Frissons of Winter…

Clad in Arctic gear, I gingerly wend my way with Andi to frozen fields distant, where an ice paradise awaits us.

Fir trees, straight out of an eerie Hopper canvas, hover on the periphery. They bow with ice-laden boughs, in reverence to Winter’s majesty.

Grass underfoot produces a sound filled not with vowels; a sort of scrnznkschy noise with every step. Each blade is sheathed in ice, as though one has stumbled upon a vast pasture of crystallized French green beans, a bag found in the freezer years later, hidden beneath yet another crystallized slab of indeterminate meat.

Andi is leashless. Sometimes I like to set him free, unfettered from the 20-yard line of rope that keeps us tethered. I watch as he frolics about, sniffing here and there, his part hound breed searching for unseen New England truffles. He doesn’t seem to mind the snow and ice. So far.

A lone crow sits uncharacteristically quiet on a barren tree limb, its perpetual silhouette a slight rent against the expanse of gravid gray skies.

Andi darts to a tree, and a squirrel makes a quick escape. Andi sniffs the ground, perplexed as to where this creature might have fled.

Atop split rail fence posts, an almost perfect circle of ice sits, a winter’s version of a sand dollar.

There is nothing quite like a slow winter stroll to take in the mastery and beauty of a December day.

I stand between grass and road. The tarmac is covered with a thin veneer of ice. I watch in fascination as the subsurface water trickles its way down a tiny incline, inching along like a watery worm, its form reminiscent of blobs from a lava lamp.

I stand still and embrace the silence. In the distance, a vee of Canadian geese veers towards swamps that hold captive naiads ‘neath thin ice.

Andi looks pleadingly at me. He longs for the comfort of our couch. Reluctantly I turn homeward, and he bounds excitingly, in his zig-zag fashion, knowing that soon he will be ensconced in cushions and warmth.

Within its myriad of daunting guises, Winter still can provide a soul frissons of both wonder and calm.

 

©Paul Grignon, 2013-All Rights Reserved.

 

The Good Samaritan…Or Not

Last night, as I wended my way home, I noticed a crush of traffic on all the roadways. The Pike was a parking lot, and 84 was at a virtual standstill. Even where I live, on Rte. 15, the road was congested.

I turned into my driveway, thankful to have only had to drive two miles. As I got out of the car I noticed the snaking line of vehicles waiting for the light to change. I couldn’t help but wonder if some folk, hidden behind darkened windows, were envious of me, knowing that I had arrived home and that perhaps their own journey home had hardly begun.

I thought about that as I turned the key and entered my warm house. I cradled a six-pack of beer and, as I began to place it in the fridge, couldn’t help but think where all those cars were heading, how far they had to travel, how far they had already gone, and wondered what time they would get home.

I poured a beer into a glass stein and went into the living room and sat near my Beloved, with Andi, our dog, between us. Julie was watching one of our shows on HGTV, and as I sat there rubbing her feet and occasionally taking a swig, my mind kept going back to those cars outside, those dark interiors,  cars harboring husbands and wives and kids and pets, and I felt sorry for them.

Here I was at home. Home! Sometimes that one word can be such a comfort, a balm to nerves harried from holiday travels.

Now this is where the title to this post comes in. Thinking about being a Good Samaritan, I turned to Julie and said, “Wouldn’t it be a nice gesture if we made a big batch of chocolate chip cookies and a few pots of coffee and brought them out to the poor people who were trapped and tired in their vehicles?”

Julie looked at me and replied, “You’re right. That is a good idea.”

Did we get up and rummage around for an errant Tollhouse cookie roll in the fridge? Did we open the pantry and retrieve a new bag of ground coffee? No. And why didn’t we do that? I’ll tell you why. And it is a sad commentary on our present society. See if you agree with me.

As I mentioned earlier, as I exited my car and ascended the two flagstone stairs to my front door, I imagined that there were more than a few eyes watching me, envious that I was home, that soon the door would close behind me and I would disappear into the warm, safe confines of my residence.

They, however, would be held captive in a box with four wheels, miles from their respective destinations, captured by gridlock and the whims of holiday traffic.

And perhaps maybe a few pair of eyes out there on the road would harbor some sort of ill will towards me, an unfounded and perverse resentment,  all because they noticed I was home, free from the constraints of a car and more miles ahead.

‘Lucky bastard,’ a father would think, while his wife slumbered and his two kids bickered in back.

As much as I would have liked to be that ‘good Samaritan’, I knew that it would not be prudent. Why? Because of our society, how there could be that one bad apple who, after my generosity of warm cookies and a steaming vessel of healing joe would—maybe—come back one day and wonder what was inside our centuries-old farmhouse. The good deed for the day by me would have been replaced by a nefarious scheme by that one person who had scarfed my baked goods and drank my hot coffee. This person might come back, not for cookies or freshly brewed coffee, but for you. Or your wife.

That is why I remained on the couch with Julie and Andi and watched TV. As much as I wanted to go out there with fresh, warm platters of chocolate chip cookies and pitchers of piping hot caffeine, the thought of some wacko returning one day to wreak havoc upon my household dissuaded me from doing so.

So. Was I wrong to think such things? Is our society that bad right now, where one cannot possibly be a good Samaritan? Do you ever think about such things, that you would like to do more for people, but cannot fathom doing so because of the possibility of a lone nut job coming back to harm you and your family?

Am I way off-base here? Do you think I’m too paranoid? Would you have gone out there, in the cold, to assuage the distressed?

I wonder.

The HGTV shows continued, and I drank a few more beers. Julie eventually went to bed. I let Andi out to pee and as I waited for his return, I couldn’t help but notice that traffic on 84 had still not abated, and the line of traffic at the end of my driveway had still not dwindled.

I let Andi back in, directed him to his ‘room’ upstairs, and stood in the kitchen, sipped my beer and watched the cars inch along.

I know just by thinking about being the good Samaritin doesn’t mean squat-diddly. But I must ask this question:

What would you have done?

©Paul Grignon, 2013-All Rights Reserved.

Winter’s Vice…

Pregnant Skies

The gray sky–low, gravid, and calm–waits to unleash torrents of chilling rain. Despite bundled from such brumal weather, winter chills still slither ‘neath frocks and slickers alike. There is no escape.

And poor Andi. Of late our walks have been truncated due to his sad visage. We only manage to go half way before he looks up at me with pleading eyes, begging to turn around.

I stop, and stoop, and ask, “Well, what do you want to do? Go home?”

And with that one magical word—home—he turns around and leads me back to the comfort of our old house.

Realm of the Sauropods

Here are a few shots from a month earlier, a time when Andi didn’t mind going the entire distance on our daily stroll. You half expect an Apatosaurus to rear its lengthy neck among the reeds and grass, with giant clumps of fauna dripping from its maw.

Redwing Retreat

Our walks are calm and healing. Only a month ago did swarms of redwing blackbirds squawk and twitter amongst these very same reeds, chattering away unseen.

But now, the bitter chill of November lingers, the kind of day that cannot shake  frigid frissons from your shivering body. No matter how many layers, the cold creeps into your bones.

Feline the Warmth

Our cats, not accustomed to sleeping together, have found refuge in each other’s midst, a feline yin and yang. And not to be left out, Andi on occasion will drape a heavy paw over a kitty. (I think Boo simply tolerates this and enjoys the warmth.)

Pooch Love

As for us humans, well, we keep this 213 year old house somewhat warm. With plastic wraps around most windows, and having a forced air system, they manage to keep ol’ man winter at bay. As long as there is oil in the tank we won’t allow hypothermia to visit our dwelling.

Thanksgiving is nigh and come Thursday, long travels await us. Let’s just hope those pregnant clouds disappear without too much of a drenching.

“Can we go home now?”

Happy holiday to all. May warmth, comfort, and calm be yours.

©Paul Grignon-2013, All Rights Reserved.  

Dog Daze of…Summer!

“Hot ‘nough for ya?”

Are you, too, tired of hearing this oft-repeated hackneyed query during the summer months? Perhaps if Andi could talk he’d say the same thing. Poor Andi. He does not fare well in these humid conditions. But he dutifully goes for his three or four walks a day.

“C’mon, Andi. Ready to go?”

 ‘Ugh. Not again. Sigh.’

Here’s  a shot of us down at the Westville Dam, taken before we moved to our new digs.

Bike and Run with Andi & Jace

Me, my son Jace, and Andi walking along a dirt path. Julie took this enchanting photo. (It’s rare to get our son on his bike, so we managed to get two things accomplished; Jace on his bicycle and Andi for his walk.) Here’s another just walking this time.

Out for a Stroll

Since we moved into our new place on June 1^st, we have done quite a bit to the house and environs. Our four pets have acclimated nicely to the huge place, and both Miles and Boo love to haunt the spacious barn.

As you can see by this next photo, Maggie has cottoned to Andi. Can you believe it?

Maggie and Andi

We are amazed by their antics together. She is such a flirt. She’ll stroll into the living room, knowing full well that Andi is there, and start to strut her feminine feline magic.

Andi bounds from the couch and towers over her, not really sure what to do. But he is clearly enamored with her. He’ll lie down in front of her and slowly approach and do a little jig around her.

I think she just wants to be licked, much like when Boo does that to her. She is the spoiled queen of the house.

Boo and Andi napping after their exhaustive antics.

Andi and Boo have their own strange relationship. Andi just wants to play with Boo, but Boo will have none of it. Andi does his usual prancing around Boo, and Boo will unleash a double-pawed mitt at him, replete with razor-sharp talons. So far Andi has proved quite adept at darting away before being sliced to ribbons.

They will keep this up for 10-20 minutes at a stretch, and Julie has some footage on tape so perhaps at some point I’ll post it. It is quite hilarious watching this exchange between cat and dog.

Since we’ve had a heat wave of late (come to think of it, this is the 3^rd of the young summer) a slew of air conditioners have been going full force. Andi will lie for hours in one of the rooms, and on more than one occasion I have searched for him, only to find him curled up in his crate in our bedroom.

I can see why. It’s dark and cool and rather comfortable. Makes me want to squeeze in next to him and take a nap. But other things beckon.

Like finishing our living room. And here is the result of our efforts.

Living Room Update, 1…

Living Room Update, 2

Remember those pics from a blog or two ago? Well, here is the same room, replete with tan paint and curtains and other accoutrements.

Not bad, eh? Oh, and we just purchased these odd shaped chairs from an estate sale.

Boo at rest.

A different color paint and they’ll be a nice addition. Despite their squat appearance, they are incredibly comfortable, as evidenced by Boo’s massive sprawl.

Next up, Cam’s room. Unfortunately, whoever wallpapered this room, they forgot to prime the walls. It’s nearly impossible to remove the paper, so we’ll prime it with an oil based primer, then use latex paint over that. I think that will work. Any suggestions or advice?

All in all this summer is shaping up okay. Jace is in camp, and since I am not presently working (other than an odd modeling gig here and there. And sometimes they can be rather odd…) I watch Andi and take him for his dreaded walks.

Our three cats and one dog seem to enjoy our place immensely and it’s nice to know they all get along quite spectacularly. Although Miles keeps  a wary eye out for Andi. He doesn’t particularly relish Andi’s playfulness.

Andi continues to be a joy and a wonder, and I thoroughly enjoy playing tag with him in the yard and going on our multitude of walks. He is a love.

Andi with his toys.

I continue to be amazed at how much I am, after all these years, a dog person after all. Who knew such a thing was possible?

Next up:  Dead Things (no, not what you think…)

©Paul Grignon, 2013, All Rights Reserved.

A Moving Experience…

Whew!

Man, oh man, I hate moving. We just pulled up stakes, as of June 1st, and this is the first time I’ve had a moment to breathe and get back to my blog.

It’s not simply a case of packing and moving in a single day. No, far from it. In fact, it took an entire week just to pack, and a handful of days to move, and I’m still in the process of sorting things out. (I know one of the cats is around here somewhere…)

So much has transpired of late, and I am woefully behind with my own blog as well as some of my favorites. Like my good and intelligent friend Eric Alagan’s elegant blog Written Words Never Die, or the hilarious Chuck Wendig at Terrible Minds, and of course a plethora of other fine sites.

Lately, the urge to purge to has never been greater. No, not that kind of purge. I mean the kind of saying the hell with a mountain of boxes and just simply tossing them into the trash. I cannot believe how much ‘stuff‘ we have.

But we have moved into larger digs, with more privacy, and the house comes with a huge barn and a massive attic, ample space for storage and for the felines to explore. Oh, and Andi you might ask? He’s acclimated himself quite nicely, thank you.

So MUCH more to say and discuss and tell, but for now more boxes and packages and sorting awaits me. We don’t have cable yet so I’m typing this at the library. (Poor Andi is in his crate–his room, I should say–and so I shan’t delay too much.

Suffice it to say I will be back very soon, to peruse many blogs and comments and lovely stories from fellow writers. I apologize for my silence, but a glimmer of the end (of moving) is, mercifully, nigh.

Mr. Alagan, I WILL make all attempts to get back to your fine writing very soon, and I look forward to reading your new material!

Thank you all for your patience, and I cannot wait to get my writing chops back into a semblance of order.

For now, take good care, and keep on writing!

Copyright, Paul Grignon, 2013, All Rights Reserved.

Chiron…No, Jerry….No, Andi!

Before bath…

We left the naming of our puppy to Jace, our 11 year old son, who is now the proud owner of this brand new member in our lives.

The puppy came from Virginia, most likely from one of the Puppy Mills that flourish there, and when he arrived at the Sterling Animal Shelter, his name was Chiron.

But he certainly didn’t look like a centaur, although he did possess much intelligence and kindness, despite being held in chains down south. Can you believe that? That he, along with his two equally adorable brothers, were kept in chains? It’s no wonder every time we take a trip in the car, Andi trembles. We think he thinks we are returning him to the shelter or worse, down south again and more shackles.

Can you imagine putting this puppy in chains?

…After bath, in the arms of My Lovely Julie.

So the name Chiron had to go. Not a very mellifluous name at all, and rather harsh sounding on the palate.

Jace came up with Jerry, so when he went off to school that first day, I was at home all day with the puppy. During the day, I played with him, constantly calling him ‘Jerry’, trying to get him used to his new name. I must have said his name 100 times or more.

Come the end of the school day, Jace returns and promptly says, “I think I want to call him Andi. With and i at the end.” Needless to say I was slightly taken aback by this, and so was Jerry. Now he was to be called ‘Andi’. And I do believe it has a better ring to it.

Andi and his toys.
(spoiled to no end…)

So now, for the most part, Andi answers to Andi. Most of the time. He can be a tad stubborn at times, especially when it’s feeding time and he has to go into his ‘room’, which is actually the crate. Reluctantly he will enter it, but soon realize  we are not punishing him nor transporting him to another location. It’s his safe place, where a warm fuzzy blanket awaits him, and food and water. Okay, an occasional snack as well. I did mention that he is spoiled.

Slowly but surely I am getting accustomed to Andi’s many nuances, and getting used to life with a dog.

Who knew such a thing was possible?

Andi curled up next to me as I feverishly type nonsense. (I think he likes me.)

Copyright, Paul Grignon, 2013, All Rights Reserved.

Dog Daze of Spring, Part 2…

“Hi! I’m Andi.”

I sit on the floor, and look down into the doe eyes of Andi. It is a vastly different perspective from my previous  world of only cats.

A cat. Now there’s an easy animal to train. A little kitty, bring him home, set up a litter box, bowl of food and water, done. Set for life. The kitty will know to poop in the box, and has free reign of your house. No worries. Except perhaps a pilled chair or a furball now and then.

But a puppy. Hmm, slightly different, I am finding out.

We are crate training Andi, so that has been a challenge. But last night went well. He slept the entire night without having to go outside. A good start. But way too soon to give him free reign. I’ll give you an example.

I made a foolish mistake the other night. Andi woke up at 2:30 in the morning, so I took him out to pee. When I let him in, I told him to go to ‘Andi’s room’, what I call his crate. He usual does. But as I rounded the corner to the living room, there he was, curled up on the couch, staring at me with pleading eyes: “Please! Please let me sleep with you!” those eyes said.

“Oh, please! Can I…?”

How could I resist such magnificent beseeching eyes? So I did.

Well, come the morn’, I woke up and had to use the loo. I looked down at Andi, and he was fast asleep. I thought, ‘I should take him out first.’ But I didn’t.

When I returned, he was in the middle of the room, peeing on the rug. Aargh!

Holding back the urge to admonish him, I gently coaxed him into the cage, and cleaned up the puddle. I learned my lesson.

And our cats are slowly learning about this new creature in their midst, even boldly venturing near the crate. But I believe it will be awhile before they become best of friends. At least the cats are making the effort to introduce themselves. (Or maybe they’re just sizing him up and plotting Andi’s demise…)

‘What is that creature in there?’

Miles plotting.

It has been six days since we adopted Andi and things are going much better. Right now as I type this he is wrapped around my back, pressed close to me and snoring away. I am barely perched on the couch, a mere few inches on the edge. Andi cannot get close enough it seems.

I look down into his eyes once again, and my mind returns to cats. Yeah, sometimes cats do what Andi is doing right now. But for the most part, what I love about felines, is their independence.

Some days, when you want your cats on your lap, you call them over to you: “Hi guys! C’mon, come here! Come sit on my lap!” The cats slowly turn their heads toward you and think, ‘Yeah, right. In your dreams’ and then they turn away, irritated that you bothered their precious nap time.

‘We don’t think so.’

But a dog. After the same command, he couldn’t get there fast enough. Unless, of course, you have a leash in your hand, and you’re going to take him out in the rain again to see if he’ll pee or potty. Then, he’ll hesitate, and suspiciously eye your ulterior motive.

At this juncture, Andi will usually dart into his ‘room’ and curl up, still looking at me with those big, wary, brown eyes. Ah, so much to learn.

to be continued…

Our son and Andi (with pilled chair).

©Paul Grignon, 2013, All Rights Reserved.

Westville Walk…

Westville Dam Flooded

Believe it or not, that tree is in the middle of a field. At times, though, after heavy rains, this field becomes flooded, and it is a marvel to see.

I took this photo from atop a small knoll, having navigated through woods and treacherous footfalls to arrive there. When the Westville Dam is in this ravaged state, traversing the trails are nigh impossible.

But when the waters recede, there is a fine trail to be had, a 2.5 mile oval shaped path that one can walk, run, or bike on. We are quite fond of this place, especially during the late afternoon, when the slant of sun creates long shadows, and the interplay of light and dark is profound.

Sometimes we find ourselves totally alone, having walked the entire length with nary a soul in sight. But on Sundays, that all changes. It is Dog Day. Vast streams of folk gather in the limited parking lot, chatting away while the various dogs mingle, anxious for their owners to polish off the remnants of their tepid cups of joe.

Julie and I tend to avoid these congregations, preferring instead to stay quite a distance from wayward canines. But it never fails; eventually we will come across a gaggle of people, with dogs attached on long leashes, and invariably the pooch will come bounding toward you, tail and tongue wagging, wanting to jump up to paw your garments. The owner usually has the same reply: “Oh, don’t worry, he’s harmless!” Or “He just wants to play.”

But we do not.

We abhor getting accosted in this fashion, and on one memorable jaunt, a dog leapt up and placed its muddy paws all over Julie’s sweatpants. “Oh, I’m sorry”, the owner would say. ” He just wanted to play.” They never offer to pay for cleaning bills. Sometimes, one will encounter a fresh pile of dog poop along the trail, inconsiderately left by the dog’s owner. (At the beginning of each trail there are FREE bags for the sole purpose of disposing of your doggie’s doo-doo. But some people couldn’t be bothered by such trifling concerns.)

On the occasion when we have the place to ourselves, we sometimes manage to espy a magnificent blue heron in flight, its primordial wings gracefully swaying as it glides silently by. Or we’ll come across a lone heron standing in the shallows, a patient soul waiting interminably for a passing meal.

Other times we see turtles sunning on rocks or logs. There is one particular rock that juts out of the water, and we have seen up to six turtles all crowding around, valiantly attempting to get one last suntanning session in before sunset. It always reminds me of Dr. Seuss’s ‘Yertle the Turtle’, a great story, and one I love to read to 1st and 2nd graders. They never fail to laugh heartily and noisily when poor Mack burps, sending Yertle down into the mud.

Since my return to Sturbridge once again (christ, has it really been eight years already?), I had never heard of the Westville Dam area. I guess it was because I grew up in Walker Pond, right next to Wells State Park. There was no need to venture beyond my back door. We had a lake, a field, and many paths throughout the park. What a wonderful environment to grow up in.

But now, having come full circle to Sturbridge, it was a pleasant surprise to find this area of Southbridge/Sturbridge, where a meandering path leads you to the dam, and the many faces of nature abound. I high recommend this small stretch of trail to anyone.

Just watch out on Sundays, though.

Copyright, Paul Grignon, 2012, All Rights Reserved.