I've been having a time being a parent. I find myself to be: lenient but firm. I find Herald to be: mellow but still a puppy.



No, it's fascinating, the process of getting to know a creature you've accepted without knowing into your home and family. I chose to adopt Herald initially because he's a mix with the breed I wanted a mix of. That is, I love Newfies - enormous salvatory water dogs with webbing between their toes and the ocean in their hearts. They're known for being enormous, loyal and relaxed with humor in addition, and that was the type of dog I wanted. But Newfies are so damn large - getting up to 200lbs for full-grown males - so I compromised by keeping an eye out for a half-breed. You know, only 115lbs at most.

But I did not expect to find this Newfie-mix anytime soon, nor did I particularly need to as I have no real job. Yet, I was still looking and when I saw Herald's ad, I thought I'd go see if there was That Click.


Herald is, as it goes, a charmer. He charmed me immediately with his insta-social ways and waggling and head-over-heels-falling-on-his-own-head way. There was That Click. That Click clicked quickly, maybe as soon as the wiggling mass piddled on my shoes.

Observing this little stranger, he tends to adore anyone potentially although he has a particular fondness for children and women. He wuffs at unknown men, and barks at any two unknown men walking together, as I found out at the park. I was walking him at Padden with SP and she too noted, "He loooooves the ladies, but just can't get enough attention from them. Just like his mom." Then she saw my face and said, "I meant the first part, not the second."

[People have been saying hilarious things to me lately. Yesterday when I told db that I love the kitty she's going to adopt from my sis/brolaw, but that I couldn't risk taking her to the house-with-that-road, db told me not to worry, that I could have as many "conjugal visits" as I wanted. When she noticed my strange facial reaction to this, she turned completely red and started stuttering. It was perfect.

And Sunday night, a visiting friend of the family asked me how the kites were powered for kite-boarding. Without skipping a beat, I said "wind" then kept talking only to stop, feeling pleased somewhat when I noticed my Granny smirking that delicious amused smile of hers. Sometimes it's nice to have one's cleverness noticed. (I'm laughing here).]

But I find myself waking at night to look at Herald, loving the way he has of lying on his back, loving his presence in my life, helping me to find something beyond loans and pride and family to get gumption for.

He's not instant in giving his love, although he's instant in giving affection. So I love that he now runs to me when we're exploring and is excited to find me again. Yesterday, I went to the movies after work, and when I came home late at night to find him in my kitchen, there was a reunion of epic length and fervor. I feel he's starting to know me, just as I am starting to know him, but I respect the fact that nothing's yet welded, neither one of us assuming our match without the time it takes to make it.

Herald is a wise soul ultimately, and he shoves his nose under water at the beach to search for the stick that happens to be one foot in front of him, floating on top of the water, supposedly obvious.


JW has agreed to be Herald's doggodmother. That's a good sign.

*

on the note of my daily life's intractable strangeness & indecipherability... incidence of language overlap with another's to two old bad pieces in one post: riding horse, saddle, rocks in hand, no language, hidden anger, bow legs, everything let go of, disemboweled eyes, dying horses. incidence of overlap with memory, not anyone else's: name, four goodbyes, broken glass, speaking and saying nothing, sand, hard ass. More to the point: nothing of copy - that's not nor's ever been the thought, point or pointless, however inarticulate the thought or point/less is anyway, plus it's much better-written than anything of that particular pastness, but rather startling.
weird. weirdish. yes, it was startling, upsetting, the first time I've turned around that way at first glance, so I went back to double check i wasn't, as i am prone to do, only, only imagining.

you know... when you get sick of experiencing things nobody else does so did it really happen, imagining incidents of coincidence or respondence or correspondence? so you start checking things, you continue doubting, cutting, cutting out (mostly), you later cry out of mixed frustrations, then end up calming down and firmly stating, as if for an unknown record because you're used to deciding you're very wrong: it doesn't matter, whatever, just move keep moving, testing, braving and then deciding to say something but then it sounds like an accusation, but that wasn't the point?

but it's okay to say 'weird', isn't it? it's true, no matter what the truth is, right?

so why did I turn beet red and decide right there, then, that this is it, no more, no no no no, no no, bad idea? that I won't go back to being emotionally vulnerable by myself in front of x,y,z? that I won't go back? that i won't risk being bent? that i'm really stupid for going back? that I won't break the rules I have built like a brick umbrella above me? that i want my life to plane, to skid up, to enlighten itself with more than this, this strange backwards? and who besides me cares anyway when it comes right down to reality and not just abstract self-buttering?

do you sometimes just wish people would acknowledge that they're here, then feel guilty for your desire to not be always wrong about that? do you sometimes just wish to forget so as to better meet what's here? i'm so full of apologies, nettles in air without swans - past present likely future: one day maybe I'll meet somebody's hopes not expectations.

so, either: (a) life has weird overlap, overlapping weirdness, and so do minds in motion, or (b) someone is lying. frankly, i vote for (a), but don't care. nobody lies anymore; it's so gauche. anyhow, i'm too old for this.

see that... see it? i was lying, always about caring. lying for myself though, because i enjoy it. i do care, but there's too much distance between experience. too much left in the mind. too many things said, left unsaid, and neither one nor the other seemed ever to help. i care, but i can't seem to get much further than one question, puppies, and the desire to deliver plums to everyone I once or still or hope to love(d), but from here to here, delivering them by hand, mine, palm to table plums in a bucket, for everyone regardless with nothing taking away from it, ever, for the simplicity of plums, yellow, dribbling, in their yellowness.

the second time is more unexpected than any first.

last night i dreamt i painted semi-invisible flowers in the air with my mind, then squirted secondary colors upon their leaves with a pipette so that when people walked through them, they'd reflect the outside iridescent and fluid. Colors moving within colors on sunflowers and marigolds. Lots of yellow being given.

*

But then again, two good books I'm working on (with all the others): The Whole Story & Other Stories by Ali Smith and Summer in Baden-Baden by Tsypkin. So far, I like both of them much. But more than liking both of them much, I like the fact that they were recommended to me. For me. Especially with me in mind. One of the books was even lent to me.

I like it when this happens; more people should recommend books specifically for others and then receive feedback as to whether they chose well, with that right knowledge of the other. And then the question of whether I could recommend back. I recently pegged the likes of a friend and it was pleasurable to have chosen well. As for the two who gave books/titles to me, I know I could recommend to the former, but am clueless when it comes to the latter. Interesting.

*

I've also started thinking about what it might mean to make my own life here, in B-ville. The fact that I need to find a way to make new friends.

Reflecting on said issue at hand, I have to admit do best when I have about 50-100 friends or acquaintances to take into account. That's not an exaggeration; it was so easy in Chicago. To create striations and difference. Not just one friend of one type, but many friends of many types (safer that way, as well as exquisite) - those to go to readings with, those to dance with, those to drink with, those to discuss with, those to admire, those to chitchat with, those to adore, those to find books with, those to intensify with, those to challenge you, those you dream of, those you challenge, those you want to grow, those who irritate you, those you accept, those you know the names of, those you know are friends of, those you know about lives of, those you pet the dogs of, those who scare you, those you don't really know but share important moments with, those who you notice enjoying similar things with, those who are so different you can't figure out how you communicate with, those you look at from a distance and wish for closeness with, those you forget and then enjoy again, those who know more about you than you wish they know, those whose teeth you admire, those who seem strange and unknowable, those who shine nearby so much you can't see them, those who are dull and boring but startle you, etc.

So yeah. I would like to find many people to flow in and out of, to feel content with, and for awhile now, I've simply been enjoying my family and the four or so friends I still have in these parts. But I can't depend on those I already have to always spend time with, so now I am faced with the eternal moving question of how to meet new people in this town.

The recent thought I've had is that I should throw a meeting party wherein everyone brings someone they think would enjoy knowing me, and those people would bring people they don't-think-but-suspect might also enjoy knowing those at the party, and those people bring people they can't possibly think or suspect will like the company but they might as well give it a shot because it's possible.

It's a thought. I have a great patio that hasn't had its own party yet, so maybe I should make it more than a thought.

But that's not it. What should I join? What activities should I do? How can I adjust my fates?

*

Plus I've started thinking about sending stuff out for publish-like. I've begun a card catalog of journals just to keep my nose up, and JW recommended JJ's blog to help with the process. I kinda want to shout "I know this lady(!)... and like her(!)... and I admire her writing(!)..." from the nearest building, which, sorry JJ, wouldn't be that tall around these parts. She's awesome, and her blog's very funny.

The problem for me with publishing, or at least one of them, is that I only have one piece I still like. Maybe two. All the rest just seem like potential, or discard. And this is chronic for me. How to deal with that one? Write more, maybe?

*

Time to go, maybe go writing, you know. Either that, or go admire Herald, who is sleeping upside down against the fireplace with his five toys pulled up close.