When I close my eyes, I certainly don’t feel 49. I still feel the same as when I was 15, 25, 35, and 45.
And when I open my eyes, well … There are some signs I’m getting older.
I won’t dwell on them for too long because: 1) I have recently upped my skincare regimen; and 2) that’s all I’m interested in doing because when I see people who are, shall we say, being more aggressive against aging, I’m not personally convinced that’s the better way.
I spent a delightful day yesterday doing some of my favorite things. I started with reading and writing and then attended my cold plunge group’s weekly Saturday meetup. After that I volunteered to be a pretend wedding guest for a dog named Hoover, who is training to be a ring bearer for his humans’ wedding next week.
Then I picked up Heath, who works on Saturdays, and we drove around on a mini-adventure, and ended up finding a specialty gourmet grocery store near our house where I found the best birthday card imaginable for my niece and I now can’t wait to send it to her in November.
We then ended the day watching two episodes of Frasier. While I watched Frasier back when it was on the air on NBC in the 90s and 00s, Heath has never watched it. It’s standing the rest of time (unlike many other shows/movies we’ve rewatched) and it remains as hilarious as ever.
I also find myself feeling incredibly nostalgic for the 90s and 00s because that was a time before smart phones and the Internet as we know it and I long for the days of less fractured attention.
Nostalgia aside, it was the perfect birthday of small joys and some quality time with the person I love most in this world.
I’ll continue celebrating for the rest of the month with my usual news and social media fast. This is a gift I give to myself every year, and I rather enjoy it. So, if anything important happens, someone please let me know.
In the meantime, thanks for still sticking around all this time. Here’s hoping I make a splash this year in as many wonderful ways as possible.
On November 24th, a bright light in my world darkened. That was the day my beloved golden-wise friend, Annie, breathed her last.
When I started typing this blog post, I originally wrote as the first sentence: On November 24th, a bright golden light in my world went out. Within seconds, I felt in my heart that it wasn’t true because Annie and her golden-wise ways will never truly be extinguished from my life. Even with my very active imagination, I cannot think of any circumstance in which I would ever forget our times romping in the woods together, her belly flops into the swimming pool, or her general otherworldliness that had me convinced she was a divine being wearing a dog costume so she could experience life on Earth.
I knew and loved Annie for over 6 years while I lived in Norfolk, CT, and that didn’t stop after we left in May 2023. We’ve taken hundreds of walks together in the Barbour Woods, one of my favorite places in the world. Annie’s joy of running wild in the woods served as the inspiration for the first young adult romcom I ever wrote, and my relationship with her and her human mom took me to Seattle, WA, in the summer of 2023, where I met Annie’s nephew, Arnold, and wrote a story about him for a middle-grade audience.
One of my favorite things about Annie is the little rhrr, rhrr, rhrr noises she made whenever anyone she loved visited her house (which was pretty much anyone she knew). She would lean into you, wagging the entire backside of her body, and rhrr away, mostly because she was happy to see you, but also, I suspect, because she saw that person as a potential walking mate in the woods. Just like how I love the Barbour Woods, so did Annie! One time, her mom reported to Heath that she looked out the window one day, and Annie was trotting along the trail on her own. She took herself for a walk! We all laughed and loved it.
I also taught her the word vamos, which is Spanish for let’s go! It only took her a few days to learn, and she knew how to listen for it when I came over because that meant it was a walk visit and not a visit visit, which I sometimes occasionally did.
The last time I saw Annie in person was in March 2025. I visited because a new puppy, Lucy Honeybee, and Annie’s great great great niece (I think I got the greats correct) had joined Annie’s family, and I wanted Lucy to know me during this critical stage in her life. And, of course, to visit Annie and her human mom.
Beleaguered is the best word Annie’s mom came up with for how Annie experienced Lucy, and it provided us with a lot of love, affection, and laughter for observing their relationship. I made it a point to take Annie on no-puppies-allowed walks so she could enjoy the peace and quiet of the woods without the worry of what Lucy was doing, where she was going, what she was putting in her mouth, or how she was jumping on top of Annie. I’m so glad I made the time to do that because those walks are now my last walks with Annie, and for being my last new memories, they’re pretty good.
My only regret during that time is that, according to my year-end review of Google Photos, I took 191 photos of Lucy and only 189 photos of Annie. Rationally, I know 2 photos are insignificant. Now that’s Annie gone, I want her to be on top one final time. Not that Lucy’s not ridiculously cute. Her golden-almost-wise ways are just so very different from Annie’s.
Not good or bad, just different, and I look forward to getting to know her.
However, it will never be the same as when I was living in Norfolk, and that’s why Annie’s death continues to hit me hard. With every passing day, my connection to Norfolk and the Northwest corner of Connecticut breaks a little bit more. I miss my friends, dogs, and the woods there very much.
Goodbye, Annie Rose. You may be gone from this world, but in my heart and stories, you remain a spark of gold forevermore.
I’ve been a little light on posting this summer, and it’s not because I haven’t had anything to write about. On the contrary, I’ve had so many things to write about, some life-changing, that overwhelm has been a near-constant companion since May.
In the past three months, CU Boulder hired me as a full-time teaching faculty member in the psychology and neuroscience department (I start August 19), I said goodbye to our life as housesitters, Heath and I moved into a single-family home in Lafayette, CO, we finalized our move from Norfolk (ie., last week we packed up in a U-haul our remaining stuff stored in our friends’ basement and then drove from Norfolk to Lafayette by way of Harrisburg, PA, and Murfreesboro, TN, and my beloved buddy, Dodger, died in my arms.
The first photo I ever took of Dodger and the last photo I ever took of Dodger.
I’ll write about all these events soon, but today I honor Dodger, a dog unlike any other with his sassy attitude, envelope ears, and butterscotch heart.
Barbour Woods, 2018
Dodger and his mama Cecily were a huge part of my life in Norfolk. I wrote about them on this blog multiple times (see here,here and here for examples). The world lost Cecily in June 2022, and a little over two years later, Dodger joined her. Dodger’s adoptive parents knew his end was coming. Throughout the spring, they had kept me updated on his declining health. I asked them to tell Dodger he didn’t have to wait for me to come back to Norfolk this summer and that if he needed to go, he should go. We knew we loved each other.
Cecily’s Porch, July 2022
He held on. My flight to Norfolk landed at Bradley-International Airport on Thursday, July 11th. After a good friend picked me up and dropped me off at Annie and her human’s house, and a quick hello and hugs to them, I headed over to see Dodger.
Barbour Woods, February 2018
Although it was heartbreaking to see such a commanding and agile dog as Dodger hobbling around, his face retained every inch of his Dodgerness. I understood exactly what his adoptive parents meant by his “mixed signals” when having to make the hardest decision in Dodger’s life.
Barbour Woods, October 2020
I spent that night with him and then went over again to spend hours with him on Friday night. I was told the plan had been set. A vet would come to the house on Monday.
Barbour Woods, June 2020
But Dodger never did anything according to what we planned, and Friday night, he took a turn for the worse. The vet was able to fit him in on Saturday, and his adoptive parents generously and graciously offered me to go with them.
Eve, Cecily, and Dodger in Cecily’s Living Room, February 2019
The moment I walked in and saw him on Saturday afternoon, I knew they were making the right decision. It was time. Well, it was time for Dodger. There would never be enough time for me to get in all the walks, belly rubs, and reminisces of our time together.
Dodger with mini-Dodger, a stuffed dog made by Eve Thew, August 2019
We spent our final hours together, and then suddenly, we were in the car going to the vet. Along the way, Dodger became a little agitated. The idea occurred to me that I had many videos of Cecily in my cloud storage, so I quickly found one of the longer videos (I knew where to look) and played the video on a loop. Dodger immediately settled down at the sound of Cecily’s voice.
Halloween, 2019 (I carved the pumpkin to look like Dodger)
Cecily’s name became a refrain we all echoed at some point during Dodger’s final hour – just a little bit longer, and you’ll be with Cecily again.
Christmas, 2020
Dodger’s death hits particularly hard because I truly feel it’s the end of an era. I met Cecily and Dodger early during our time in Norfolk and I spent countless hours over there every week. For over two years, Heath worked as one of Cecily’s caregivers. So many times, I tagged along on their outings. We always had such a splendid time.
Cecily, Heath, and Dodger, Harney & Sons, Millerton, NY, October 2019
There were so many small, joyful moments with Cecily and Dodger – dinners, birthdays, Super Bowl parties, Christmases, and the most spectacular sunsets viewed off of Cecily’s side porch. She had, arguably, the best sunset view in Norfolk.
July 2019, Cecily’s Porch
Cecily’s family sold her house last year so I’ll never again be able to watch one of those porch sunsets. When I drove by her house the day after Dodger died, I felt empty with loss. I no longer have any direct connection to Cecily, just my memories. Some I’ll never forget, like how I was driving Dodger home from the vet in Cecily’s car when I finally saw my first black bear in Norfolk after three years, and some are gone forever, thanks to my journal being stolen last year.
On the way back from Sand Road Vet, May 2020; Dodger could not care less we saw a bear
Thankfully, I am good friends with Dodger’s adoptive parents so that connection remains alive and well. We marveled over the idea that when we met eight years ago, we never could have guessed that someday we’d be sharing profound grief together over someone else’s dog in a veterinary exam room. We all had Dodger in our arms for those last few minutes.
Goodbye, my sweet and sassy Dodge Podge. It was a great honor to know and love you.
This past Friday, Heath and I drove to Longmont, CO. The gray skies turned white on the way back, and snow began falling.
When I woke up on Saturday morning, a winter wonderland greeted me.
I love winter and snow. Yet, the high temperatures of 80 degrees on multiple days last week and the fact that we’re heading into May made me less welcoming than I usually am to our surprise winter guest. I decided I didn’t want to go anywhere. So, I picked up my phone, opened the MeetUp App, and changed my RSVP from Yes to No for the cold water plunge I’ve been attending semi-regularly at a park in Boulder.
I felt good about my decision, even when I second-guessed myself. During those moments, I practiced some compassionate self-talk and told myself that I was allowed to change my mind, especially because it would take me over an hour to get to the park on the bus. I especially wasn’t keen to wear my wet bathing suit under my clothes for the long bus ride back to Lafayette (where I’m currently housesitting).
Then, I took my new favorite friend, Arthur, out for our morning walk.
Everyone, meet Arthur!
Arthur is a big love bug and one of the goober-iest dogs I’ve ever known. We both enjoy naps on the couch, which means we get along well.
While I was walking Arthur on Saturday morning, a small beam of sunlight broke through the clouds and shone down on us. I immediately felt overcome that I had made the wrong decision – I needed to go to the cold water plunge instead of staying home. I still had enough time to make the bus, and that’s exactly what I did.
As I rode the bus, I marveled at the beautiful winter landscape that befell me. I couldn’t see the mountains because of the cloud cover, but snow-covered prairies stretched for miles. This was definitely the right decision.
At least, that’s what I thought until I almost missed my bus stop because I had been listening to an audiobook on my phone. I jumped up, grabbed my bag with towels and other cold plunge necessities, and hopped off the bus.
About twenty feet from the bus, I stopped cold (pun intended). I reached up to my head. My glasses weren’t there. With a sinking heart, I remembered I had set them down on the seat next to me. I took them off because I can’t read with them on, and I wanted to make sure I could quickly look at my Google Maps app in case I couldn’t remember my bus stop (oh, the irony).
I turned around. If I sprinted, I may be able to reach the bus before it turned the corner. But the Achilles tendon on my left foot has been inflamed for nearly two months. So, I wavered. And I lost my chance.
Needing to do something, I pulled out my phone and found the number for the Boulder transit lost and found. To my surprise, even though it was a Saturday, they had actual human beings you could speak with to help you figure out where and when you could catch the same bus to retrieve your lost item. The incredibly kind woman gave me two different times, and I vowed to be at one of them.
Because there was nothing else I could do at that moment, I did my best to push away my worry that my glasses would be forever gone. Who would want prescription glasses? I told myself. Instead, I focused on the beautiful (albeit sad) juxtaposition of the bright spring flowers covered in snow.
By the time I arrived at the park, I felt better. I would be reunited with my glasses, and all would be well. My mind mainly focused on our deep breathing exercises, and I only would worry about my glasses every so often.
I completely forgot about my glasses the moment we entered the creek.
I’m waving at a bike rider! For privacy reasons, I blurred out the faces of group members.
Based on my past experiences, I would guess that the water was somewhere around 38 degrees Fahrenheit. Ninety-five percent of my body and mind love it! The remaining 5% is in my feet, and once we settle on a place to live (fingers crossed, we’ll know soon), one of my first purchases is going to be water shoes for future cold water plunges.
Today was extra special because of the beauty of the snow. I enjoyed the company and the connection, and the cold plunge itself was everything I wanted it to be. Yes, I had definitely made the right decision to be here. Everything would work out with my glasses.
After the plunge, I felt great joy and optimism as I made my way to the Boulder Public Library. I planned to hang out there until it was time to meet the bus I had ridden that morning. Before I knew it, it was time to head to the bus stop.
When the bus pulled up, I felt relief when I saw it was, in fact, the same driver from this morning. I greeted him and asked if anyone had turned in my glasses.
I held my breath.
No, he told me. He had even done a sweep of the bus. But look around, he encouraged.
So I did. They weren’t on the seat I had left them, nor were they on the floor. Every time the bus stopped, I scoped out different sections of the floor in case they had fallen and were sliding around. Sadly, nothing.
All too soon, I had to give up hope that my glasses would magically appear. But I felt determined to do everything I could to get them back, so when my bus stop came, I approached the driver again to give him an update. He was kind and courteous, and I left feeling optimistic that perhaps someone would turn them in.
About thirty seconds after I got off the bus, I again stopped cold (pun even more intended). This time, I had left my gloves behind!
I had been so focused on my glasses and ensuring I talked to the driver that I left them the seat next to me.
Seriously!?!?!?!
I had hoped that by the time I wrote this story, there would be a wonderful moral about listening to the little voice inside my head or how everything works itself out. But, alas, I am still stuck in the middle of it without my glasses. By no means do I think the story is over. How it’s going to resolve itself is still a mystery.
In the meantime, I will dig out an old pair of glasses from my luggage, snuggle with Arthur, and hope for the best.
My world became darker this week with the loss of my friend, Cecily.
I met Cecily in November 2017, when we both attended a book discussion for The Book of Joy by the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu. At the end of discussion, Cecily asked if I’d like to walk her dog Dodger a few times a week. She’d heard I was a dog person.
My life has never been the same since.
I’ve written about Cecily and Dodger multiple times on this blog. My relationship deepened with Cecily when Heath became one of her home companions in 2018. I often spent hours there on Sundays, chatting with Cecily and Heath, accompanying them on outings, and playing with Dodger.
Cecily had tears in her eyes the first time I preached at the Congregational Church in Norfolk. She stood in the pews and beamed at me when it was over. Cecily also accompanied me to my first Psychology of Stuff presentation I ever gave. She sat in the audience next to Heath at the Scoville Memorial Library and listened as I talked about why we have so much stuff and what we can do about it. The crowd numbered close to 100 and it was standing room only. Afterwards to celebrate, Cecily took us to the White Hart Inn for dinner.
More than anything, Cecily believed in me as a writer. She didn’t know me in my other life as a college professor with a long list of professional accomplishments including tenure and multiple peer-reviewed publications. So it was easy for Cecily not to judge that I left all that behind because I felt unhappy and wanted more out of my life. She asked me often about the stories I was writing and suggested just as often that Dodger would make an excellent character for one of them.
Of course, he would! Anyone who has ever met Dodger knows this guy has charisma and charm. That’s why he serves as the inspiration for the dog in my young adult novel called The Happiest Dog on the Internet. I never got the chance to tell Cecily that last month the manuscript was named a finalist in the Tassy Walden Awards for New Voices in Children’s Literature.
Mostly because I forgot.
When I last saw Cecily on Tuesday night, I reminded her of some of our favorite times together, like decorating her Christmas tree or dressing Dodger as a “chili” dog for Halloween. I spoke of the Norfolk Library’s pet parade last year and how poor Dodger had been shaved at the groomers because of a miscommunication. I told one of Cecily’s favorite stories about the time a cousin stopped her when she was out and about the town with Heath. “What’s with the guy?” the cousin wanted to know. Cecily loved to tell that story with a gleam in her eye because she loved to be on the arm of such a tall, handsome, and younger man.
I sat reminiscing with Cecily while she slept. I wracked my brain for more things to tell her. I knew that once I left my chair that would be my last goodbye. I wanted to prolong the moment. How silly of me not to think of this one thing that I know would have made her happy.
I suppose it doesn’t matter. Death goes on and the love I have for Cecily will stay with me in my heart until it’s my turn. Which, for the record, I hope is at least five decades away. There are many stories I have yet to write and many memories Heath and I have yet to make together. I hope we get the time.
Goodbye Cecily. I’m so glad you heard I was a dog person.
I have re-discovered a new form of exhaustion! The good news is that this re-discovery means I’m sleeping well enough to notice. The bad news is that, well, I’m exhausted. I’m calling it bone-weary tired because it’s not just mental. This tiredness has seeped into my infrastructure. It comes with the territory of being a housesitter.
After fifteen consecutive months in the same housesit (phooey to you, covid), the owners finally made it home from being abroad. Fifteen months is a long time to housesit, and the effort and diligence of packing up, moving out, and making sure the house was ready to welcome their family home took several days of nonstop work. Up early. Late to bed. Oh, and also work at the library in the meantime.
Did I mention the ice storm? Yes, because there was also an ice storm that hit Norfolk on Friday, February 4. The storm itself was nothing special. Except a few tree limbs hung so low in the driveway that for three days, I couldn’t drive it.
Packing your car is not easy when you have to walk approximately an eighth of a mile one way on solid ice. Nevertheless, I did it. It helped to have the best form of motivation — mother nature in all her icy glory!
In the days following the ice storm, Norfolk turned into a sparkling ice palace thanks to the thick coating of ice everywhere and the brilliant blue skies and sunshine. I’ve never been so happy being so exhausted.
As I walked up and down the driveway over and over, I marveled at the wonder around me.
I also had my buddy Fergus as a companion, but I’m not sure he appreciated the splendor as much as I did. He likes to run, sniff, and be as cute as possible.
So even though I’m bone-weary tired, I got to spend a lot of time outside enjoying myself. I also chuckled to myself more than once to be careful what you wish for. As you may recall, in my last blog post I was craving functional fitness. I certainly got it this past week, and then some.
I’m also keeping track this year of invigorating experiences since I had one early on. The standings so far:
Runner Up: Packing up my car after an ice storm, February 5-6.
Starting on Thursday, I have five days of vacation. They cannot get here soon enough. My bones and brain need it. And the best part — I’ll be with my buddy Fergus the entire time.
For those of you who don’t know, I work part-time at the Congregational Church in Norfolk as The Director of Community & Creativity. Essentially, the job is exactly how the title sounds. I look for creative ways to connect others throughout the Norfolk community (and beyond) in activities that celebrate compassion, generosity, love, tolerance, and spirituality. Examples of such activities are our Does It Matter Bible Study, where we debate theology for 50 minutes every week and then decide none of it matters because all we want is to not be a jerk to other people, Sunday Night Loving Kindness Meditation meetups (currently suspended due to COVID-19), and The Blessing of Less, a lesson and meditation on living with less in honor of Earth (very likely suspended due to COVID-19).
One of my job requests recently was to record a “prayer for the people” to be included in our new weekly worship service videos. You know, since we’re all trying to stay safe and healthy since congregating in groups is a bad idea.
I received the request on a Friday around noon and had a draft ready to read and record by Friday at 4:30pm. Of course, when I read it the following morning, I thought, oh, it could use some more editing, couldn’t it?
Well, too late for that! Well … too late for the video. I had to send off the recording ASAP on Friday to our outstanding video editor so he could work his magic on it. By outstanding video editor, I mean the pastor’s newly college-graduated son who is AWESOME at this sort of thing and offered to help the church with our social media content now that he’s back home.
But not too late for my blog post! So, with love in my heart and joy at the opportunity to share these words, I present to you my Prayer for the People:
If you’d like to see the online worship video, you can check it out on YouTube:
And if you’d like to see my outtakes from the recording, you can check that video out here:
Now that a full week has gone by, I wish I had spoken extemporaneously instead of reading from my computer. Being a recovering perfectionist, I sometimes try too hard to get something “right” rather than speak directly from my heart. It’s a good lesson to be reminded of should I be asked to do something like this again. A
Special thanks to Heath, my cameraman, who did an excellent job with the filming, and Smudge, a most-excellent co-star who hit his mark every single time.
Saturday brought significant snow fall to Norfolk.
Since it’s still early in the season, I’m welcoming the snow with open arms and a profound sense of joy. I think part of that has to do with my new dog buddy, Dodger.
At the request of his human mom, I’ve been walking Dodger a few times a week. He’s a frisky pup who likes running and adventures, so when I arrive on their doorstep to pick him up for our walks, you can imagine his excitement. Not only do I receive lots of licks and paw offerings, but he likes to sit on my lap and lean into me like we’re hugging.
Eventually we end our love fest and get on with the walking. But first, I have to get Dodger past the electric fence in his yard. Even without his collar on, he refuses to cross the boundary line. Sometimes, he won’t even get in the car when he thinks it’s too close. But once I drive him out of the yard, we are good to go!
We then head off to a local field for some excellent romping. On the way, I’ve taken to singing Dodger songs, since he’s so happy and I can’t help but feel happy around him. Also, the name Dodger lends itself well to many holiday songs. For example:
Dodging through the snow
In a one-dog open sleigh
O’er the fields we go
Barking all the way
Woof Woof Woof
Bells on Furry Rings
Making Spirits Bright
What fun it is to Dodge and Sing
A Dodger Dog tonight
Oh, Dodger Dog, Dodger Dog
Dodger All the Way!
Oh what fun it is to Dodge
In a one-dog open sleigh, hey!
Dodger seems to enjoy my singing despite my awful voice. He definitely enjoys the snow more. Though if I’m being honest, I can’t imagine there are things in this world he doesn’t enjoy.
As we walked through the woods, the snow freezing in my hair, on my hat, and on my scarf, I almost started crying for how beautiful the world looked. I said prayers of gratitude for being allowed to experience the moment; not just the quiet solitude of the snow, but also being blessed with the companionship of Dodger.
Not once when I was a college professor did I ever feel so at one with the world and my place in it than I did for those moments with Dodger in the woods.
I often joke these days that I should start replying to people when they ask that my PhD is in Professional House and Dog Sitting. I know it doesn’t quite have the same prestige as a PhD in psychology, but I didn’t truly belong in the classroom as a professor.
Yes, there are some students out there who have let me know throughout the years that I had a positive impact on their lives; similarly, there are some students who impacted me just the same. I’m not saying I don’t have some wonderful memories of teaching or that I didn’t enjoy certain aspects of my job.
But my heart was never truly in teaching, at least not teaching statistics and research methods. I knew in year 2 of my PhD program that I was in the wrong field. For a variety of reasons, I wasn’t brave enough to quit then.
Once I graduated, I picked a job I thought I would like and one that had many appealing qualities, especially a flexible schedule and summers off. In retrospect, I learned the hard way that when I lived a life I was not passionate about I was slowly poisoning myself. It’s no wonder I had so many health issues for so many years.
Since leaving teaching, I’m still asking the question where do I belong? It’s scary not to be sure, but at the same time exhilarating because I’m open to so many possibilities. I may never end up knowing the answer for certain, but for right now I can say with enthusiasm and joy in my heart that I belong in the woods, with a dog, writing about the experience. Thank you for your willingness to read my words. And WOOF! From Dodger.
