet sight of a sleeping dog.

6. If, when you gently call the dog's name to rouse him from his evening rest, to entice him to another all-night sleep location, if at that time he opens one eye in bewilderment, as if to say, what's that now? but I was sound asleep! do not be turned from your rightful path.

7. You may give the dog another five minutes. Ten minutes tops. In fact, as you plan this whole sequence of events, take the "first a warning, then a five-to-ten minute wait" factor into account, so your own slumber will not be delayed.

8. After five minutes, ten minutes tops, speak to the dog in a firm but gentle voice. Tell him whatever lets you feel okay about yourself, but say it and get the dog off the bed, out of the room, and moving on to his new sleep situation.

9. Don't give up, now. Sure, he looks cute there all nestled into the bed, like he belongs there with the pack, you, the alpha, and him, the doggy beta. Just think of the middle of the night when he will be immovable and you will be awake, plotting how to get just six inches more of the covers and scheming about how to turn over without losing all the covers. Keep that thought uppermost in your mind as you make that dog get off the bed and leave the room.

10. No, he can't stay for just a little while longer. Just a little while longer? No, he cannot.

11. Is he out? Good for you. It shows strength of character and resolve. You are the boss of that bed and of the sleeping you do there. Now settle in, finish the crossword, turn out the light, and take a deep, calming breath of the cooling air in the room and the almost-disappeared redolence of a dog who is now sleeping in his proper place, i.e. and to wit: not with you.

Letter from Bruiser.

Dear Human People of the Universe who live in my House,

I am feeling much better.

Thank you for delivering all my medicine to me wrapped in ham, and thank you for letting me take it from your fingers without flinching.

Thank you for wrapping what you say is my last antibiotic in a piece of chicken this morning.

Thank you for sometimes taking my cone off. As you may know, I hate it. It brings out the nihilist in me. It makes me feel hopeless and despairing. And it's so huge. It's, like, Dada huge. Absurd.

However, I guess I'm not supposed to "lick" my "stitches." So I concede that the cone is necessary. Advisedly.

Thank you for letting me hop ever so lightly up to the chair and onto the bed. Thank you for watching Parks and Rec with me tonight, the double episode. I appreciated the company.

Please never put me in the car again, and please never take me to the Place From Whence Emerge Only Coned Dogs. Never again.

I prefer to watch for the guys who buy beer every day, and the kids going to school, and the families going to church. And the UPS guy. Especially the UPS guy. I think I'm in excellent shape for watching the street for them.

Thank you for the slightly longer walk tonight. I tried very hard not to caper excessively.

With love and many stitches,

~B

In other news, it's real hot.

Tonight, while taking Bruiser for a walk. Which he was pleased to take:

Bruiser: (lagging. Perhaps: lollygagging. Or so it appears.)

Me: (gentle tug on the leash) C'mon Bruiser! Come on!

Bruiser: (reluctant trot, followed by immediate and deep interest in a shrubbery)

Me: Oh, COME on, Bruiser. (doubling back, my strategy to countermand my occasionally deep impulse to yank.)

Bruiser: (lifts his head. Pants.)

The historian: I know, big guy. I know.

Me: It's just going to be hot like this for awhile longer, Bruiser. And then it will gradually get better.

Bruiser: (the hell you say.)

Hot dog, taking simultaneous advantage of the tile floor and the swamp cooler downdraft.

A few thoughts from Bruiser.

click to enlarge. that's my son on the right.

Dear Bruiser,

Today, in the mail, I found the following:




I once believed--when I thought about it, which was not, truthfully, very often--that you could not read. But who knows? You're now getting mail, addressed to you. With some news for you, Bruiser!

I'm sorry to say, though, that the news is a little presumptuous. In this newsletter, there's a coupon:

I don't know what "senior" means in Dog, but around here, when we hear "senior," we demur. We protest. We flat out deny. I am speaking of myself here, obviously.

And when we were out walking today, I thought, how can they say "senior"? to Bruiser? Because you were cantering and prancing and, in fact, took me for a little drag when a small, yappy dog behind a wooden fence had a thing or two to say. It was impressive, B, I just want you to know I felt your vigor--was, in fact, moved by it--and I thought, I don't know if a so-called senior dog would have that kind of gumption.

I say, let the people keep their labels to themselves. Labels cannot contain you. (I am speaking of myself here, obviously.)

love,

htms

He's more of a trip-hop kind of guy.

Phone conversation:

The historian: When you're not at home, I like to listen to jazz. With the volume up. But Bruiser really doesn't like it. Like today, I was listening to an old LP. Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis. Which is pretty great.

Me: (laughs: "Lockjaw." HA.)

Historian: He just gets up and goes outside.

Me: Not so much of a jazz fan, I guess.

Historian: I went out to check him--he was lying on his dog bed on the patio--and he looked up at me kind of shamefacedly. Like he thought I was punishing him.

In other news, the people, I am again in Idaho, this time with big writing plans. However much of these writing plans can fit into a three day container, we shall see. In the meantime, I have shuffled through a manuscript, using a writing compatriot's sage advice, and I have mapped out the official Big Writing Plan. If you happen to hear a lot of genius from up north (or from whatever direction Idaho is from where you are), that means things are going well, and therefore, bully for me. If, however, you hear no genius and on the other hand things seem a little sweaty, please just avert your eyes. Sometimes writing isn't very pretty.

Today is the day

I got caught up, or got started on the get-caught-up project.

Today is the day I received lavender shoes in the mail.

Today is the day I made sloppy joe (I don't think it needs a plural, do you?) for homeless guys. (join this project--it's a good one!).

Today's the day I realized yet again that I find watching the Jazz play in high stakes games almost unbearable. Never mind that a Chauncey Billups/D Will matchup is kind of awesomely watchable. If only I could stand to watch.

Today is the day I was home, quiet, working, with Bruiser--presentiment of summer.

Today, two poems, neither of them much to speak of. Today, no (visible) snakes.

Thirteen ways of looking at April 13.

1. Pancakes for breakfast.

2. I got to wear my yellow coat.

3. New poem.

4. However, odd poem.

5. Walk with Bruiser in the cold.

6. Escaped from challenging meeting dignity etc. intact.

7. Saw Dr. Write at her signing. Huzzah!

8. Rose to the challenge of making dinner after long day.

9. Inspiring homemade mac and cheese--perhaps the best ever made by anyone, ever? Perhaps.

10. Cute shoes.

11. The historian greeted me when I got home.

12. I shall arise early to greet the dawn and also the Board of Trustees on the morrow.

13. In the meanwhile, I shall sleep. Huzzah!

Safety precautions.

It's Bryce and Bruiser!

We are here talking to the missionary (Bryce is one of the missionary's friends). He (the missionary) can't stop talking Chinese. We can't stop crying. Bruiser is crying on the inside.