Who Says You Can't Go Home?

"Here we go into the best state ever!" I said today as I always do whenever we cross the Delaware Memorial Bridge heading north. "Welcome to New Jersey!"

I have the softest of spots in my heart for the place I lived from the ages of 4 to 13. I started school here, got my first pets here, made my first friends here, and my memories of that time in my life are rosy and warm, so I love the place.

"What exactly is so great about New Jersey, anyway?" Heidi asked as we zipped along the turnpike, more curious than contrary.

"Oh my gosh!" I replied. "Everything! Well, jug handles to begin with. You rarely have to make a left hand turn from a busy road."

She nodded, unconvinced.

"They have the Pine Barrens, the Shore, blueberries, peaches and tomatoes. And they have lots of important historical places." Just then we rolled past a quintessential South Jersey landscape-- a wide, winding creek bordered by tall pines and wild grasses. "And then there's that." I swept my arm at the vista to our right.

"Pretty," she agreed.

"And Bon Jovi, Springsteen, and Philly Soul?"

"Not bad," she shrugged.

We drove on into the late summer evening, the trees casting sharp shadows in the slanting golden light, so familiar, so welcoming.

The Hard Part

One of our neighbors is having her kitchen and baths renovated. In the middle of the job, she is understandably aggravated by the imperfections she spots every evening, but she struggles with the unpleasant confrontation of giving her contractor the punch list every morning.

"That's the hard part," I agree when she comes over for a sympathetic ear, "but the good of having a new kitchen and bathroom that you love is the pay-off. Isn't it worth it?"

I thought of my own words today when it became clear to us that we would have to let our 15-year-old cat Penelope go much sooner than we ever expected. Just a week ago she was having so much trouble chewing that we bought a kitty straight jacket and hauled her off to the vet for only the second time in her 13 years with us.

The news was not good, but didn't seem that dire either. Tooth decay and a weird growth on her gum meant surgery and a biopsy, but when her blood work came back, weak kidneys, which are common in older cats, complicated the situation. Yesterday she stopped eating and started hiding, which is never a good sign. We struggled with the options-- move up the risky surgery to see if removing her bad teeth would allow her to eat again, try antibiotics and pain killers indefinitely, or stop delaying the inevitable.

When we dragged her out from under the bed and took her back to the doctor, she told us the tumor was much bigger already and bleeding and kicking pus into Penelope's sinuses. "This condition is ugly and painful," the doctor said, "and it won't get better."

Our pets give us years of joy and comfort and love, and in return we must care for them as best we can. And then comes the hard part.

It breaks your heart into a million pieces, but it is so worth it.

Rainy Days and Mondays

There are not a lot of options for exercising your city puppy on a rainy day, but fortunately for us there are four fenced-in tennis courts not far from our house. Although dogs are not really allowed there, no one plays tennis in the rain, especially on a Monday morning, so bending the rules is no big deal. And oh! Does Lucy love chasing a bouncing ball across the hard courts! The only thing better is chasing two or three.

She was adorably romping in the drizzle this morning when a little boy not more than three or four wandered over from the adjoining play ground to watch her through the fence. His dad who was preoccupied on the phone was clearly of the mind that a little rain never hurt anybody, and so we passed an amusing 10 minutes or so conversing with him through the chain link.

"Wow!" he laughed as she dashed to the other side of the farthest court chasing a tennis ball and snapping at the spray it kicked up, too. "She's a goooooood getter!"

The Other Side of Nuisance

The fans have been droning since 9:30. That's when the carpet cleaning guy left. There aren't a lot of options in a 950 square foot residence, so I have been hanging out down here-- cranking up the record player, working on the computer, and cooking in the kitchen-- while everyone else is upstairs with the doors closed.

Fortunately, the cool, dry weather has held, and with the fans and the windows and doors offering a cross breeze, the carpet is nearly dry. But, quite honestly?

It's been a peaceful day.

Lucy's Big Day

A brazen little toad startled me when he hopped across the trail this morning. Enjoying the gift of a breezy, dry August day in the low 80s we had set out early for a forested national park about 25 miles from home. Lucy didn't notice; she was much too preoccupied with butterflies and the bright red, early-fallen leaves teasing her on the light winds.

Soon we made it to a little lake and found a tiny cove with a fallen log to use as a bench for lunch. A little ways down the path the lake narrowed to a stream with flat granite ledges for Lucy to play in, but just as we were about to unclip her leash, a little snake slithered half way out from a rock. Was his head pointed or round? His pupils slits or circles? It was hard to see anything but the diamond pattern on his back, and so we snapped a few pictures and kept going.

Not far away we found a rocky shore with both shallows and deep pools along it. Would this be the day when our puppy literally took the plunge to progress from avid wader to swimmer? Turns out, it would! She paddled happily about snapping the splashing water and fetching her tennis ball until it was time to shake it off and continue on down the trail.

Ain't Nothing Gonna Break-a My Stride

The day was young when I headed to my garden this morning, and although the heat and humidity to come was perceptible, it was all good as I rolled down all the windows and opened the sunroof. Just down the road a huge garbage truck was struggling to back out of a tiny parking lot. No matter-- I was happy to wait on such a glorious morning! Several cars impatiently idled at the intersection ahead, their drivers clearly dressed for work, and even though I had the right of way, I was more than willing to wave them ahead of me. But when at last the truck slid into traffic just ahead of me? The stench was overwhelming! So I pinched my nose, changed lanes, and zoomed up the hill where my garden awaited, empty of everyone but goldfinches and me beneath the blue, blue sky.

Tell Me About it

I've written before about my appreciation for a tour. Emily Dickinson's House, Mt. Vernon, Alaska, good or bad? Perhaps it's the teacher in me who is fascinated by people sharing information with others, but either way I've never met a tour I didn't like.

Today was no exception. The afternoon was Washington-in-August scorching when Andy led us out from the cool and peaceful interior of the National Cathedral to guide us on an examination of the damage that the earthquake of 2011 did to the largest masonry structure on the continent.

And it caught me off guard when he choked up in the very first segment, recounting where he was on that fateful day six years ago and how he came to realize what a profound effect that seismic hiccup had on what was clearly his very beloved cathedral. From there it was a breezy combination of too much technical information and his belief that a divine hand was present in the event.

In the end, I think it was his earnestness that won me over, that and the fact that he reactivated buried memories of art history classes I took 35 years ago. Oh, and I also love the Cathedral, and it was

a tour.