october wanderings

Photo sent to me via e-mail (no, I didn't take this).

There are few things I find funnier than a pumpkin throwing up. I don't know why that is.

Anyway, I'm off on yet another adventure. This is the last leg of my crazy three months of travel, and then I'm home for the rest of the year. I am out of both vacation time and cold hard cash! I leave Tuesday for a business trip to Washington, D.C., then I hop on the Amtrak and zoom up to see Laura in New Jersey until this weekend.

Then it's back home to put up my Halloween decorations, move some perennials around in my garden, clean out the garage, and get my house and yard ready for winter. I absolutely love October - it's my favorite month of the year. I love the colors and the air, raking leaves, the golden light, squash, pumpkins, campfires, and hundreds of kids running around in costumes on my street on the 31st.

If I owe anyone a phone call, an e-mail, or a personal visit . . . just hang in there. The overtime at work and the travel will soon be done, and I'll be back to normal. Or as normal as I can be.

Oh, and today also happens to be the 3-year anniversary of my Big Breakup. Can you believe it's been 3 years already? Sitting under the walnut tree and breaking up . . . the candlelight, the rain, a fleece jacket, beer. I'll never forget that night. As many of you know, discovering Charlotte Martin's music was a huge part of healing from it; her On Your Shore album got me through some icky times. So it's ironic that I get to see her in concert tonight. She's always amazing live!

Charlotte Martin, February 2005, in Detroit, photo taken by me.

six hours in another country

Sophie and me, Point Pelee, Ontario, Canada.

One of the best things about living in metro Detroit is that at any given moment, you can throw up your hands, and say "That's it! I've had it! I'm fleeing the country!" And 30 minutes later you're in Canada.

That's what I did today. Donna whisked me away across the border this morning to Point Pelee. Our plan was to watch thousands of migrating monarch butterflies, but we were told at the visitor center that the weather was too warm and we wouldn't see them that day. We had a great time anyway, walking down to the Point, taking photos, and hanging out with Sophie, who was not thrilled with the beach environment.

After the Point, we walked back down the trail and ran into two women who had two pomeranians. Now, Sophie's fur is a matted, horrible mess. In my hectic last two months, her grooming has been put on the back burner. She gets a bath, but the meticulous brushing and trimming she needs has been nonexistent. But I wanted to meet the two poms, so I walked over to them. Up close, they were immaculately groomed, shiny, silky, and tangle free. Every movement sent their flowing fur in ripples down their glistening bodies. I've never seen such perfect poms. And here comes Sophie, tangled, messy, and clumpy, covered in sand from the beach, with a twig stuck to her butt. She looked like Pig Pen.

Turns out, the owner is a professional dog GROOMER. I was mortified. What are the chances?? Sophie had never looked worse in her entire life, and here we meet a pom groomer. She recommended that I shave Sophie down to 1/4" or so and just basically start over. And believe me, she's right. That's how bad the situation is. So the two poms, after sniffing Sophie's appropriate body parts, went on their way. I picked up my gritty, knotted, slightly stinky dog and we watched them leave, the sun reflecting off their silky backs and their perfect tails waving like plumes down the trail.

Donna, walking out to the Point.

After that, we hopped back in the car, ate some crackers with hummus, trail mix, cheese, and my yummy carrot/apple/celery/orange juice concoction I had juiced this morning. Are we healthy, or what? We drove to the marsh, where there is a lookout tower and boardwalk trail.

The boardwalk trail through the marsh. And canoes!

And that was my 6-hour getaway to Canada. Now I'm off to shave my dog.

trying not to drown

Scott, Kristie, & Cerenna, at the end of the party.

I've been fighting the "black dog", as Winston Churchill called it; a bit of depression has come my way. I've been battling it since I was 12, so I should be an old pro at it. When I was younger I thought I could magically cure it and it would never return. Now I've accepted that it's just part of my personality, and instead I try and focus on ways to get through it. Taking care of myself, curling up on the couch and brooding for awhile, learning something new like trying a new recipe, or listening to music. Or, when I truly can't stand myself anymore, taking a sleeping pill and sending my ass to bed. Which is what I did last night.

When I woke up this morning, I felt the dark waves rolling up to me. It would have been so much easier just to pull the covers up and lay there. But I hauled my wallowing self out of bed and started my day. Spent time on a project I took home from work, drank coffee, made some healthy, yummy snacks for Donna and my trip to Canada tomorrow.

And then I went to my neighbor Scott's 40th birthday party next door. Kristie had asked me to be the photographer for the evening, and it was hard to be down while taking pictures of kids playing and Cerenna learning how to walk. I met so many great people - holding a camera and being able to walk right up, ask people to pose, and then staying to chat is a great icebreaker.

So tonight the goal is to hold it together, battle the black dog, and go to sleep early. What would Winston do? He battled depression his whole life, too. Maybe I'll read one of his books in bed tonight.

Must think positive thoughts. Must believe. Must have hope. Must keep going.