Open Book

A bit o' honey.

The pup and I just got back from The Longest Walk in the History of Walks, and now he is sprawled at my feet, mouth agape and slobbering, with occasional snores escaping as he dreams the things dogs dream about, whatever those may be. It's funny, but dogs are just like children in many respects, including appearing utterly angelic while they sleep. Right now, I could just pinch his little cheeks, he's so freaking adorable.

We wandered the streets rather aimlessly, taking full advantage of a beautiful day devoid of the stifling humidity that has made these walks more of a chore than a pleasure - for both of us - in recent weeks. It is absolutely glorious out there this afternoon. There is a mild breeze, and even with the full on sunshine, it's pleasant and cool and just ... I don't know. Perfect.

Jake is so funny. He loves people. Loves. In fact, his unbridled adoration of all beings human cannot be overstated. Watching him greet a fellow walker approaching on the sidewalk is akin to observing a four year old discovering the joys of Santa on Christmas morning. Each and every time, each and every person, it's all the same. His entire back end gets in on the tail wagging action, his face breaks out into a big grin - hand to God, it's a grin - and he nearly vibrates with enthusiasm.

Depending on the number of people out and about, walking the neighborhood with Jake can sometimes be like being a celebrity handler at a red carpet event, with stops and starts. "Let's go!" and "This way!" and "Come on, dude! We're never going to get anywhere at this rate!" and "We're walking, we're walking, say hello, we're walking!" 

Today, there were what seemed like thousands of people out and about, although I'm sure it was more like dozens. We walked by the river and made our way down to the Capitol grounds. We played in the two fountains on the Lincoln statue side of the building, Jake lapping up big gulps of water and dipping his paws rather daintily into the spouting flow - at least until he discovered he could splash me at will with a few strategic moves.

We stopped and chatted at length with a fully uniformed member of the Capitol guard staff, who was kind enough to give me some tips on where I might like to stand for optimum viewing of events during Friday's public memorial for Senator Byrd. We sat for a few minutes under one of the massive shade trees on the lawn, where Jake was content to lie with his head on my lap and watch the squirrels carry out their day's busy work.

On the way back home, we meandered down the streets of the East End, following the local garden showcase guide, enjoying the fruits of my fellow urban gardeners labors, which proved impressive, indeed. And, of course, we stopped to meet and greet still more people along the way.

I've met - and actually conversed with - more of my neighbors in the two months Jake has been part of the family than I did in the full year before his arrival. It's an amazing thing, the gaps a dog on a leash can breach between people. Especially the dog people, of which there are many; more than I might have guessed in our surrounding environs, truth be known, before becoming a dog person in my own right. We've met daschunds and German Shepherds, standard poodles and terriers, and mutts of indescribable variety on our roaming adventures. We've even been invited to a play date with two fellow Lab pups - one yellow , one chocolate - who live just around the corner.

Jake's first instinct is to be a friend to all, man or beast, no matter how obnoxiously or ferociously his new found acquaintance may object. There is something to be learned from Jake's approach to things, I've come to believe. To his way of thinking, all things are good, including people and animals, and even if they're not, he takes it with a big grain of salt and keeps right on grinning anyway, tail wagging in a "life's too short to be miserable, so sorry for you" cadence all the while.

And you know? I think he just may be on to something, this little bit o' honey of mine.

Character studies.

Today I met a woman who had been abducted some years ago, when she was the young mother of two. Abducted! Plucked right out of her lovely garden outside the manse where her babies were otherwise occupied with their afternoon naps.

Apparently, a couple of "goons" (her word) had visions of ransom dancing in their heads one late summer afternoon and decided the scion of one of the city's wealthiest families would be all too happy to pay up any amount of money in order to ensure the safety of his daughter. These goons were evidently not the sharpest tools in the shed, fortunately for the woman. They didn't bind her hands or blindfold her; they relied solely on their size and temperament to force her into submission. They bullied her into the backseat of their car and tore out of the estate's driveway, headed who knows where.

Wherever they thought they were headed, they ended up, in fact, at a local gas station, nearly out of getaway fuel less than fifteen minutes into the escapade. Both men got out of the car, where they proceeded to fuss and argue with each other to the point of their own distraction.

Seated in the backseat, terrified she was not going to get out of her predicament alive, the woman made a bold decision. She leaped from the car and lurched, terrified, toward the gas station. The two men stood in place for a moment or two, likely in shock at their sudden misfortune, before scrambling back into their car and squealing off just as the woman entered the station, screaming bloody murder all the while.

The entire ordeal, including giving a statement to the police and standing by her father's side as he gave an impassioned comment or two to the local press, was over in less than three hours.

The woman is 96 years old today. She has four children, ten grandchildren and eleven great-grandchildren, one of whom is due to give birth any day now.

I can't even remember how this all managed to come up in conversation, but it happens all the time. People come in the store and I nod, smile and toss out some pleasantries, and the next thing I know, this blank canvas of a customer who could be John or Jane Anyone becomes the Most Interesting Person in the World. We stand together in a space surrounded by other people's stories, and theirs come spilling out. They cease to be generic people in my shop, and transform right before my eyes into the fully formed flesh and blood characters they really are.

It's an amazing phenomenon, and one that has completely changed the way I look at people wherever I go.

See that lady pushing the grocery cart in front of you down the cereal aisle? She might have been in the Peace Corps. once upon a time, traveling the globe bringing humanitarian relief in her wake. See that man perusing the stacks in the library? He might be a plane crash survivor, who rescued several fellow passengers from certain death with heroics he can't even recall, but knows he performed thanks to eyewitness accounts. See the lady in red just there, dressed to the nines, shopping bags at her feet, lunching with friends? She might have lived in a convent for twenty-three years, married to God, living a life of simplicity and mission before she fell in love with a priest and they were both forced to leave the service of the church amidst a horrid scandal of the heart.

I've met all of those characters and then some since coming to work at the store. And now I can't go anywhere people are without taking a closer look at each individual and wondering, "What's your story?"

Some may be more thrilling or heart breaking or larger than life than others, but they all have one.

We all have one.

In fact, we're all writing ours every single minute of every single day.

What story do you want your life to tell?

And yes, my hair is purple, but I can't blame that on the food.

I took the full-bore vegetarian plunge the week after my daughter's wedding. The truth is, I'd been flirting with the concept for a good two or three years, so the only real surprise is that it took me so long to finally commit. I've read every book coming and going on the subject, both pro and con, as written from every possible perspective, from impassioned environmental rationales to in depth analysis regarding issues of health.

What tipped the scale for me was a book written by Alicia Silver stone. Yep, you heard me. The 'Clueless' girl wrote a bit of a gentle manifesto entitled 'The Kind Diet' that brought the various ambiguous tendrils of my own feelings about vegetarianism into clear focus. I read this book cover to cover in one afternoon. It spoke to me in very loud and completely non-obnoxious tones. And then I re-read it, cover to cover, that same night. And by the end of the second reading, there was no question in my mind that I was going to give vegetarianism a go. It felt like the right thing for me, right now.

And I stress: for ME. For now.

The vegetarian diet and its incumbent lifestyle have always appealed to me on a variety levels, key among them the health benefits. I do appreciate the environmental considerations, the "nothing with a face" aspects and all the rest. But the biggest selling point for me is the overall wholesomeness goodness of it as a way of thinking. I like paying attention to everything that goes in my mouth and considering its value to my existence as a nutrient and a fuel. I like taking notice of changes, large and small, that I can feel taking place in my body - and mind, too.

The array and variety of foods I eat now is surprisingly more voluminous than it was when some meat product was the central focal point of every meal. You really start to get creative when what used to be side dishes become the main attraction.

My boys still eat meat, so I still cook it for them. I have no desire, intention or need to push what I'm doing for myself onto anyone else. It's really an incredibly personal choice. But there's an interesting aside in my household: at least twice a week - and sometimes more often than that - the boys enjoy meatless meals for dinner of their own volition. Because there are now yummy alternatives readily available, sure. But also, in part, because they're starting to see in me some of the things I intrinsically feel.

That's kinda cool. 

The question I get asked the most, naturally, is, "What do you eat?"

It's a strange question on the face of it, really. (No pun intended, but I'll take it.) I mean...I'm eating the same things I've always eaten, to some degree. Granted, beef, pork, chicken and seafood no longer make up 48% of my daily diet, but there's always been a great big world full of fresh plant-based tastiness on the rest of my plate. Now, it's just the star of the show, if you know what I mean. And while I've given up cow's milk straight up, I do indulge in some dairy products (cheeeeeese) and have kept eggs in my diet.

So what do I eat? I eat a lot of whole grains. A lot of leafy greens. A lot of beans. A lot of fruit. A lot of in season vegetables. All very filling things in their own right. I'm learning to tweak all my old favorite recipes and have been pleasantly surprised at how adaptable almost any recipe can be. It's not always as simple as eliminating the meat ingredient, but it can be. And - let's not forget - chips, salsa, ice cream, chocolate, cupcakes? Vegetarian, every last one. I've yet to try tofu or seitan, but imagine I will sometime soon.

Today was a pretty typical day. Here's what I ate:

Breakfast - a whole grain pita with organic no sugar added peanut butter and a sliced banana, washed down with a big glass of chocolate Silk (LOVE).

Lunch - a hummus and grilled veggie wrap with a big bowl of fruit that included strawberries, blackberries, cantaloupe, watermelon, grapes and kiwi.

Dinner - a massive pile of wilted kale with cannellini beans, sliced tomatoes and brown rice.

Extras - I had half a blueberry scone mid-afternoon. And also? Okay OKAY. Yes, I do have designs on a big ol' scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream for dessert here in a bit.

Not bad, eh?

Another question I get a lot: "Do you miss meat?"

Honest answer: Not even a little. We went to the Chop House to celebrate our anniversary a few weeks ago and the overwhelming aroma of steaks sizzling all around me didn't bother me or tempt me or make me feel deprived in the least.

That said, I have no doubt the day will come when I'll crave a big ol' juicy burger. And you know what? When it does? I'll have a big ol' juicy burger and the world will not collapse in heap around my wary martyr feet. It'll just go on spinning like it always does, and I'll go right on back to my veggies, no worse for the transgression.

But I bet I'll regret it. Just a little.

Because while I've only been giving this thing a go for two little ol' months, the benefits have already been making themselves clear. My skin has a new suppleness to it; my face has lost some of its ruddy undertone and is smooth and, well, glowy. I've lost twelve pounds per the scale, but feel about thirty pounds lighter inside. I can't explain it, really. I literally feel lighter inside. Less thick and lethargic, more springy and spry. My cholesterol levels improved - rather significantly - across the board, from January's check up to June's. My mind is clear. My sleep comes quickly, naturally (for the first time in DECADES), and is uninterrupted.

UNINTERRUPTED SLEEP.

Do you have any IDEA how huge that is?

And yes, my hair is purple.

But like the title says, I can't blame that on the food.

Not directly, anyway.

But that just might be a story for another day.

I wasn't doing any work that day, just catching up on my foot-dangling.

1. I am determined this blog not become a simple repository for the simple thirteen musings of any - or every - given Thursday. But...I've said it before, and as it remains the truth and I am nothing if not redundant, I'll say it again: it's a great way to play catch up in brief mini-synopsis while helping to shake the cobwebs off of long stagnant blogging muscles.
2. So, begging pardon, a rousing Thursday Thirteen it is. Today's first line title is from a short story called Goldfish by Raymond Chandler.
3. There is a lengthy, emotional and glorious post that begs to be written about my daughter's wedding celebration weekend. The event is still all the buzz among family and friends who attended, even though they are an old, two-month married couple all this time later. I know I have it in me to tell the tale. I just can't say when.
4. This day - this very June 17, 2010 - is the most spectacular in weather terms imaginable. Which is saying something, since only yesterday I was reaching wistfully into the memory banks to withdraw a few sentimental notes about the frosty, blisteringly cold wintry days of yore (wherein yore = a couple of months back.)
5. Humidity has held us hostage 'round these parts for a good week or more, with driving rain its cruel guard. But last night, as rain fell again, it was the soft and persistent kind, drenching and long, and by this morning, the stiff air had broken, glistening and pulsating no more.
6. Good timing that. FestivALL begins tomorrow, and nothing could ruin the act of turning an entire city into a work of art quite as effectively as a soggy, penetrating heat that melts its residents and revelers into tiny puddles of their own sweat.
7. If I had a nickel for every time I commented to someone, or thought to myself, that the ideal, most exquisitely perfect job for me would involve the reading of books, I'd be sitting on quite a little pile of copper and, well, nickel. Instead, I have managed to secure said exquisitely perfect position, and wouldn't accept any quantity of coins in trade. I love my job. Even though it pays nearly 1/4 of my former career (and I'm being awfully generous in that estimation), its rewards make me one wealthy woman indeed.
8. Jake says hello. Our pup has an immaculately clean bill of health (and is now 43 pounds at less than half a year old!) and is fully entangled as one of the threads of our little family, just as surely as if he were born into its ranks. He has my heart. To the point of no return, I'm afraid. I've no idea what life was even like before he entered our world; it's that total an eclipse. He started doggy school last week, and just you wait. It won't be long before I'll be bragging about his genius level and showing you grainy home movies of his performance in the class play. (He'll play the lead, I bet. Because in addition to smarts, the boy is gorgeous.)
9. Maggie is holding her own. Literally. The cat. The dog. And never the twain have met. She watches him. Avoids him, but watches him. And he lumbers about his business (nearly) unawares. I wish they'd hang out and be best of buds, but so far, that would seem a distant dream. At least they are able to co-exist without bloodshed, or mewling yelps, or vet bills resulting. So, there's that. At least.
10. Our local minor league professional baseball team has a lovely tradition. Every Thursday the team is in town is known as 'Buck Night' and everything - tickets, hot dogs, BEER - is one dollar. ONE DOLLAR. As you might imagine, this promotion is HUGELY successful and you can't turn around without bumping into someone you know. For $10, a couple can enjoy an evening out at the ol' ballgame, complete with dinner and a tiny buzz. Hell, for $20, a couple can upgrade their evening to include downright drunkenness. It's a beautiful thing, really. Especially when a couple can walk to and from the venue, without a care in the world. Today, you might have noticed, is Thursday. Everybody say, "Yay!"
11. But the hot dog part...sigh...this year, there will be no hot dogs for me. As much as I love them. As much of a ... well, frankly, as much of a true connoisseur of the things I've become. Because vegetarians don't eat mystery meat, and a vegetarian I am, as of two months ago this week.
12. More on that later, if only because it's a thing I've been flirting with for two or three years, and I'm looking forward to taking a bit of a closer look at what pushed me over the edge of the pool, and how I feel about it all. (Long story short: what took me so long?)
13. And that feels like about enough foot-dangling for one day, wouldn't you say? Although, really, if we're being honest, can a person ever truly catch up on all the foot-dangling they miss in the everyday rush of living a life?

I think it unlikely.

But that's just me.

Because the night belongs to me.

I've often admired the audacity of those with the innate talent to rise and shine. This quirk of personality has always seemed to me one possessed by people who have ascended to an elevated state of being, a sense of worldly awareness unknown to, unachievable by, those masses who face the morning with something significantly less than a state of grace.

Count me among those masses. For me, the waking hour is, and, I imagine, always will be, the witching one. My eyes don't so much blink gently open to greet the day as they are pried open by the force of duty; my body does not so much languidly unfold itself into the possibilities of a new day as it creaks and moans and generally protests the rude indignities I require it to suffer as I lumber out of bed.

I've even often aspired to be a morning person. To create this non-existent character trait within my wiring as if assembling a new dress out of whole cloth. I've often imagined the change being a morning person might impose upon my life, my being, my very self; the ability to savor the delicious dewy-ness of dawn in a separate peace, unmarked by the bustle and hum of an already hustling populace. Oh, I imagined to myself, the very wonder of it, the very solitude of it, the very ... wide-eyed, bushy-tailed freshness of it!

Can you imagine?!

Please...don't answer that if your head is bobbing along in the affirmative, a knowing smile tugging at your mouth, because you are, decidedly, one of them.

I will never be - not ever - one of them.

I will always be - forever - one of the others.

One who gladly forsakes the wonders of the wee early morning in favor of attacking the snooze button, even viciously, and gleefully. One who wrestles herself awake as if against some inner will, fighting it every step of the way in hopeless defense of the glory of sleep. One who must lay still, or toss and turn, or bury her head under the pillow for just one minute more...maybe two...possibly ten...before mournfully acquiescing to reality. One who will sacrifice dewy languor and hoist herself on her own petard of a rushed routine day in and day out, with utter disregard for elevated awareness, just because it's how she's built.

I've come to understand it, finally. I am who I am, morning be damned. And I've come to appreciate my inability to wake with grace of its own accord, because I've come to realize there is more to life than being a morning person. There is nothing wrong with being its very antithesis, in fact.

For, as I've come to understand, I am part of an altogether different breed of character - the Night Owl.

And, as I've come to appreciate, there is every bit as much worldly awareness, and solitude, and separate peace to be had in steely quiet of darkness descended as there is to be found in the breaking light.

I love the night; the later the hour, the better. I love the sound of the house creaking itself into resting position beneath my very feet. The alertness I feel to every sound and movement in the air, the clarity of every thought that winds its way through the quietude of my head. The changing scent in the quickly cooling air as it softens from its overexposure to the sun. The heft of the moonlit sky, with its thickening clouds and twinkling stars. I love the change to my very physical, mental and emotional chemistry wrought by the cover of nightfall.

The night belongs to me, and I to it.

So, no more envy of the audacious morning glories for me. Our time on this earth is much too short for such pettiness as wishing I was something I'm not, and that sort of useless jealousy looks wholly pitiful by the lusciously luminous glow of the moon, at any rate.

Besides...in the true spirit of yin and yang, we antithetical types balance each other out nicely. There's ample room enough in any 24-hour period for both our kinds, I'd say.

It's night...and day. We're better together. And let's face it: neither can call itself whole without the other, truth be told.