julierichmond

Recently, the face of my Apple watch switched, from rotating photos taken over the years to a black, white, and red, cartoon of Mickey Mouse. At random times, Mickey will crow the time in a squeaky, strange, Mickey Mouse voice. This doesn’t happen often; so far he hasn’t interrupted a zoom call at work, or my sleep, but it’s something I need to fix.

Sophia, the Most Lovely and Graceful Dog is gone. Chanel, a squat American Bullie, and Bernie, short for Bernadette, a French Bulldog pup, given to us by Colin last week, have been using their time in the garden to hunt for rocks. (Sophia felt time outside was for sunning, barking, and taking treats- she was good at doing all three at the same time. People would bring snacks to our fence and pass them to her, she would daintily accept their gifts and resume barking until they slid another cookie through the posts and so on.)

Nellie and Bernadette spend their time the garden hunting for rocks. Often, one or both will bring the rocks inside so that they can roll around the floor, fighting over treasure. As soon as one of them gets bored, or hears someone go into the kitchen, the rock is no longer desirable. They bark at people, too, Sophia left a legacy.

I need to start wearing slippers at night again, random rocks are almot as bad as stray legos in the middle of the night or anytime, when stepped on by bare toes and feet.

Sophia was dignified and aloof, but would say hello most mornings when she stretched. She’d wag her tail and open her mouth and out would come something like “arrrrrrrrrrr”. Sometimes, I would be permitted to rub her belly, but for the most part, she was done with me until it was time for our cookie party. The tradition continues, but the parties are shorter with Nell and Bernie as guests. Bernie throws up seventy-five percent of the time she eats anything that isn’t dry dog food and Chanel is a little thicker these days.

I’ve been in a funk for the past month. On the longest day, I would walk into joy when my dogs heard the door open.

They’d jump and crawl on my chest, roll around the floor, present me with rocks, stray socks, a fork, and one time a jar of very pricy moisturizer, (not sure how Nell managed to fit it in her mouth, but I was happy to see it).

When I came home to Sophie, she’d nod in my direction, and jump off the sofa so I could let her outside.

I switched smoothies. From chocolate mango almond butter, I’m trying to like green juice, which isn’t half bad if you add some ingredients that aren’t green.

There is only Sheldon and I here; first spring without the backdrop of the high school calendar. Now that I’m used to Katy away at school, she’ll be home on Tuesday night.

Strange spring, this season. I’ve been feeling a little sad for a while, and usually, for years, actually, (with exceptions, of course,) I’m pretty damn happy.

Being sad has felt foreign and heavy in my chest I didn’t talk about it because I couldn’t explain it and I didn’t want to talk about it. Most days, I wanted to go home, go to the gym, and go to bed. Some days, the only time I felt happy was when I was flopped on the sofa with sixty pounds of puppy bouncing around my head.

It occurred to me, tonight, walking at Cunningham, that I felt a little bit better than I have in a while.

I was listening to the new music playlist, I was anticipating an evening of a good book and a good show- “Single Drunk Female”.

It occurred to me that when I’m struggling or even just grouchy, that’s okay.

And if I want to feel better, I don’t need to wait until I look inside my heart to realize it is light and all is right with the world again.

I can listen to more music, go for a swim, tell a friend, spend a day with the dogs, make that new snack on instagram that involves cottage cheese, maple syrup, strawberries, and graham crackers, and a blender.

Being happy can’t always come from the inside.

And sometimes I just need to be sad.

It’s been a strange season, this spring.

I’ll let you know how the cottage cheese/strawberries/graham crackers/ turn out, unless it’s disgusting,

Everything’s gonna be allright.

Well, actually, it already is.

Peace,

Julie