Like Chocolate for Breakfast

Eating chocolate for breakfast may be one of the early signs of looming depression. Not clinically recognized, I’m sure, but I feel the anecdotal evidence would support my hypothesis. I didn’t technically have chocolate for breakfast, it was more like with breakfast, so I’m probably still OK.

Dragged myself out of bed at 6am this morning, after 4 solid hours of sleep (sarcasm) because lying there won’t result in more sleep, it just leaves my brain running wildly. Running brains are better spent on blogs where they can be contained within the parameters of a 300 word (give or take a few) post.

What I’m really doing here is stalling. Every day there are more things to do in this house than time or energy to do them. And none of them are ever the things I planned to do. Rarely are they the things I want to do. Yesterday I went out to the van to search for missing receipts and I was temporarily transported by the smell of an old Westy. It’s not a particularly pleasant smell, but I love it. I love it because it conjures thoughts of the ocean, of winding roads and open roads, of camping in the woods and hiking up to thundering waterfalls, of bird calls and new friends every day and dewy mornings and road-trip music …. it’s a smell that calls to my gypsy soul. I wanted to just jump in, start her up and go. Just go! Anywhere that SweetEsther could take me. Back to the ocean, or the mountains, or the desert.

Of course, living in a Westfalia has it’s issues. Not unlike this house, it’s old, it smells weird, and it’s terribly small. Yet I long for my Westy time, I think of it with fondness. 20180928_075457Maybe some day I will get past the loneliness of this place, the exhaustion and hopelessness that this old house entails for me. Maybe someday I’ll walk into a grimey old house with a dirt cellar and I’ll breath it in and remember this place, this adventure with fondness. Maybe I’ll even long for it! One can hope.

But for now, I have my tea in my new favourite Salvation Army Store mug and I’m going to go light the pellet stove for the first time (because it’s wicked cold this morning!) and then I will carry on.

(I’m curious if anyone else ever has fond memories and warm feelings elicited by less-than-pleasant smells. Or is this just another anomaly of me? Feel free to share in the comments and make me feel less weird!)



Puppy Love

Reggie close up

It was about 7 o’clock and Randy was washing the dinner dishes, looking out at our backyard in progress, when suddenly he calls out to me “Elise, there’s a dog in our backyard. A cute little dog!” So I go check it out. He’s not cute. He’s ADORABLE! And he’s friendly and more than happy to come into the house with me and let me find the phone number on his tag. His name is Reggie, he’s a West Highland Terrier (Otherwise known as a Westy, my favourite breed) and a perfect little gentleman while we waited for his people to come get him.

I’m in love! Absolute puppy love! He’s friendly and so polite and quiet. He loves cuddles and he doesn’t lick faces but does follow me around with his nose a very endearing 3 inches from my calf. The moment I opened the fridge he plopped his little behind on the floor and looked up expectantly, yet politely, with huge eyes and perky ears. Is it possible for a dog to be this perfect, this flawless . . . he’s very shy of the phone, the camera in particular! Stressed him out, so we only took a few shots. We found his kryptonite, I guess.

When his people came to pick him up, we learned that he was a rescue, very recently adopted by a couple in our neighbourhood. Now we know where he lives so we can just walk him back home if he comes to visit again, and for my part, he is very welcome!

He’s perfect. I want one!

Randy: I didn’t know rescue dogs could be so awesome. Maybe we should go visit the SPCA.   Me: Don’t tempt me!   Randy: I’m serious. Mostly.  Me: I miss Reggie!