Our Life Raft

October has been a busy month filled with work, illness and fun. Every day and night has held some scheduled activity and I am tired. So, tonight when my mom and I were supposed to go to a concert in Barre, Vt. I was happy instead to relinquish the tickets to my brother and sister-in-law and stay home with my niece and nephews.

We watched saved episodes of The Voice and Dr. Seuss' The Lorax and I wrote some blog posts and sketched on my I-Pad, something that immediately attracted the attention of my niece and nephews.
My niece, Tori, watched as I drew a washing machine for my post about dog hair and decided that she wanted to draw a slide. She made me find an image of one on my computer that she could use an example. I loved how her white lines on the pink looked like a scratchboard sketch. Then, it was my nephew Avery's turn. Avery's cat "Sleepy Little Panda" wandered out of the house two days ago when a door was left ajar and has been lost ever since. I found him sketching a black-and-white cat on the I-pad and when I asked him what the picture was called he said, "The Panda." He is quite the artist!

Kids are great and the dogs loved them, too. When their folks arrived home they found us all in a huddle around the t.v., lights dim, a makeshift bed on the floor for Tori, Avery and me on the sofa with Waffles draped over my  thighs and Alfie over Avery's. Raine had his own chair.

Sometimes when I am napping in my bed, pugs pressed against me I feel like we are adrift on our own little raft. It sort of felt that way tonight -- the kids, dogs and I all piled in cozy blankets and pillows in the warmth of our own company. We were safe in this little boat in this journey of life because we were together.

And, more on dog hair...

You know when you mention something and then suddenly you start encountering it everywehre? Well, that's what happened to me with dog hair today. My dogs are with me all the time and they travel with me everywhere, yet, suddenly yesterday I became obsessed with the dog hiar I found in my car. Not sure what triggered it, but once the cat was out of the bag I couldn't put it back in and today, I was finding pug hair everywhere.
I went to put on a pair of jeans I had worn the day before. My jeans are always too long so I usually have to roll them up to wear them. I went to adjust the cuff when out fell a pocketful of dog hair, pretty gross considering the jeans had only been worn once and washed prior to that.
Next, I went to wash the afghan that sits on the end of my bed. I put it in the wash, no problem. Then into the dryer. When I went back down to the cellar to take it out and fold it, I noticed a problem. Not only was there still pug hair in the weave of the afghan, but it was also completely covering the lint trap. I had enough to sell it off as wool.
So, if anyone's interested I know where I can find you an abundant supply of pug hair, perhaps enough for a winter's coat.

And, this is how dog lovers get ready for a concert...

Yesterday I was supposed to meet my friend Sheila at 4:30 p.m. in Montpelier, about a 45-minute drive from my house, to attend the Brandi Carlile concert. At 3:50 p.m. I went out to my car, put the key in the ignition and stopped. I couldn't go get Sheila in this vehicle it smelled decidedly doggie.
 I quickly realized that the two doggie car seats in the back of the car didn't help, so I unbuckled them, took off the two loops that attach to the seat belts and carried them one at a time into the house. Then I went back to the car to see if the smell was any better. It was, but the site wasn't. The backseat was caked with dog hair.

Up until a few months ago I had a lovely vinyl car seat cover. I say lovely because it brushed off with ease and even though the pugs travel with me a lot, my car managed to maintain a semblance of cleanliness and decorum. Then, on a rare trip with Joan in my car as opposed to her van, her constant traveling companion Mister Egg had an accident on my seat cover and even though it was vinyl and washed right up, the smell just didn't seem to leave. I threw out the seat cover and bought another. The problem was the car store didn't have an identical replacement. As a result, I had to make due with a fancy car seat cover with suede patches that act just like dog hair magnets. Now, instead of a few stray hairs here and there, the back seat of my car looked like it might be transforming into a pug itself.

I remember when my brother first brought home his pug Buffy. The breeder had told him pugs never shed. It took only a few short days to realize that she was being sarcastic.

Anyway, my backseat, now affectionately dubbed Fido, looked like it needed a grooming and rather than take off and meet Sheila at the appointed time, I decided to give it to her. I went in search of a vacuum in the garage. Since it was garbage day, this meant negotiating an obstacle course of trashbags and various other garage paraphernalia to get to the vacuum cleaner, but I did it. I then proceeded to stretch the cord as far as it would go befroe realizing that it would never reach the backseat. After a reverse trip through the the "trashy" obstacle course, I jumped in my car, threw it into reverse, turned the car around and backed up into the driveway. This time the cord reached, but even with my perserverance the vacuum did little to clear all the hairs away. It did, however, tidy Fido's appearance to an acceptable level and 15 minutes later I found myself on the road and my cell calling Sheila. "I would have been earlier I assured her," but I had to vacuum the car. I couldn't be one of those crazy dog people whose car no one wants to be in," I said.

At that point I looked down at my black coat and saw that while cleaning the car I had managed to dirty myself. I now was sporting a second coat of pug fur all over me. "I'll be there soon," I lied, as I pulled over to the side of the road to grab the lint brush from the trunk. If only I had had time to stop for an air freshener...

The Dalai Lama and The Dog Whisperer

My best friend Sheila and I really wanted to see the Dalai Lama when he visited Middlebury last weekend. He had come to Middlebury shortly before we started school there in the late eighties and right after we graduated in 1990, so this was supposed to be our time. Unfortunately, we could not get tickets even though I woke up a 6:00 a.m. on the day of the sale, while I was ill with a horrible head cold mind you, and tried for over an hour and a half. There was so much traffic that Middlebury's server kept crashing and although I managed to secure tickets in my cart twice, I was never able to make it all the way through checkout, so I finally gave up and went back to bed. But, I was disappointed and frustrated.

I tried to find tickets to see him elsewhere, but the pricetag on these was too hefty, so I decided to console myself by purchasing tickets to a guru of another sort. The Dog Whisperer, Cesar Millan, who was coming to Vermont for an event to benefit his foundation and a local humane society. Tickets prices were not cheap, but they were tiered -- you could spend extra to meet Cesar up close and attend a reception or general admission; thus, you could be a Top Dog or a Pack Member. I decided on the cheaper option and thus, with Sheila in tow, we attended as members of the pack.

The event took place tonight and it was a blast. I do not follow Cesar's show religiously -- not really sure if I buy into the alpha dog thing and the funny noise Cesar makes to dominate and train the dogs-- but I loved his program tonight. He was hysterical, acting out canine, feline and human behavior in an effort to show us our problems in communicating with our dogs. "We are all eyes, ears and no, nos" "They are all nose, ears and eyes," he explained.

He emphasized that dog's pick up on our energy, something I have learned from taking Alfie into the showring and when he took two shelter dogs on stage to demonstrate his technique I started to see some of the things I have been doing wrong with Alfie, who by the way, has learned how to dig in her heels and slip off her harness regularly as she did at the Shelburne Gone to the Dogs day.

When Cesar arrived on stage the girls behind us screamed as they would for a  rockstar. They did it again when a dog named Dave came on stage. I learned from eavesdropping that the girls were Vet Tech students at Vermont Technical College and Dave was one of the dogs with whom they frequently worked.

"I love how this is a substitute for seeing the Dalai Lama," Sheila joked when I expressed my appreciation for her coming, but  in reality there were some similarities. The girls acted like Cesar's appearance might be on par with the return of the Messiah, after all. And, while the Dalai Lama spoke of our commonalities and the Dog Whisperer spoke of human and canine differences, both emphasized communication and education and offered messages of hope and the prospect of peace and harmony.

Driving home with my best friend discussing our work, her child, my dogs, and laughing so hysterically that I had to say between snorts and gasps for oxygen that someday our laughter would be the death of me, I had to believe I had achieved a form of Nirvana -- a life spent among good friends and good dogs may be as perfect as it gets.

Pug Parade

Big weekend ahead. On Sunday, my friends Joan and Jane, and I are headed to Chestertown, NY for the annual Halloween Pug Party and Parade. It's another day of costume contests and lots of pugs and I'm sure I'll have plenty of pictures to post. I plan to bring Alfie and Waffles (not sure what they'll be wearing yet. I have some simple Halloween collars as well as more elaborate costumes) and maybe the puppies as well as Joan's dog Egg and Jane's pug Fanny May, maybe more.

Also, had good news today. The original owner for Waltham's Little Trump, one of the puppies, fell through, but one of our friends, a couple who has three other of Joan's pugs, wants to adopt him. We are meeting them on Monday afternoon to turn him over. Although the friends live in Massachusetts, they have a condo in Sugarbush not far from Joan, so we will be able to see Trump regularly. Only catch, our friends want to rename Trump, Critter!

I have a lot of writing to do as well this weekend, so I may not get to post much, so I thought I'd leave you with a couple more shots of the puppies from the other day.

See the full gallery on Posterous

Two Potters

Today, I took my sister-in-law, Gretchin, to visit Two Potters (www.twopotters.com) gallery and kiln on Christian Hill in Bethel, Vt. The two potters are husband-and-wife Nathan Webb and Becca Van Fleet Webb. I first met the couple a few years ago when writing an article on their business for Upper Valley Life Magazine. At the time, they were recently married and had moved to Nathan's home in Bethel where they planned to build their own kiln, which they have since done.

I fell in love with two of them right away -- their work, their home, their story. I have been returning almost every open studio weekend since and often before many birthdays and holidays to purchase their work. I am getting quite a collection. Today, Gretchin walked away with a wall hanging and I bought the three pieces pictured above.

Nathan and Becca's home is not far from my property. Their view is expansive, their kiln a work of art itself. Their small, yellow studio welcomes guests. "Shop locally," a sign reads outside. Their dog, Lego, bounds across the yard. It is easy to fall in love with this place and the creative life these two are building.

As I am getting ready to leave I tell the two I am in search of a pumpkin and Nathan recommends going up past my land to a local farm. I feel like neighbors. I am happy to support these artists and their work, to take a piece of their creative life home with me to share and enjoy.

Day of Rest

I have 85 email messages to read, hundreds of photos from GMPR's pug social to size and send off, blog posts to write and respond to, student papers to mail off and lessons to prepare, but today I decided to do something I rarely do especially when my to-do list is so long -- I stayed in bed. Waffles, Alfie, my Kleenex box and I curled up in bed with Gone Girl, a book my friend Maria passed on weeks ago. I dozed and read while Waffles snuggled beside me and Alfie dove under the covers. In spite of my stuffy head, I have to call it a good day. I did succumb to a sketch to commemorate the experience and to this blog post and am now updating my computer software and watching the Emmys, but I am heading back to bed soon where I will tuck in with the pugs to finish that book. Tomorrow I'll get to the email and work and posting those pug social pics. Tonight the pugs and I are catching up on some R & R.

Sketches from North Hampton

I took my ipad to the beach with me last Friday. I love the ease with which I can use it to sketch. It takes the need for perfection away and allows me to capture an impression of the moment. Obviously both of these are not finished drawings, but they will help remember the seagull who kept shuffling by and the old man, head down, strolling the beach and the two old ladies who waded into the water with the glee of children -- one stood with her hands tucked behind her grasping her buttocks as if to plant herself against the gentle waves, the other trying to avoid stepping on pebbles even as she gathered treasured ones up in her hands.

See the full gallery on Posterous

Heaven

Friday I stood in the ocean's infinite waters, watching the dance between sky and sea -- one reaching down for a kiss, one stretching upward to grant it. Awed, I acknowledged the profound; this is what heaven is like, I thought. And, like God in the Bible, I too, thought it was good.

Saturday, I felt this way again. I stood in front of another waterfront: Lake Champlain, watching silhouetted canoes glide past a tremendous sunset. I was there with my best friend, Sheila, and her family for a concert -- The Avett Brothers and Grace Potter. As color cascaded over the sky, music cascaded over the crowds, filling the park. Banjo, guitar, upright base created sound that surged through the heart of me. The chilled air nibbled through my sweatshirt, caressed my cheeks and that of those around me. But few noticed. This crowd knew the heat of pleasure. We soared to our feet -- clapping, dancing, singing until our throats ran dry. We became a part of the concert, indistinguishable in our hearts from the people on the stage. We knew these songs, they were ours. We embraced them.

I looked to my left to my best friend mouthing the words to our song. I looked to my right at a clutch of college-aged students swinging their bodies in heat. The melody tore through my soul. I was part of something bigger than myself. Thrilled, I acknowledged the profound; this is what heaven is like, I thought and it was good.

Moments like this always take me back to a time when concerts meant getting out of Vermont, leaving my rural roots behind and traveling to Boston with my brother and the boy I loved. It was thrilling to be traveling to the city, to someplace new. We would browse comic shops and record stores. Eat at bistros and coffeehouses, sampling Thai and Indian and experiences far flung from Bethel, Vermont. As the day faded, we would make our way to the concert venue. We would revel in the music, under crisp night skies in stadiums and concert fields, returning in the twilight hours in my brother's mustang. We would leave the top down, but turn the heat up, so our feet would toast as the wind whipped our hair and U2's Where the Streets Have No Name cut through the night. We were young and whenever music floods over me like this, I remain that way.

Concerts are a metaphor for life, I think. We hear the music as one -- all on the same journey. We stand together, rocking to the rhythm. But, we experience it alone.

Yet, at water's edge, in music's midst, we are swallowed by the sacred. Frozen in feeling, we stretch upward for a kiss, humbled as the holy reaches down to grant it. We know heaven when we see it. And, it is good.

Community

One of the many wonderful aspects of owning dogs is the way they seem to connect us to each other. The other night while walking my two pugs down the street, a number of neighbors whom I have seldom, if ever, spoken to, came out of their homes and off their porches to meet Waffles. "I see you have another pug? Did you lose the old one?" one of them asked.

Another came over and asked, "What happened to Vader?" while she bent down to pet Waffles' head. "Hi, Alfie," she said. I didn't even know this woman knew my name, let alone my pugs'. Dogs help build community; they bridge gaps, making it easier for us to approach each other, to say hello.
I have many plans in store for this blog. I have finally found a design team that is working on creating a web site with my blog as the centerpiece. Tonight I received an email from friend, fellow blogger and artist, Maria Wulf, about a new giveaway concept a small group of us is hoping to launch next month on our blogs, and I am eagerly looking forward to sharing the details with you. One of my hopes is that this blog will expand the community that I am already finding with other artists, writers, bloggers and dog owners.

Last year at this time I was posting a photo or two, talking a little about my dogs, putting up a collage here and there. Then, I showed my collages at Maria's Pig Barn Gallery, joined her husband John Katz' writers' group. I met Nancy of Spinning Glass Studio at a show where Maria was also exhibiting and enjoyed a quiet afternoon bonding with them and another new friend, Jane McMillen of Little House Home Arts. We will all be participating in the giveaway in the hopes of sharing each other's work and blogs with our collective readers. Most importantly, to me, however, I am finding a creative community of friendship and support that is urging me forward and causing me to grow.
I think most dog owners would list the companionship their dogs provide as one of the reasons we love them. Many of us find that our love of dogs opens us up to new possibilities. That has certainly been the case for me, my creative life and this blog. It is not a coincidence that my pugs have been the focus of much of my photography, writing and art. Now they are helping lead me down a new street, where friends are coming off their porches, out of their homes and introducing themselves, helping form a community of which I am thankful to be a part.