Things you learn when early voting

Virtue signaling!

We had planned to vote on election day, keeping a decades-long tradition of sauntering in to the polling place, signing in with a long-unseen neighbor, marking our ballot, and churning it through the ballot counter.  In the olden days, the kids would come with us, squeeze into the the little desk space with one of us, and watch as checked the boxes, drew the connecting lines, or filled in the dots. During the primaries in September this year, we were numbers one (me) and three Tom (someone got between him and me while he checked his ballot for the fifth time). We worried about mailing our ballots because of all the angst being strewn about reporting on lost or purloined ballots as well as reports of drop boxes being set on fire.  We saw an ad in the daily Gazette that the local senior center was hosting early voting (100 generous hours) and we decided to vote that way. We really wanted to get it over, cast our votes, pick up our stickers, and wear them proudly. So we did.

Medlar

The senior center has a small tree by the parking lot that I had noticed a year before, when we were there for a lecture. It has an odd-shaped fruit, and this year I took a photo and submitted it to iNaturalist, figuring it was too odd  or exotic for it to recognize. But lo and behold - it came up right away with the suggestion that it was a medlar. This was the first thing I learned on my voting morning – this fruit + this tree  =  medlar.

The leathery-looking fruit is actually edible, but not right away; its insides become sweet and appealing only after the fruit is bletted.  Bletted? A new word, and the second thing I learned this morning. Spellcheck doesn't even recognize that word. To blet is to let a fruit ripen after picking. First, the medlar fruit needs a hard frost. Next, it needs to sit around in a cool place to continue ripening, allowing the sugar content to increase, and the acid and tannin content to decrease. "If the fruit is wanted it should be left on the tree until late October and stored until it appears in the first stages of decay; then it is ready for eating . . . The taste of the sticky, mushy substance has been compared to sweet dates and dry applesauce, with a hint of cinnamon." It apparently is an ideal  companion to wine. (ref: Wikipedia)

I read this information to Tom as we drove home, where we were not greeted by the dog.When we leave, he always puts on a convincing display of sorrow and longing. but when we come back, there he is, in classic Niko style, in a restful snooze, barely acknowledging our reentrance.

PS: The third thing I learned just now: There is no official spelling for spellcheck/spell check/spell-check; they are all alike to the grammar police.

Unexpected Chaos

When I woke this morning, my day lay sparsely in front me, much like yesterday was, much like tomorrow will be.  I took Niko on a long walk in the park;  the only scheduled event on the calendar was a Zoom lunch with another retired colleague. She is a physiologist, I am an organic chemist, and we collaborated on issues of women in science and ran science workshops that made science available to traditionally underserved  groups of middle schoolers, girls and kids in the cities.

But I have a friend in a neighboring town with a wonderful garden, and today is her birthday. I calculated that I could visit her at a physical distance of six feet, take some photos of the newest bloomers in her garden beds, wish her happy birthday, and be back home by noon. Alas, I lingered past the appropriate departure time; at the last minute I decided to photograph a unique primrose that had cross-fertilized in her garden, her own private primrose sport. So I texted my colleague and told her I would Zoom up at 12:15. No surprise – she was flexible. I packed up my camera and set off on the twenty-minute drive home.

When the bridge over the Connecticut River drew near, so did the ominous sight of cars sheltering in place. Construction of a roundabout on the other side of the bridge had reached fever pitch, lanes were closed, lights flashed, people in yellow vests sauntered here and there, dump trucks, scrapers, back hoes all lumbered about their tasks, rearranging roadbeds and moving dirt and rocks from one pile to another.

We sat, inched along, merged to one lane, and sat some more. It took forty-five minutes to travel a half mile. For a lovely minute our two, before merger, I traveled alongside a very happy Samoyed who posed elegantly for the entertainment of the rest of us.

I pulled into my garage at 12:51,  just as a text dinged in from a friend who was soon to be passing by the back gate with Niko's best friend. Could they drop by? Both Niko and Sunny are optimally bored and confused by the lack of people and admirers in their lives, and when they visit together, it is the high point of their week.

I went in, Zoomed my colleague, and told her about the visitors that were about to join our call, albeit at a distance.

Niko has bones and other hard things to chew on that Sunny loves. She always goes into the house, takes a tour of every room, comes back down to Niko's stash of stuff, picks out the bone for the day, and skips triumphantly back into the yard. Their game is always a dance. Sunny chews with wild abandon, Niko pretends not to be interested. Sunny looks away, Niko makes his move and dashes off with the prize. Sunny follows, until Niko leaves the bone unguarded, and Sunny takes possession. I could watch them all day in this game.

Somewhere in the middle of this cat and mouse dog game, my brain fried and I Zoomed off; my colleague and I decided we would look for another, quieter time for lunch at a distance. She had actually ended up eating her lunch before we connected, and my lunch was still far in the future.

Sunny's person had work to do, and they left, much to Sunnys distress.

Noon (+ or -) Friday: Friend, traffic, friend, friend, dogs at play. I had declined another noon meeting to learn the ins and outs of a communication sharing board because of the already scheduled lunch..

When my lunch came, it was exceedingly good. Sliced egg sandwich, cream cheese and crackers, peanut butter on Graham crackers, lemon ginger tea, and a chocolate covered toffee I had found hidden away in the bread box,

What a great day!

One Saturday in June
Things do happen that aren't planned.

Cardinal with attitude
One of my photos in the show.

1. I walked the dog, but discovered I had forgotten a plastic bag, so I returned home lest I be discovered in an embarrassing situation. 
2. My houseguest from Portland (Oregon) was eating breakfast, getting ready to join her family for a brunch before departing back to Oregon.
3. I had breakfast as well, but discovered the milk had turned sour. I apologized to my friend from Oregon, who was too polite to have mentioned it.
4. Niko discovered a nest of baby rabbits under my favorite daylily in the yard, and I buried two rabbits. 
5. The second baby rabbit – he rolled on it and squashed  it, so I had to hose him down.
6. Another friend came came as my Oregon friend backed out of the driveway and we went up to the Hill Institute to see the annual exhibit, a collection of work from the year, including two photos of mine, a riotous and stunning display of quilts, exquisite displays of woodworking and boat building, and my favorite, a wall full of drawings of carrots from a beginning drawing class.
7. We went home. Niko dug out and I buried a third baby rabbit.
8. I returned to the Hill institute to pick up my photographs.
9. And lo and behold, my raffle ticket won a beautiful hand-turned cherry bowl.

   

   The bowl I won.
   [Wombles not included.]

10. I returned home ready for lunch.
11. Niko was busy; I buried another baby rabbit.
12. I peeled an egg for a sliced egg sandwich, put it in the slicer, and discovered it was a soft-boiled egg.
13. Oh well. It wasn’t a bad sandwich. Certainly not dry. 
14. While I was making my lunch the dog returned to the day lily.
15. I am putting off exploring the yard to check for additional rabbit bodies.
16. The dog is calm, lying placidly in the open doorway basking in his prowess as a mighty hunter.
17. Now for chocolate cake and malted vanilla ice cream.
18. Later. The fifth and final baby rabbit has been buried.
19. The dog has been washed.
20. I was wrong. There was a sixth.

Blessings on the baby rabbits, friends who don’t hold sour milk against you, craftspeople who put beautiful goods up on display and for raffle, chocolate, the person who invented malted vanilla ice cream, chickens who give us eggs, daylilies, and especially my dog, who makes my days interesting and my soul thankful.

Split Seconds

There are so many "What ifs” as we move through the day.

Evidence

I hit a deer the other afternoon as I was travelling at a moderate speed through a wooded area. Woods uphill to the left, woods downhill to the right. The deer came from the left and suddenly he was there, glorious antlers held high, center stage. I slowed and veered to the left, and I thought he had cleared me, but a soft thunk that neither caused the car to veer nor my body to react indicated otherwise. I turned around; two cars behind me had also stopped. Apparently the deer fell, got up, and ran off down into the woods. We had a clear vista to search, but saw no indication of him. I hope he continued to safer quarters, survived the impact and outwitted the hunters who are afoot in the woods.

This happened the same day that a friend was to die. Her car had been hit by a falling tree a month earlier, and in spite of heroic and loving efforts, she died that night, the day the deer escaped. 

The car is in the shop for three weeks, with the headlight and hood askew, and several panels cracked and needing replacement; the front passenger door was jammed shut.

We rented a car for the first week, and Niko took against it instantly. We had a college appointment to help relieve exam stress four days after the deer encounter, and as I cheerily opened the back seat of the lovely compact rental car, Niko backed off with all his weight. I prevailed, and off we went across the river and through the woods to one of the local colleges, where he was the object of many students’ love and longing for their dogs back home. Two hours later, we approached the car in the cold, wet darkness, I was eager to get on the road to home, but Niko had other ideas. He pulled back once again from the car. I pulled on his harness, calling out encouraging words, but he pulled back, more strongly and extremely determined. He pawed his way out of his harness.  I was instantly terrified as the suddenly free Niko pranced backwards into the darkness. I reached out for him with strong hands and loving words. Somehow, he decided not to bolt; somehow I got the harness back on him. 

I sidled into the back seat and held out a treat for him, and with physical, verbal, and gustatorial encouragement, he grudgingly arrived into the back seat with me. But I needed to drive, and as I sidled by him, he pushed by me and bolted out again, loose once more. This time two students were walking along the road. Niko loves his students; he ran to them, sat, and said hello. That gave me the chance to step on his leash. I have no idea how I finally got him into the car, but my will and his resignation somehow colluded and we were suddenly both in our proper places in the car and on our way home. 

Niko's third day with us

Niko is our Easter dog; two days after Easter in 2015 we went off to visit a dog who had not grown up tall enough to be a show dog and needed to find a new home. The second he skidded to an exuberant greeting at his front door I knew this was our dog. An hour or two later, we popped him into the car and drove him home. He had been a beloved dog in his first home, and he instantly became a beloved dog in his new home. 

He wasn’t so sure. As that first day came to an end, he was looking to go home. As days went by, he showed a few troublesome quirks. He wouldn’t eat, although about ten dog foods later we finally found one he decided would more than satisfy him. And he wouldn’t get into our car again. That ended up being a long, hard sell. After several weeks, he finally consented, with personal encouragement and many tasty lures, but to this day he will only get into the car from the left – the right was the side we put him in when we drove him away from his first home.

Niko three years later.

A split second that Easter season in 2015 and Niko was on his way to a new home, leaving behind all he had ever known. He is now devoted to us and our house is indeed his house. My thought is that Niko’s fear of the rental car was a kind of PTSD that he carries deep inside himself. The rental car smelled and felt like danger to him, and he was not willfully going there again. 

Split seconds are so haunting. A split second either way – total escape for the deer, or the deer (and impressive antlers) up and over the hood of the car and through the windshield. Or a different home for Niko. 

Or safety for my friend.

Sunrise with ducks, Long Island Sound

Dogs Go Camping

Dogs go into complete decline when they see their person fiddling with clothes and suitcases, rattling keys, or, worst scenario from the dog's point of view, closing up the back room and heading for the treat supply while continuing to the door. "I'll be right back!" I always tell Niko, whether I am headed downtown for a brief errand or going to Minnesota for two weeks.  That makes me feel better, but I have no idea what he makes of it other than to know that I am going somewhere that he isn't and the floor is falling from his life.

Yesterday, I went through the first stage of this process, but then I boxed up some of Niko's food. There is no hiding the sound of kibble being transferred – and it got his attention in a twinkling. I put it into his sack, along with a few bones and tennis balls. He knew in that instant that he was going on an adventure, his mood did a u-turn, and, when the RV camper pulled up to the back gate and his friend and protege Sunny emerged to greet him, he knew life was good and he embraced it with wild abandon. The four of us got into the truck, and off we went to the sort-of-local state forest and camp grounds.

The park is only 45 minutes away, and when we got there, Deb secured the camper and Niko surveyed his new world from the top of the picnic table. Things smelled wonderfully to him, We ate (kibble and yogurt for the dogs, lobster rolls for us), and went for a walk. We had forgotten towels, so Niko and Sunny could only look longingly at the water. On our return to the site, the sun was setting and boding well for the next day. Deb made a campfire, and together we four felt happy and secure in the dark and silent forest.

Sleeping was interesting. Niko, a prodigious sleeper, took over 75% of my bunk, and promptly conked out; I did what I could. In fact, I did sleep. I heard three owls – a screech owl, a barred owl, and one that I am still trying to identify. No coyotes. No bears came knocking at our door. At 3 AM, the dogs traded bunks. I know this because I lay directly in the path of the exchange: first, I felt Niko climb over me to attain the next level up, and then Sunny took a flying leap down to my level. At 4 AM they exchanged places again, this time for the rest of the night.

The coffee was fantastic! We packed up, went for a walk, let the dogs enjoy the lake (we had found some towels), got into the truck, and set off for home.

A Celtic Blessing, adapted

Be the eye of the creator dwelling with you, 

The foot of a friend in guidance with you, 

The shower of company pouring on you,

Richly and generously,

  Each day and each night

  Of your portion of the world.

An Easter Dog

Today marks the second anniversary of our visit to Niko at his place of birth. We went to visit him on his home turf, just to take a look. As a friend said, “Yeah, Nancy and Tom are driving two hours to “just look at” a golden retriever! When we rang the bell and he ran to greet us at the door I knew in an instant that he was meant to be mine. I was worried that Tom wouldn’t be so sure, as he had favored looking for a puppy rather than adopting a full-grown dog. I encouraged Niko to hang out with Tom, and it did the trick, even though I already knew he was the dog of my life and there was no way I would leave without this beautiful dog at my side. 

So we popped him into the car and discussed new names on the two-hour drive back. He came with the name Knox, but I needed a two-syllable name to call him out the back door when it was time for supper. I was partial to the biblical J names, but Tom – not so much.  And I couldn’t quite let go of Izzie, even though the name was already claimed by a sweet boy two doors down the block. But somewhere the name Niko popped out of my memory, and that was that.

Niko adapted quickly to our household. The neighborhood kids came to greet him and helped him feel welcomed, loved, and at home.

The transition was not all smooth sailing. Later on that day Niko looked around and began to wonder when he was going home. He went on a hunger strike for a few weeks, he would not get back into the car on his own, and he showed other behaviors that I thought were due to separation anxiety. But his good nature, his idyllic puppyhood and adolescence, and our patience, tricks, and subterfuges paid off. He went back on his feed, entered the car again (but only from the left side, never the right, even to this day), and began to see our house and yard as his kingdom. He passed his canine good citizen and his therapy dog tests in short order.

Here is how Niko changes my life:

• Without Niko, I wouldn’t be visiting people in nursing homes, some who had had vibrant lives once, and some who are alone and forgotten. People whose eyes brighten when Niko rounds the doorway to their rooms.
• Without Niko, I wouldn’t know the kids on our block, and our neighbors would have fewer errant tennis balls in their yards.
• Without Niko, I wouldn’t be walking 2-4 miles a day, greeting other people and their dogs.
• Without Niko, I wouldn’t be offering students the chance to remember the dogs they left behind and taste a little bit of home as they stop and make eye and hand contact.
• Without Niko, I wouldn’t laugh nearly as much. Studies show that the very act of smiling and laughing leads to a happier sense of the moment.
• Without Niko, I wouldn’t have a raft of dog friends, old and new, who know exactly what I am talking about.
• Without Niko, I would have fewer Facebook friends, different Facebook friends, fewer funny photos and videos posted by Facebook friends.
• Without Niko, I wouldn’t be dog bait to every passing dog on the street because they know my pockets conceal (or so I thought) dog treats.

      So April 7 is Niko Adoption Day. It was two days after Easter, and he is my Easter dog.

Where is Mr. Rogers When You Need Him?

Walking downtown today to meet a friend for breakfast, I passed one of those signs that are springing up all over our town. I can read one third of the sign, and envy those who can read double or triple that.

No matter where you are from, 
          we are glad you're our neighbor.

An image of Mr. Rogers immediately sprang into my mind’s eye, Mr. Rogers, that gentle soul who brought up many generations of children with his TV show and introductory song – “Won’t you be my neighbor.”

We need Mr. Rogers now. We need gentleness, welcoming, kindness, generosity, honesty. Are these values still treasured, sought after, in this country? Today’s newspapers note that in a neighboring town, the neighbor signs are being stolen.  They also report that while the process of rounding up and deporting immigrants is escalating, the official word is that the process will be more humane than a previous plan. How so? There is an oxymoron in there somewhere.

My father’s father and mother immigrated to this country from Belgium during the time of famine and economic hardship. In fact, emigration from Belgium was even encouraged t
o ease hunger and hardship. In this country, they worked as bartenders and loom repairers and thus were able to establish themselves and their seven children comfortably into a lower economic class life style. There is very little to know about their early history, because records were not kept for poor immigrant families. Yet, to my surprise, I stumbled upon some letters, written by some of my father’s older sisters in their later, more comfortable years, deploring the fact that the neighborhood where they lived was being settled by a new wave of immigrants, possibly from the south of the US, and referring to their new neighbors in pejorative and denigrating terms; they wondered if they should move to avoid the taint of these new arrivals in their neighborhood.

How quickly we forget our previous hardships, our humble beginnings, how people already in residence mistreated our own immigrant predecessors.

I’m with the neighborhood signs. And Mr. Rogers. And my dog Niko. who is an icon for the fruits of the spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.^* He and his friend Sunny delight in each others’ company, and, when resources are tight, find it in themselves to share the bone.

* Self-control when the plate is unguarded is, I admit, a bit of a stretch.

Lacking a better alternative, Niko and Sunny decide to share.