Show me the way to go home

It does feel like the past 6 months were a dream, except for the jarring irregularities. The house, although obviously cleaned for my arrival, is slightly shabbier. Every small change has been a downgrade; the decorative metal toilet paper stand was replaced with a plastic 3D printed wall holder, the bed had been stripped of the memory foam topper, the side table was moved out of reach for tea cups, and the replacement lamp shade still has the plastic on it. The bathroom floor was swept, but hasn’t been scrubbed since I left.

I was happy to be back with my boy and my cats. Billy and Lili came to sit on me and make biscuits. Zenny did, too. I had been wondering if 6 months alone with me might have put her off my company for a while, but all of that teenager/parent head-butting brought us closer. She’s been laying on my lap, interlocking our fingers while watching tv, and going out with me to shop for clothes, making jokes and talking up a storm. A few times she’s dropped her voice and whispered, “I can’t wait to go home. It’s nice to visit, but everything is better there.” Same, kid. “Except the food.” Yeah. We’ll be packing a lot of ingredients back with us.

Mike slept on the trundle bed in the boys’ room, and I climbed onto the rickety bed. It wasn’t rickety when I left, but now it feels like the middle support will give out at any moment and dump the bed onto the floor. I laid on the hard mattress and tried not to think about what he might have been doing to ruin the memory foam and loosen the bed frame. I slept at my mother’s house for the next few nights. Zenny came with me.

I’ve been happy to spend time with Leif, and to hear him play piano again. The food is good. We’re all going to see the new Spider-Man movie this weekend. The wild chickens make me happy, and the mountains are beautiful. I’m sweaty and greasy from the sudden immersion into the heat and humidity, but my wrinkles are smoothing out like steam ironing, so that’s ok.

I’ve been less happy to check the kettle and my tea cups for cockroaches every morning, and to shake the toaster for geckos (I love the geckos, I don’t want them toasted). The homeless encampment near our house is bigger. People in the stores will run over you if you don’t jump out of the way, and give you dirty looks when they hit you. Parents tell their kids to shut the fuck up or they’ll kick their fucking asses. Pit bulls in every yard. Screaming neighbors. Traffic jams, cars parked everywhere, abandoned vehicles. 

I’ve lost 3lbs this week, though, so that’s something anyway.

Starting back at the library next week.

Out the door

I filled the bird feeders, shut off the breaker to the hot water heater, unplugged everything, said goodbye to the crows, locked up, and hopped the coach to St. John’s. We stopped about a half hour out of Goobies to check on a mail driver who had hit a moose and smashed in the entire front of the van. He was ok, somehow, and waiting for police to make the hours-long drive out to meet him. We had to leave him there alone with the dead moose.

Dropped off at the airport, I had about 8 hours to kill. I live here now, sitting in the terminal watching people come and go, eating protein bars and Diet Coke. I don’t feel anything. My suitcase was a matryoshka of other suitcases, with one pair of jeans and three tank tops in the middle. Almost everything I own is still in Hawaii, I’m just returning the bags so Leif can move to Scotland.

If this imaginary plane ever boards, it’s 6 hours to the west coast, then 12 hours overnight at the airport, sleeping on chairs because I felt broke and cancelled my hotel reservation. 1 hour to another west coast airport; 5 hours sleeping on different chairs. 6 hours to Hawaii. I’ll get in tomorrow night, wrecked. 

I brought my knitting and sketchbook and downloaded books to listen to, but I’ve just been sitting and staring. Travel exists in its own time, there’s no point trying to get out of it.

Notes from the liminal place:

The seating has shrunk again, and my knees now press the seats in front of me. The men on either side of me were spreading their legs as far apart as they could go, but not because they were assholes. Their femurs just wouldn’t fit any other way. They were tense the whole flight, trying not to tap me with their knees and elbows. I folded like a pocket knife and stayed still for 6 hours to help out.

At the midnight airport, I roamed around the terminals looking for a place to sleep. In a long deserted corridor lined with unused security carts, I found an unoccupied area filled with jumbled lounge chairs and long padded benches. There were rows of airport wheelchairs parked at the back, cordoned off in a dark area. Nobody was sitting there, but there were no signs to warn me off, so I went to the back of the room and laid down on a long cushioned bench. When I opened my eyes at 1:30am, two other women were sleeping on the benches around me. By 4:30am there were six women asleep under sweatshirts and airplane blankets. 10,000 years of instincts kept us all puddled together so we could sleep safely. People are cute.

I have a cup of tea, a breakfast sandwich, and 5 more hours before my next flight. I still don’t feel anything about this trip. 

A million hours later

Flew to Vancouver surrounded by kids coming back from summer camp with desperate young counselors who couldn’t figure out why all the kids on the list said “here” and raised their hand when called, but their head count was short by one. The cabin crew did not give a shit if they left a kid behind, they were shutting the doors on time and that was the camp’s problem. There was brief PANIC as the doors closed, but thankfully it was just a problem with the list and nobody was actually missing.

Last layover. My brain is failing. I need a shower. Lost my AirPods in International security, didn’t realize it until I had gone through customs and sat down to eat a $20 sandwich. Backtracked. Jumped up and down waving like an idiot outside the DO NOT ENTER doors at customs. Came in when the airport police officer waved me through to the customs agent, then walked in literal circles when she told me to go back where I came from first. Back to the customs line? Nobody was even in the line, so I stood at the entrance to it. “No, all the way back.” Wtf, ok, I walked all the way to the start of the empty line and walked through the maze to stand back in front of her again, confused. “NO, BACK TO SECURITY, ALL THE WAY DOWN THERE IN THE NEXT ROOM.” I slapped my forehead.

I have my AirPods, and bought a bottle of Wayne Gretzky maple cream bourbon in the Duty Free shop just because I thought it was funny.

10 more hours to go. They’ll have to scrape me out of my seat and pour me into baggage claim when we get there.

The last leg 

I laid down across some empty seats at the gate and napped on my cat-shaped pillow. I felt greasy and unwashed and old and fat, but when I cracked my eyes open there was a good-looking dad in his 40s looking at me like I was the Madonna of the Trash Heap. I checked to make sure a tit hadn’t fallen out of my tank top or something, but he kept throwing me sneaky glances like a teenager, smiling when I accidentally made eye contact, and suddenly I felt dewy-faced and tousle-haired and not-so-old and voluptuous. This was kind of annoying, actually, because it was absolutely unacceptable behavior from a married man with kids on his lap and a wife trying to engage him with travel logistics, but still - visible to someone age-appropriate and conventionally attractive? Maybe it’s not too late for a hoe-phase after all. This is not that day, though. Mind your family, horny man on vacation. 

When we finally boarded the plane to Hawaii, I was glad not to be seated near the family. I tried not to fall asleep, because it’ll be 9pm when we land and I still need to sleep the night, but I failed, and three hours blipped by. We’re making the descent now, and I’m starting to feel something. It feels like… I am going home after any other trip I’ve ever been on, and the past 6 months were a fever dream that wasn’t actually real.

… and a swelling rage.

Take two

I am going back over to the neighbors’ house for supper, this time with a chocolate haupia pie and a self defense bottle of diet ginger ale to ward off mixed drinks.

Hold me in your thoughts.

Will report back.

Edited to update:

Not drunk! And I didn’t say anything stupid or embarrassing. I don’t even think I could—the neighbors tell way more dick jokes and gross stories than I do.

I trotted down the hill with my pie and was met by laughing people and a Bud Light. I nursed the beer and drank my ginger ale, listening to the family share drunken misadventure stories. 

“Jaysus, and he was that drunk, we had to hold him up under both arms to get him to the car, and we’re dragging him along like that and he says ‘ah, hang on, hold my pecker, will yous? I has to pee!’ B’y, you’d better not drink all that, I’m not holding your pecker again!”  

“And they went out poaching, caught a moose, got it out back where they could dress it in the shed without getting caught, and suddenly their friends come popping in and asking, ‘You gots some moose, wha’?’ And they’re like, fucking hell, how did those guys know we had a moose? They says, ‘We just followed the trail of blood from your truck!’” 

I asked, “How did they know they had a moose in there and not a person?” “Oh, nobody would ever notice if you had a person. My friend worked for the funeral home and needed help moving a few bodies, but she didn’t have a hearse, so I was driving all over the peninsula with two dead bodies in the back of an SUV, and nobody pulled me over.” 

We all crowded into the kitchen to load plates with salt beef, cabbage, turkey, and turnips. The pie was demolished. I drank my soda and listened to stories, we laughed at the little dog getting harassed by the crows, and I took an early leave to head home when the sun started going down. These kind of parties might be more drinking and cigarette smoke than I can handle for very long—I’m more of a snacks and card games kind of socializer—but it was nice to be around people.

One more day before I go back. 

Newfies

  I went to the neighbor’s to give them my phone number in case my house combusts while I’m gone and now I’m drunk. And I have agreed to go over for jigs dinner on Thursday with their family oh no

“That’s Saint Pierre vodka and now you’re complicit in the smuggling trade” lol

Edited to add: in the spirit of honesty/stupidity, I am adding this post back after deleting it for breaking my “don’t drink and type” rule. At least I didn’t email any regrettable memes or declarations of love.

I am going to bring a bottle of ginger ale to supper tomorrow and wave it at people when they try to hand me more cocktails. No wonder you have to smuggle in the booze from Saint Pierre, holy shit, my poor head.

Hiking for the very dim

As I was hauling myself up a rope along a vertical muddy path covered in fresh moose poop, it occurred to me that I should have told someone where I was going before I headed out on a hike by myself. The Walk of Hope trail next to the 20 foot statue of the kaiju Virgin Mary had seemed like a nice safe little old lady path, for no other reason than its cute name and obvious churchiness. I forgot about Catholicism. Catholics go hard with suffering. This was the Walk of Hope-you-ever-find-civilization-again trail. The Walk of Hope-a-moose-doesn’t-kill-you-before-you-find-your-car trail. And don’t we have bears? I’m pretty sure we have bears. 

One of the side trails led to a large pond covered in lily pads, and the water rippled and plunked and honked in alarm as I got to the landing. After a quiet moment, dozens of little frog faces rose out of the water, meeping at one another. More frogs swam under the surface of the water, some kicking long legs and some swishing late tadpole tails. Dragonflies landed on my arms as I leaned on the railing. It was absolutely charming.

I finally made it back to my car, and looked at the bin of walking sticks at the entrance to the trail. I am learning that this is a sign: if there are walking sticks to borrow, you are in trouble.

The day before, I decided to walk up to Cook’s Lookout, and ignored the walking sticks hung on pegs by the entrance sign. I’d seen the photos online, and there were wooden walkways and stairs all the way to the top of the hill. I did not see the parts you had to climb to get to and from the stairs. Or appreciate how those stairs kept going up for a mile, always looking like the top was just a few staircases up, only to find yourself looking at them dipping down into a valley before going straight up again. Jeans, I cursed myself. You wore jeans and a cardigan on a goddamn mountain hike.

I had learned my lesson and wore yoga pants for the second hike, but I was still too dumb to choose ones with pockets, so my phone was tucked into my waistband and accidentally taking a 20-minute video of me crunching along rocks, breathing like a Clydesdale, and singing like a muppet until I remembered about the bears and shut up. 

For today’s adventure, maybe I’ll just go down to Smuggler’s Cove and eat chicken wings while the band plays.

Foggy morning drive down to the bay near my house:

hike to Cook's Lookout:

"this is easy" 

FIRST SET OF STAIRS

One of the things I love about Newfoundland are the ponds absolutely everywhere, at any elevation, with no waterfalls leading from one to another, just sitting anywhere they like with no regard to sea level or gravity

see?

 

very wow, with the fog in the distance

 

the endangered carnivorous Newfoundland pitcher plant, 

growing everywhere like tulips in the Netherlands up here on Cook's Lookout

 

RIP whoever this is who didn't want to walk all the way back down those stairs 

 

Walk of Hope:

 

see that rope in the corner? It goes STRAIGHT DOWN. 

...Where is my car? 

 

moose poopies 

 

FROG 

 

MORE FROG 

 

imagine little burping noises in all directions 

 

borp borp borp borp 

 

path that led to rope and mooses 

there were flowers and blueberries everywhere (not ripe yet, but I will be back) 

Misc:

 

painted dining room blue 

 getting mad at flowers again

 

Not pictured: the night I decided to have a beer, accidentally bought an IPA, poisoned myself (one can), and was up sick all night. I don't know what kind of hops they use for those, but my body rejects it wholeheartedly. 

 

Also I finally got my broken tooth fixed, and found out my dental insurance was cut off for summer, so it cost $500. Goddamn. Still cheaper than if I had gotten it done back in Hawaii on insurance.

 

I'm having a really nice time, teeth and hops notwithstanding. Worrying about going back in a week.

Unsupervised

I worried a bit that I might actually be lonely, once I was faced with a dark night in a quiet house, but I am a house cat of a human being. To mark my territory, I washed all the bedding to get rid of the smells of other humans, hung them out in the sun to dry, remade all the beds, and tidied the rooms so they looked the way I liked. I bought groceries just for me - lox, capers, tomatoes, light nut milk, salad greens, sugar-free creamer - and planned my meals for the day with my calorie-tracker app. 

When you finally have time to do things, you want to do everything all at once, and I finally settled on a routine: writing for an hour every morning*, painting until lunch while the light is good, chores and projects until dinner, and drawing/planning for the next day in the evening while watching a tv show. I go to bed happy and sore, have bad dreams about going back home, and wake up glad to be alone in my own bed. I don't suppose the dreams will get any better, the closer to going back I get, but at least I don't have to think about that during the day.

On Wednesday, I painted the living room a color I like. Yesterday, I used the old bucket of stain in the pantry to re-paint the porch. I have one more regular payday left before I go on half-pay, and I'll put a bit aside to paint the dining room and hallway, and maybe the kitchen, since I'm saving on gas and grocery money right now. The coordinating paint chips are all laid out and labeled on the table, ready to go while nobody is around to talk me into more sensible colors. 

 

shut up, I love it, I'll change the curtains later

 

 Next year I'll paint the porch a Jelly Bean Row kind of color, but this is what I had, and at least it's ready for winter now.

 

I'm painting flowers, and primed some small boards for little landscape studies. I've got lino-cut panels to carve, once I've drawn a design. It feels like summer break as a kid, I'm excited for each day, and each part of the day. I miss my kids, and I look forward to seeing my cats, but this is the most I've felt like myself in ages. 

 

*A couple years ago I started writing a book, and it was flying out of my fingers for months before my flash drive was stolen by a library hobo. I haven't been able to get started on it again, because I know I can't rewrite everything the way it was, and so many of the plot details are lost to me now. I did a lot of research before starting the first draft, and all of that went with the flash drive. Instead of re-researching all of it, I put on a Ken Follet audio book (World Without End), because that is a man who will read you every bit of research he's ever done, with a good story to go with it. And it's 45 fucking hours long, so I can paint in the mornings and learn about medieval feudal systems and church hierarchy for the next week and a half. I've only written a couple pages so far, but I'm hoping the block will crack if I keep hammering at it.

DIY, weenie roasts, and beer

 

 

Everything went okay. I kissed the girl goodbye, waved her and Mike off at the airport, went out for Chinese buffet with Laurie, lost my ability to meal plan in Costco (what can I make with Activia, creamed honey, canned chicken, blueberries, and bubbly water?), and drove home listening to The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. I am too tired to think, but happy to have 17 days to get myself into trouble, going out to find places to paint and listen to live music. 

Bullet point summary, because narration is hard after 6 hours of driving.

 

*Picked Mike up at midnight on the 30th, crashed at (2-bed) airbnb. I slept on the couch. 

*The next day was Canada Day, and all the stores and restaurants were closed (except for Tim's). Visited Signal Hill, stopped by my childhood home, and had concession-stand poutine at Bowring Park with the ducks before driving home.

 *First item on to-do list: fix the giant rotting hole in the roof of the tool shed and re-shingle it. Mike bought the supplies and a circular saw, because he's just nice like that. 

*Went down to neighbor's house to borrow a ladder; came back with a ladder, two lobsters, and invitations to come over for drinks, because my neighbors are just nice like that

*Wrapped my burn barrel in steel chicken wire and made a little spark-guard hat for it, tackled the burn pile (fallen tree that has been chopped up in the yard all year), and spent every warm evening drinking Quidi Vidi beer, roasting sausages, making s'mores, and playing cards with Zenny. 

*Fixed the broken electrical outlets in the living room and installed lights in the pantry and shed.

*Installed baseboards in the studio.

*Went to the dump with the gross old baseboards and roof shingles. Stabbed myself with a rusty nail. Preeeetty sure I've had a tetanus shot in the past 7 years...? We will find out, I guess.

*Watched the entire season of Widow's Bay in 4 days. (SO good.) 

*Went to Smuggler's Cove, ate bbq, played with the guillotine, and saw their mascot: a floating structure made of elk and moose skulls. (The place was founded by bikers.) 

*Went for an early morning walk along the seashore, saw a fat sunbathing seal, got screamed at by crows, slipped and fell all over the slimy rocks and hurt ourselves because we are old. 

*Rotated my tires, because the car was shimmying slightly.

*The shimmy stopped, but Mike forgot to tighten the nuts, so one of the wheels suddenly tried to fly off while we were halfway to Goobies this morning. Pulled over in time.

*While Mike was tightening the nuts on the side of the road, I spotted an old infant car seat laying face-down in some bushes and crawled/slid/fell down a gravel slope to kick it over and make sure there wasn't a tiny skeleton strapped into it. (There was not, just a plastic grocery bag full of broken beer bottles.) Army-crawled back up to the car. 

*Airport, chinese food, Costco, etc. So tired.

 

It was a really fun visit, actually, and we got so much done in just a week - and that right there is how this man gets me every time. When he's around, the nice times blur the bad times, and makes them feel like maybe they didn't happen, or maybe I was wrong about them - but NOT THIS TIME. This is why I left the country; he can't hang around for too long, and I can't just change my mind because it's hard sometimes. My brain shut down the feelings factory, there was zero romance in the air. It was a nice friendly week, Zenny was happy to watch all the repairs going on and eat good food and play games with her dad, and I had no problem kicking the man to the curb at the airport, giving him a bro-hug, and saying BYE. 

So that is done, I can relax again, and it is time to be my own creature for a little while.

 Pictures:

 

 

 

While I was loading those pictures, my boss back in Hawaii texted to say he's retiring, and asked if I wanted his job. DAMN it. I did want it. He had been talking about retiring for years, and that was always the plan. If I had that promotion 6 months ago, I could have kept my house. I could have been with my son for his last few months of high school. I could still have my 20-year career, retirement plan, cats, publisher, gallery shows. 

But I'd still be there, and still wouldn't have been able to make Mike leave, and still be miserable. This loss of income has paid for peace and safety. I feel like I fit in somewhere for the first time since we left when I was a kid. I'm not going back. 

But I am having feelings about it. And it was nice of him to check with me.

 

Goddamn. I am going to bed. 

My brain tries to pair me like Bluetooth and is defeated by dentures

Some time last week my phone buzzed: it was a ‘hey girl’ text from an ex. I have exactly one ex who would send a jolt through me if I heard from him again, and one ex who I’d be happy to catch up and talk some shit with, and this was neither of those people. Another buzz: he sent a picture of himself with a wizard beard. No thanks. I left him on read and closed my phone.

A day later I got an email from Mike. He only sends emails when he wants to talk about his feelings in long-form and express remorse without actually promising to be better. I sent him a ‘sucks to be you’ kind of reply and closed my phone. 

(Note to both, in case they’re reading: get off my blog.)

(Note to the other two, in case of same: hey, girl)

My brain decided this was the time to activate crush mode, and one of my coworkers suddenly started looking less like a potato when he came around the library to chat. My algorithm—which tech bros insist does not actually listen to you when you’re speaking—ran commentary throughout the week. One day we talked about goats, and Instagram started giving me goat videos. The next day we talked about the hike to the puffin colony, and my feed filled with puffins and hiking. The day after that we joked about rural dentistry, and that is when my dude unexpectedly TOOK OUT HIS TEETH. The algorithm said girl, have you tried dating younger men? 

Hard pass. Absolutely not.

GTFO ALGORITHM 

So this is not shaping up to be a Heated Rivalry situation. It was enough to get me back on my diet, at least, before the teeth came out. (It was funny, I still like him, but he’s back to being friend-shaped. Probably a deliberate move on his part to brake-check me.)

Last day of work. Tomorrow we drive up to St. John’s to pick up Mike. My mental walls are going up, and I have a week-long home repair list to keep him busy. It’ll be fine. When he takes the kid back home for the summer, I will suddenly find myself with nearly 3 weeks all on my own, which I realized has never happened before in my entire life; I went from living at home, to having a roommate, to marriage and babies. The longest I’ve been on my own was 2 years ago, when the family went to Japan for a week. It was a really good week, even though a tree fell on the house and I discovered a feral cat living in my studio, which I tried to catch with a motion-activated camera and set off a chain of events that ultimately led to me quitting my job and leaving the country in the middle of the night on the day after Christmas…

…Actually, you know what, I’ll text the ladies from work and see about hanging out with them from time to time. 

Abuse of the backspace key

 This song came up on my algorithm and I feel called out. 

Get off my ass, algorithm, I haven’t done that in a long time. 

Our staff met in town for an end-of-year social at a local restaurant. I was excited about it, because I haven’t had a drink with anyone in almost a year and my coworkers are pretty lively, but when we got there everyone sat down stiffly around a square of plastic-covered tables that had been pushed together and they didn’t say much of anything at all. For a bit I just drank my beer and watched them to figure out what was going on: the person on the end doesn’t trust the person next to them. The spouse in the middle didn’t want to come. Those two friends are separated by someone they don’t want to make jokes in front of. There are key people missing. There was no way I was going to get through a blockade of politeness to find out what the fuck was going on with everyone, so I peppered the guy next to me with questions about his dog, home improvement projects, and tv shows until we landed on things he enjoyed talking about (bbq grills and mobsters). After the plates were collected and bills were paid, everyone sat tensely with a hand on their empty drinks, pretending to listen to the overhead music. “They’re waiting for someone else to leave first—we should make a break for it,” I whispered to the lady next to me. “Well, hell, let’s do them a favor,” she said, and we both pushed back our chairs and picked up our purses. The group instantly broke apart like a flock of birds. There was relief and laughter in the parking lot. Staff parties are so weird. 

One week left until school is out, unemployment begins, and Mike shows up to collect the kid for the summer. I feel nothing about him visiting, which is an improvement over anger.

What I have been feeling, walking around the pond on my lunch breaks, is something like… delight? I’ll be walking through flowering trees, feeling happy that my favorite duck still has all four of her ducklings, or that I saw little fish under the bridge, and then the sun will come out or the wind will blow my hair up and suddenly I’ll get a big feeling in my chest and start laughing. I think it’s deep relief, after so many years of tension. Even after all these months it’s still unspooling. 

Light bringer

Report: first second (!?) week of June. Still no glow up. Still no crush. But I made FIRE. And saw DUCKLINGS. And then my neighbor let me drive an excavator.

The wood stove in the studio was kicking my ass, because a) I only had a dollar store fire starter that didn’t really work, b) my kindling was just some paper from a flat-pack furniture box, and c) I couldn’t be bothered to look up how to correctly stack the logs because my phone was way across the room, ugh. Just throw a log in and light it on fire, how hard can it be? People burn their homes down all the time. 

After dozens of clicks on my crap-ass lighter, the flame finally caught, the paper burned up immediately, the stove filled with smoke, and the logs remained unlit. 

The next day I made fun of my fire-starting survival skills and my coworkers tipped me off to the secret of traditional Newfoundland fire-starting: the huge stack of Tim Hortons drink caddies on top of the staff fridge. Turns out part of the reason they’re all Tim’s addicts is because the pressed paperboard caddies burn like artificial logs. After work I took a few from the stack, found some matches, watched a 30 second video on how to stack wood properly, opened the dampers, and had a roaring fire in less than a minute. Annoying how things actually work when you find out how to do them.

And so we will survive the winter, just so long as my office mates don’t give up their London Fog lattes. 

Down at the pond, the spring crop of ducklings has come in. The she-ducks have been conspicuously absent for the past month, and now they’re all along the shores, trailed by little bobbing tribbles. The trees blossomed the same day, and filled with waxwings. I love the season so much. Except for the semen tree by the parking lot. I was not prepared for the smell when that thing activated.

Yesterday evening Zenny and I watched the Great British Photography Challenge, and then grabbed the camera and ran outside. Our neighbor and his little dog waved hello and hopped down from the excavator he’s been destroying his yard with for the past few weeks. I asked what he was building, and he said, “I don’t know yet, buddy lent it to me and I’ve just been playing with it! Want to drive it?” Hell yes I did. Zenny stood at a safe distance while I threw levers and dumped dirt out of the bucket. I was feeling very cool and tough until I saw the photos she took of me, looking like a dog who has discovered itself driving an ambulance. “You were screaming a bit, too,” she said.

Very attractive

                                                                                                                           

Ok that’s enough, I’m going to break something

We waved goodbye to Ernie and Dexter the Shih Tzu, and walked down to the shore to go beachcombing with the camera. I took off my shoes and socks to walk into the freezing water and place a rock where Zenny liked, then tossed pebbles to make ripples for her until she was satisfied. This has been the only activity I’ve been able to really engage her in, so we are going to lean into it. I’ll be happy to get weird about analog equipment and dark room chemicals if she wants to, but we’ll start by learning the basics.

These were her favorite shots:

I followed along behind her and took pictures with my phone, enjoying the textures of the rocks and the reflections of the water.

Feeling pretty happy.