The REI catalog showed up in the mail the other day, as it does occasionally. I love everything in that little booklet of outdoorsy goodness. I love the clothes, the shoes, all that GEAR--even the gear for the outdoorsy things I do not do (although that list is getting smaller, did I mention I've been rock climbing?) I love it all. And I was sitting at my kitchen counter paging through its copious attractions, I realized something profound: the REI catalog is just like vampire novels. Yeah, vampire novels. Would you like to know why? I thought so.
They are crack on paper. Metaphorical crack. Not crack actually embedded into paper (but I bet they'd both do brisk sales if that were the case). They are addicting in the view they offer you of a secret world just off, by this much, from the world you live in. I have read so many vampire books in the last year or so, that I am ashamed to cop to the number. In fact, I don't even know what the number is. The book I'm reading now? Vampire book. I didn't even know it when I picked it up, I thought it was just another Deanna Raybourne book. But, no--vampires. I am subconsciously drawn to them. The REI catalog has that same seductive pull. And how many REI catalogs have I poured over in the last year? Lots. Not to mention time spent trolling their website. The catalog is filled with fit, attractive people who do things like travel the world and effortlessly climb mountains and run trails and endlessly hang out at the beach and always, ALWAYS, find that awesome camping spot that is not right next to the jerk and radio, and the girls all know how to wear those cute skirts for things like hiking. And also, they appear to travel everywhere on their bicycles or in their Subarus. Like vampires, you know they don't exist in real life (who goes hiking in a skirt?), but dang if that catalog doesn't make you think they could. And if you had those cloths and that gear you could be young and fit and effortlessly climb mountains, and travel the world, and trundle your totally cute and well behaved kid along for the ride. On your bicycle. If you reduce them both to their essences, I think what you're left with is escapism and that's why they are the same. Anywhere-but-here-and-now escapism. And that's why I love them. No, that's not true because really and truly I love my here and now. I know that I would not want to live in a vampire novel. Although come to think of it I am married to a man with a fierce temper who has a hard time sleeping at night and hates morning sunlight. Hmmm. And really, I almost live in the REI catalog (I think Flagstaff is as close as you can get). But, man the escape is appealing. The adventure. The get out and do something that is not Sitting At A Desk........Oh my goodness, I have a bad case of spring fever.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Ode to a Boy and his Dog
Remember a loooooong time ago I said we were getting a dog? Well, a loooooonnng time ago (February) we did. Yes, I know. Not filling you in for nearly three months is a severe dereliction of my blogger duties. Bad blogger.
The dog's name is Harley, and Garion LOVES him. Possibly more than he loves me.
They play ball. They play spaceship (Harley is in charge of the escape pods). They play stuffed animals (or did until I told Garion that that game might result in the grisly demise of stuffed animal). They play tug of war. They play stick:
Except that Harley would greatly prefer that Garion not throw the stick into the water. Because it is his stick and he treasures it, and if Garion throws it into the water he is obligated, compelled really, to go rescue his beloved stick even if he has to get wet and he just would really prefer not to have to swim. And dang-it-all-to-heck, the longer he sits on the shore thinking about getting wet the farther away his beloved stick drifts and the farther he has to swim. And never ever does that stick float back on its own. Bad stick.
Harley is sweet and funny and very affectionate.
He also eats his poop.
Yes, Harley. I just told the entire internet that you eat your own poop (and the poop of woodland creatures). If you cut it out, I'll never mention it again.
This is how he sleeps when no one's really watching.
Did I mention Garion might love him more than me? Whatever. I buy groceries and make dinner. All Harley can do is sniff out poop. I think that if it came down to a matter of survival, and given the choice between dinner and a poop-sniffing dog, Garion would still choose me. I think.
Garion loves Harley so much that last weekend he gave Harley a "shower" with the backyard hose. I'm not really sure what triggered this, but independent thought from a seven year old is occasionally a little alarming. I tried to stay calm and explain to Garion why this was not an okay thing to do (aside from the wet dog in the house problem). And then I remembered that when I was small, I once tied a helium balloon to my (three-legged) cat and dropped him to see if the balloon would hold him up. (It did not, in case you're wondering.) I also remember that this was not a mean thing, but a "I just want to see what happens" thing. And so, with Garion I'm trying remember that some of this stuff is stuff you have to learn, how to treat to other living creatures and how to be respectful and how to care for the needs of something other than yourself. Garion is learning and thankfully Harley does not hold grudges.
Harley is very dedicated to his day time job: holding down the carpet under my desk while I work. None of it has gotten away since he took up his post. He also reminds me when it's time to go for a walk at lunch time and when it's time to go pick up Garion.
He knows how to put himself to bed.
And he really excels at playing in the snow, which as far as dog traits go, is nearly enough to make up for the poop eating. Every snow day this spring, he and Garion have played outside for three and four hour stretches which results in a tired a kid and a tired dog and time for mom to get a little work done--it hardly gets better than that.
This is Harley pre-noontime walk. And post-noontime walk. I'm telling you--dedicated.
Harley's favorite part of the day is picking his boy up from school. A car ride PLUS children and activity to watch PLUS his boy.
I was afraid that when Harley came to live with us, he would be a novelty for a few weeks and then the glamor would wear off. Thankfully, this is not what has transpired. Garion is as enthralled with him as he was when we first met him, is thrilled to see him in the morning, and always says goodnight to him before he goes to bed. Part of me wonders if this was a cruel thing to do. Harley is six and has had some illnesses earlier in his life that probably mean he will not live to be an ancient dog. We will most likely be lucky if we have five years with him and I can see now that Garion will be devastated when he is gone and what kind of mother does that make me? But that's life, right? You love and lose and that cycle repeats itself over and over again and if you do things right the loving makes the losing worth it. And we are happy to Harley here and for now. And when you are only seven, five years is a really long time.
The dog's name is Harley, and Garion LOVES him. Possibly more than he loves me.
They play ball. They play spaceship (Harley is in charge of the escape pods). They play stuffed animals (or did until I told Garion that that game might result in the grisly demise of stuffed animal). They play tug of war. They play stick:
Except that Harley would greatly prefer that Garion not throw the stick into the water. Because it is his stick and he treasures it, and if Garion throws it into the water he is obligated, compelled really, to go rescue his beloved stick even if he has to get wet and he just would really prefer not to have to swim. And dang-it-all-to-heck, the longer he sits on the shore thinking about getting wet the farther away his beloved stick drifts and the farther he has to swim. And never ever does that stick float back on its own. Bad stick.Harley is sweet and funny and very affectionate.
He also eats his poop.
Yes, Harley. I just told the entire internet that you eat your own poop (and the poop of woodland creatures). If you cut it out, I'll never mention it again.This is how he sleeps when no one's really watching.
Did I mention Garion might love him more than me? Whatever. I buy groceries and make dinner. All Harley can do is sniff out poop. I think that if it came down to a matter of survival, and given the choice between dinner and a poop-sniffing dog, Garion would still choose me. I think.
Garion loves Harley so much that last weekend he gave Harley a "shower" with the backyard hose. I'm not really sure what triggered this, but independent thought from a seven year old is occasionally a little alarming. I tried to stay calm and explain to Garion why this was not an okay thing to do (aside from the wet dog in the house problem). And then I remembered that when I was small, I once tied a helium balloon to my (three-legged) cat and dropped him to see if the balloon would hold him up. (It did not, in case you're wondering.) I also remember that this was not a mean thing, but a "I just want to see what happens" thing. And so, with Garion I'm trying remember that some of this stuff is stuff you have to learn, how to treat to other living creatures and how to be respectful and how to care for the needs of something other than yourself. Garion is learning and thankfully Harley does not hold grudges.
Harley is very dedicated to his day time job: holding down the carpet under my desk while I work. None of it has gotten away since he took up his post. He also reminds me when it's time to go for a walk at lunch time and when it's time to go pick up Garion.
He knows how to put himself to bed.
And he really excels at playing in the snow, which as far as dog traits go, is nearly enough to make up for the poop eating. Every snow day this spring, he and Garion have played outside for three and four hour stretches which results in a tired a kid and a tired dog and time for mom to get a little work done--it hardly gets better than that.
This is Harley pre-noontime walk. And post-noontime walk. I'm telling you--dedicated.
Harley's favorite part of the day is picking his boy up from school. A car ride PLUS children and activity to watch PLUS his boy.
I was afraid that when Harley came to live with us, he would be a novelty for a few weeks and then the glamor would wear off. Thankfully, this is not what has transpired. Garion is as enthralled with him as he was when we first met him, is thrilled to see him in the morning, and always says goodnight to him before he goes to bed. Part of me wonders if this was a cruel thing to do. Harley is six and has had some illnesses earlier in his life that probably mean he will not live to be an ancient dog. We will most likely be lucky if we have five years with him and I can see now that Garion will be devastated when he is gone and what kind of mother does that make me? But that's life, right? You love and lose and that cycle repeats itself over and over again and if you do things right the loving makes the losing worth it. And we are happy to Harley here and for now. And when you are only seven, five years is a really long time.
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